Copyright 1999 by My Warrior.

"There is not enough room in this world for my pain.."

-The Indigo Girls

I don't know how long I have been standing in front of your funeral pyre. I only know it seems like an eternity but, maybe only seconds have passed; I have no idea. I have been rooted to this spot since I lit the torch what must be hours ago. I could not bear to look away for even a moment, so I have not moved. There was nothing harder than igniting that first spark of fire in the first place. It took me a lifetime to believe that you were actually gone.

The acrid smoke stings my eyes, and I watch the dying pile of twigs and branches glow. There is nothing left before me but my own pain. It encompasses me like the blackest night. I cannot run from it. I close my eyes, only to open them again, hoping that the next time I look up, it will be your smiling face that I see, not the destitute pile of embers at my feet. My ears, used to the sound of your animated storytelling and contagious laughter, cannot adjust to the awful silence, the crackling of the fire, or the lonely call of a distant owl.

I know that I must move soon; it is late and the sheer weight of my emotions closes in around me. Argo waits patiently, her dinner late and her pack still sitting atop her back. Perhaps if I tend to the menial but necessary chores, it will occupy my mind for a time. I set the pack on the ground and turn the horse out to graze nearby. The pots and pans make a familiar clanking noise as I set them aside and poke around for the bedrolls. I grab mine; unable to comprehend that you will not need yours tonight. But..I do. I lay out both of them, side by side, just like they have been for the past 4 summers. I cannot bring myself to keep yours in the pack. I even set your staff on your side of the blankets, as though somehow adhering to the normal routine will make it so.

Your bedroll has your scent. That unmistakable mixture of lilac and a clean, soapy smell that I can only attribute as being uniquely you. I draw a measure of comfort from this as I pull your blanket around me and pretend, just for a moment, that this is all some kind of a cruel joke, that in another moment you will be right back. But I know it is not, and I know you will not..cannot..return.

I cannot seem to stop the flow of tears. For a moment I think I have some measure of control, but I am only fooling myself. Gods, I miss you already! My heart feels as though it has been ripped from my chest. My stomach is like lead; I cannot shake the sickening grief that holds me captive. An endless supply of weapons at my disposal, a mental arsenal of skills, and yet..there is nothing..NOTHING..I can do.

A particularly stubborn branch is the only thing left burning, it crackles and snaps and holds my attention for a moment as I glance back in the direction of the pyre. Smoke rises up into the still night, the only sound now is that of my shattering soul and that is so loud that I can't hear myself think. Why?? I shout, breaking the quiet. I know there is no answer for this question.

Gods, I miss you, I think for perhaps the hundredth time in as many minutes. I miss the sound of your voice, I miss the sound of your movements around the camp, I miss?everything.

Somewhere inside my soul a light still flickers and dances across my heart. Like a candle in the window that someone has left burning, I know you will always be with me. There is nothing on this earth that can take that from me and I will cling to it when I think the weight of my loss will force me to my knees.

Suddenly the silence is too much and I cannot bear my own grief. A low wail erupts from my throat and sings to the night, giving voice to that emptiness that cannot be described in words.

I am being shaken. Shaken? Have I fallen asleep? What's going on?

"Xena? Xe, wake up..gods, come on?Xe.."

I sit bolt upright in my bedroll and look around me, bewildered. Like a vision, you are standing over me, cradling my face in your hands as my tears fall. I can't believe I trust my voice to speak, but this is almost too much.

"Gabrielle..?"

"Are you alright?"

"What??" I trail off, but realize with sudden clarity that I have been dreaming. Dreaming? Dreaming? DREAMING!

I leap up from the ground and in one fluid motion, have gathered the surprised bard into my arms and am swinging her around like a schoolchild at recess. Something akin to pure, untouched laughter erupts from my throat and I throw my head back to exclaim,

"I was DREAMING!"

The bard is looking at me with some measure of amusement now. She shakes her head.

"Have you been in the nutbread?" She grins, and the green eyes sparkle. I think I have never before witnessed such a beautiful sight.

I set the bard down gently, but refuse to relinquish my hold on her hands.

"Gabrielle," I say, although what words could possibly follow to describe this moment I do not know.

"Yes?"

"Tell me a story!"

"You..you want a story..now? Xe, it's the middle of the night. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Never better." A truer statement has never been spoken from these lips.

"What kind of a story?" she says, still unsure, but clearly delighted by the request. I can see the wheels turning, the bard in her soul gearing up to display her craft. I marvel for a moment how this woman can captivate an entire room in seconds, or a single soul in half that time. How she speaks to her audience with such animation, such emotion, such feeling, reaching in and touching you in places you didn't know you could be reached. I wonder if I have ever told her this before. I wonder if she knows how much I admire this, how proud I am. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't realized that she is still waiting for an answer.

"You choose one. I like them all." I smile.

"Okay," she says, mentally running down the list. "But, Xe..?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I love it when you want to hear something," she says, smiling. I wonder if I have ever told her what a beautiful smile she has.

The bard takes a breath. "But why now?"

I know I am not capable of putting my emotions into words. So I do the best that I can.

"I missed your voice when I was sleeping." I say, knowing how ridiculous it sounds but I have nothing else to offer.

I lean back against a tree trunk and settle in to listen to the tale that my bard has begun to weave. I know I was only asleep for about an hour, but it seems like a thousand lifetimes. When she is finished I will tell her that which I should have said before, in the hundred little moments that I felt something-joy, appreciation, pride-and the stoic warrior in me let it pass. The voice that I missed in my dreams floats up to my ears now in sweet reality and I vow, here and now, that I will miss nothing else.