(I just like to write about them) Which, come to think of it, could be considered by some as a mistreatment *grin*, but thatīs an entirely different matter. Sorry, to disappoint, but thereīs no sex or violence in this story.

Comments are welcome at dayze11@hotmail.com

Copyright © 1999 by Day

The old woman sighed quietly as she slowly walked down to the river, carrying a heavy bucket in each hand. Her back was bent and her hands were rough from many years of hard labour, but she never complained. Why should she? Besides it wasnīt like there was anybody whoīd want to listen.

As she reached the river bank, she put the buckets down for a moment, trying to straighten out her aching back. She had been a real beauty once, everybody had said so, but now nothing was left to testament about that except her surprisingly clear and alive eyes. All her bones cried out in protest as she slowly kneeled down and filled first one, then a second bucket. A cold breath of air swept along the river and she shivered, drawing the coarse woollen shawl tighter around her slumped shoulders. It would be winter soon.

She wearily eyed the two filled buckets on the ground beside her, then looked back to the farm, measuring the distance. If only her husband had still been alive. She let out a deep breath and reached down for the buckets.

"Let me get those."

The widow shrank back from the sound of the unexpected voice and turned to see a woman stand a few feet away, a questioning look on her face.

"No, itīs okay." She spoke carefully, not wanting to offend the stranger who had so suddenly appeared. "I can handle it."

"Please," the woman took a step forward. "Let me help."

When she noticed the uncertain look in the old womanīs eyes, she smiled reassuringly.

"Donīt worry, I wonīt hurt you. I just want to help."

The widow looked into the strangerīs eyes, then her gaze strayed to the lines in the womanīs face and the greying hair.

"Are you sure? I mean, they are very heavy. Maybe you should-."

"I can handle them," the stranger interrupted and the old woman gasped in surprise as the she took a bucket in each hand and lifted them from the ground without problems.

"Where to?"

"Oh," the widow smiled quickly and pointed towards the farm. "This way."

The stranger subconsciously shortened her steps and the old woman picked up a slightly faster pace without noticing it, and side by side they walked back to the farm. The widow opened the door and the woman strode inside.

"Where do you want them?"

"Just put them close to the fireplace, Iīm going to make some soup." She hesitated briefly and looked at the stranger who was studying the simple kitchen with obvious interest. "Would you like some?"

The woman shifted her gaze to the widow. "Sorry?"

"Would you like some soup?"

"Uh," the stranger looked a little uncertain. "I donīt want to trouble you."

"You wonīt," the old woman suddenly smiled. "You helped with buckets, itīs only fair."

"Well?in that case."

She sat down and watched the widow as she filled a pot with water and added vegetables and small slices of meat.

"Do you always invite complete strangers in for dinner?" She asked the old woman, her voice curious but friendly.

The widow smiled to herself and place the pot over the fire before turning around.

"No, I donīt."

"Why now then?"

The stranger looked at the old woman as she sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"My husband died exactly a year ago today," the widow answered sadly. "I guess I was just missing him a little more today, feeling a little more alone." She smiled at the woman, "And then you happened to show up."

"You donīt have any children?"

"

No," the smile left the old womanīs face. "Iīve always wanted to have children, but?but I guess it just wasnīt meant to be." Her eyes became unfocused as memories washed over her, then she gave the stranger a pale smile.

"What about you? Do you have any children?"

"I?" The woman looked into the widowīs eyes for a moment. "I?I have a son, but I havenīt seen him for a long time."

Sadness showed briefly on the strangerīs face and before the old woman could stop herself, she reached out and gently took the womanīs hand. The stranger looked startled, but didnīt withdraw her hand. The widow was surprised to feel the hard, calloused palm. The woman before her didnīt look like a farmerīs wife or one whoīd spent her life living of the earth. But the bronze skin and the tiny wrinkles around her eyes testified of a life spent outdoors, and the widow felt a brief sting of envy.

As if guessing the old womanīs thoughts, the stranger spoke quietly, "I used to be a warrior. Iīve spent most of my life with a sword in my hand. " She smiled bitterly, "If not all of it."

The old woman looked around, but didnīt see any weapons.

"Iīve buried them," the stranger continued softly.

"Why?" The widow asked.

The woman shrugged, but was unable to look away and instead looked into the friendly green eyes of the widow.

"Iīve spent my life killing people for no other reason than they were in my way, or because I simply wanted to," she paused, trying to gauge the other womanīs reaction, but as the expression on the widowīs face didnīt change, she continued. "A few days ago, Iīd had enough. I gave up control of my army and left."

"Just like that?" The widow asked, her voice neither condemning nor underplaying what the warrior had said.

The stranger smiled briefly, "Not quite, but something like it."

The old woman studied the woman before her, and for the first time she noticed the ageing, but still strong body covered with scars. Some old and pale, others fresh and fiery red. Her eyes went to the long hair that was more grey than black, and then her gaze moved on to look into the bluest eyes sheīd ever seen.

"How did you manage to lead an army at your age?"

The warrior smiled, "I have many skills."

The widow rose from the chair and walked over to the pot. She took two bowls from a shelve, poured soup into them and grabbed two spoons before walking back to the table. For awhile they ate in silence then the old woman looked back at the stranger.

"Iīve always wondered what it would be like to be a warrior like you."

Her tone was wistful and the warrior looked up from her soup.

"Why?"

The widow smiled a little embarrassed, "As a young girl, I always wanted to see the world. I couldnīt imagine anything better than to experience great adventures, and travel to places so different from my village that Iīd begin to think that one of them had to be a figment of my imagination."

"What happened?" The stranger asked softly.

"I grew up." The old woman looked into the warriorīs eyes. "One day when I was a young girl, a warlord captured several young women from the village. Including my sister."

The widow spoke in a calm and detached voice that indicated she was speaking about an old pain.

"I would have been one of them if I hadnīt stayed behind to listen to a passing bard. Instead I was married to a childhood friend shortly afterwards and?" She paused briefly, "And Iīve been here ever since."

For a long moment nobody spoke, then the warrior cleared her throat.

"It sounds like a peaceful life to me? A content life."

Green eyes looked into hers.

"Peaceful? I suppose you could say that. Content?"

The widow suddenly realized she had taken the strangerīs hand again and she abruptly let go, both immediately missing the contact.

"Yes," she continued, still holding the warriorīs gaze, "I have been?content with my life. Iīve had a husband who loved me and neighbours who respected me." A smile flickered across her face. "Yes, my life has been?content."

"I tried to live a life like that once," the stranger suddenly said. "I tried to change my ways several years ago, and I left my army, but?" She trailed off.

"Yes?"

"I couldnīt do it." The warrior smiled bitterly. "I was too weak. I tried, but I didnīt have the strength and I went back." She looked away and stared out of the window. "I failed."

They ate the rest of their soup in silence, then the stranger rose from the table.

"Thank you for the soup, it was delicious."

The widow smiled at the compliment before walking over to stand next to the warrior.

"Where are you heading now?"

The stranger shrugged, "I donīt know. Maybe Iīll go home, see if my motherīs still alive." She grinned humourlessly, "Not that sheīd want to see me." She looked back at the widow. "And you? Youīll be all right on your own?"

The old woman nodded, "Yes, my neighbourīs son usually comes by once in awhile to help out. Heīs in the field today otherwise heīd have fetched the water."

She fell silent and the two women looked into each otherīs eyes for a long time, unable to break the contact. Time passed slowly as they stood in front of the door, caught up in the moment and each other, then they simultaneously looked away.

"I?I?" The warrior mumbled. "I have to go."

The widow watched in silence as the stranger walked out of the door and disappeared out into the gloomy dusk, and she sighed quietly. Then she closed the door and threw a couple of logs on the fire. Winter would be coming soon.