She was used to the warmth of her bed, the thick, patchwork blanket her mother had sewn, the creak of the frame as she turned on her side and the thick, downy pillow beneath her head. She was not used to the sound of another beside her, nor the cold of morning as it seeped into the small tent. It was dark and she was alone. As she lay there, she thought of many things, of the man she had allowed another chance, of the man she had bid farewell to. She thought of their touch, their words, their promises and as she thought, doubt creeped into her mind.
They had travelled for several days, the blacksmith and the beekeeper. They spoke, yet often the conversation became strained, as if struggling for words between them. It was with certainty he desired her form, but her mind? He had many years to experience life, a man gifted in his trade who had made mistakes and faced his future with some trepidation. She tried to advise him, but she was only a simple beekeeper, what did she know of life other than that her friend told her? Her mistakes seemed to be plentiful and she could certainly be described of having poor judgement. He considered a change in profession, one of which she agreed with. A toymaker, a man who could bring joy to children in the town and no longer would he have an obligation to those who dealt in war and death. The idea sat well with him, for a moment, perhaps he would embrace it as hard as he did her.
Parting the flap of the canvas, she squinted as the light of dawn met her bleary eyes. Her tousled hair and her clothes still being straightened and buttoned, she looked for her companion, one boot pulled on, followed by the second, her sleepy gaze scoured the nearby landscape. Aware of her presence, a shrill whistle gave away where he stood, upon a boulder that had set itself into a gently flowing river. The tall, bulky shadow of the blacksmith, whose form became clearer as the sunlight was obscured by the nearby trees on her approach. She held him, for warmth, for comfort and in an affectionate greeting, her small arms wrapped about his thick waist as her body pressed to his back.
Did she love the blacksmith? No, not yet, his indiscretion kept creeping into her mind, his rough way with her giving her pause, but she was content in that moment, a moment she felt safe and wanted as she stood upon the boulder, but as akin to the seasons, the warmth of summer turning to chill, things do change.
