Smoke, far off. Silver Valley was burning. Laura could see it in the distance as she was taking a break. Fortunately, the wind was blowing the other way, and did not carry the sounds over to this side of the valley. The screaming of men, women and children. One village burned. Another village burned. They had been lucky so far, spared from the barbarian raids. If they came - when they came - it would be death for the men, slavery for the children. Rape for the women. She had a long knife under her dress at all times, to make whatever barbarian tried to do this to her pay.
On days when she was not covered in dirt, wearing a sweaty, stained dress, with her dirty blonde hair tied back and hidden under a scarf, the young woman would probably have been considered pretty, in a rough way. Her skin was brown, the face ruggedly handsome, and she had the hard, muscular body of a peasant woman. She was certainly the most desired woman in her village, but something about her scared the men. They said that her large, dark brown eyes looked into peoples' souls. They said that she was a witch. She only laughed at this.
The work was harder than in the years before. Back then, the men had been on the fields, too, working with the women. Now, they had to guard the village's hastily erected palisade. It was a useless gesture, but it still made them all feel safer, somehow. Everyone knew that raiders would be stopped by it for exactly as long as it took them to laugh at it - but at least it made them feel like they were doing something. Curse the king. How many times had they asked, begged, pleaded with him for an expedition against the barbarians? No reply. They had to fend for themselves.
A scream intruded upon her treasonous thoughts: "RAID! RAID!". Her legs were running towards the palisade before her brain had even fully understood. It was happening... no time to be frightened. No time to think. Time to run.
On days when she was not covered in dirt, wearing a sweaty, stained dress, with her dirty blonde hair tied back and hidden under a scarf, the young woman would probably have been considered pretty, in a rough way. Her skin was brown, the face ruggedly handsome, and she had the hard, muscular body of a peasant woman. She was certainly the most desired woman in her village, but something about her scared the men. They said that her large, dark brown eyes looked into peoples' souls. They said that she was a witch. She only laughed at this.
The work was harder than in the years before. Back then, the men had been on the fields, too, working with the women. Now, they had to guard the village's hastily erected palisade. It was a useless gesture, but it still made them all feel safer, somehow. Everyone knew that raiders would be stopped by it for exactly as long as it took them to laugh at it - but at least it made them feel like they were doing something. Curse the king. How many times had they asked, begged, pleaded with him for an expedition against the barbarians? No reply. They had to fend for themselves.
A scream intruded upon her treasonous thoughts: "RAID! RAID!". Her legs were running towards the palisade before her brain had even fully understood. It was happening... no time to be frightened. No time to think. Time to run.
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