[Folwren]

Wulfham


Smoke. . .there was so much smoke. . .and ashes. Every gust, every breath of wind, caused whole handfuls of ash to swirl up in the air. Nothing was left of her home. Nothing, except for the ruined, stone fireplace against which Athwen cowered. One hand covered her mouth, the other arm wrapped about her head. Her tears were spent, and her eyes burned because of it.

Why? She couldn’t stop the question from turning over and over again in her head any more than she could answer it. They hadn’t caused any trouble, they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were a peace living people without an evil thought to share among them, why this? Couldn’t it have been somewhere else? And why had she been spared? She should have been home with her mother, she should have been baking the evening bread, but no! She had gone out to ride, and she had ridden a long way and come back oh, far too late.

A choked cry escaped from her mouth and she shut her eyes and drew her knees more tightly against her chest, trembling at the sound. Why? She didn’t know. Maybe the dead would hear her.

How long she sat thus, crouched beside the ruined fireplace, Athwen didn’t know. Time passed unnoticed, but seeming to take an eternity. The dead corpses of her family, and everyone she had known her entire life were strewn about the ground, some near, many others farther away, all lying amid the burned and smoking ruin of their homes, some untouched by fire, others half burned. She dared not lift her eyes. Not until a sound pierced the unnatural stillness. . .

Athwen’s eyes slowly opened, and then her arm, aching with having been clamped so long and so hard about her head, slowly relaxed and lowered. Her other hand dropped and she lifted her head; slowly, slowly - afraid to move, afraid to be seen. Upward by degrees, she raised her eyes and looked. A short distance away, two horsemen were walked carefully through the burnt ruins of the houses and buildings. She could not see their faces clearly, her eyes were bleary and weak, but she could make out the familiar form of horse and rider. They rode slowly towards her, down what used to be the main road through the village. Athwen forced her legs to move and she slowly and achingly stood up. Her hand shot outwards towards the fireplace to help support herself and a loose stone fell with a clatter.

A thought of caution flashed through her mind. Had they heard that? Would they hurt her, or help? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, really. Her hand dropped away from her support and she looked up again towards them. Yes, one of them had caught sound of the falling stone, and now they both turned their horse’s heads towards her. Her clear blue eyes watched them, and she waited in silence, neither worried nor anxious for them to finally stop and address her.