“I wish papa was here. He would fix things. Mama wouldn’t cry.”
The sun was slowly sinking to the horizon, and although the day was turning to night, still the encampment was full of bustling bodies, not a pair of hands idle, save her own. Even the elderly women prepared supper, baskets full of vegetables were peeled, topped and tailed, chopped and sliced. The men, some skinning beasts, others working with the living animals. Everyone seemed to have a place, and seemed content. Even Isabelle had her place, albeit washing clothes in a large wooden tub, but this task was fruitless whenever Dernwynns brother was close by, it was a wonder any work was done in those times.
“All mothers cry, but it will not always be so, I promise you Déorwyn .”
The little girl, but nine summers old, continued to braid a white ribbon into Dernwynns hair. Her small, grubby fingers doing the best they could and happily so, for Dernwynn had never asked for such an honour, rather, the child thought it would look pretty. The woman sat as still as she could upon the scrub grass as the child sat on a little stool behind her.
“Fram says papa is dead, but I think he is just fighting yes? That is what Mama says, she says when the fighting is over we can go back, go back to see him, or he will find us! Where is your Papa? Is he fighting too?”
The girl wasn’t as attentive as the conversation built, tugging Dernwynns head to the side as she pulled the flaxen pieces.
“My Papa did fight, but he rests now, in the ground.”
“You can just say he is dead you know”
Dernwynn chuckled and looked into the distance, the edge of the remaining sunlight like a bright line falling behind the silhouetted trees. The girl continued.
“Do you miss him? Your Papa?”
“No, no I did not know him. Arithem may miss him, I do not though.”
“He can be scary, when he shouts”
“He can? Oh, yes. He caught the boys fighting this morning didn’t he. He is not always so, but he wants you all to be safe, not hurt yourselves over foolish things like squabbles. Soon they will be able to learn when and how to fight, but not yet, they are smaller than you!”
“Why did you not know your Papa?”
Dernwynn cleared her throat and reached back to gently pat the girls hand. Turning where she sat, she looked up at the little one, the childs face smudged with dirt but pretty and freckled, her hair a dark blonde that bordered on brown. Placing on her brightest of smiles, Dernwynn declared..
“Tis your turn! Let us do your hair so it will look pretty for supper hmm?”
The child sat on the ground before the woman and looked dead ahead, a well practiced position for any young girl who had to have their hair tended to. Reaching for a nearby comb, Dernwynn began working the knots and tangles gently out.
“Why miss?”
Exhaling, Dernwynn continued with what seemed an insurmountable task.
“Because Arithem and I share different mothers. Our father raised him, not I.”
“Why?”
“Because”
“Why?”
“Déorwyn..some men are good men, like your Papa, others are not.”
“Did he love your Mama?”
“He said he did, but I do not think so. Now, enough of this, let me see..”
Dernwynn then began to braid the childs hair, a small braid at one side, keeping the hair from the little girls face. Firstly knotting her efforts off with a tiny bit of twine, she then reached to her own hair and removed a small cuff, exquisite in detail for something of such a size. She then worked the platinum piece over the twine in the girls hair. The little girl quickly whipped her head around happily.
“It is so pretty!”
“It is a gift, a man gave it to me long ago, but I think it is prettier in your hair.”
The child flung her arms around the womans shoulders in an over enthusiastic hug. Closing her eyes, Dernwynn held the girl close a moment, gently rubbing her small back before releasing her hold.
“Now go, go find your mother, I need to help the others”
With that, the girl scampered away, clinging the braid in her hand as she charged to her mother who was busy stirring a cooking pot. Excitedly, she showed the woman her gift, the mother raising her hand to Dernwynn in way of thanks.
“You don’t have to return to that mudhole. You could stay here, with us, I know two men who would feel deep sorrow if you go.”
Firewood in his arms, her brother looked down at her, she didn’t hear his approach nor would she if it were a giant had stood before her, such was her mind preoccupied with her thoughts.
“You know I must, I have everything there.”
“You have everything that matters, here. Remember that.”
He walked away, his task to fuel the cooking fires, adding the wood as he passed each one. As she watched him, his words only made her think more, for what had that town offered her? All she had was what she had made for herself, unaided. There were memories there, yes, but things always soured, like milk that had been left out in the hot summer sun. Friendships would grow, lovers would come and go, but something held her there and she did not know what. Eventually, she broke from her reverie and stood, dusted her skirt at the rear and joined the others. Brothers, sisters, widows, children, broken families bonding at supper beneath the emerging stars.
