‘He’s home!’ That’s all she could think to herself as she watched him walk over the hills. She stood at the door wiping her hands on her apron and then used it to wipe her eyes. “He’s home,” she repeated, this time out loud to the little girl who was playing in the grass and pointed up the hill toward him. The little one hadn’t met her father yet, he had been gone so long, she hadn't even been born when he left. Now she stood, her blond her catching the breeze, and her blue eyes fixed on him, the same eyes as his. And she ran, her little legs tangling in her skirt, she fell, picked herself up, and ran harder. He stopped, and watched her run toward him and got down on one knee, sword at his side, and spread his arms wide. She ran into them, grabbing onto his neck and he picked her up and held her. Just held her. “Well, little lassie,” he said as tears filled his eyes. He carried her back home. She watched from the door. The same place she stood when she watched him leave. She watched and fell even more in love with this man than she ever felt possible. This man carrying their daughter. And her heart filled to brimming so that it cascaded from her eyes and down her face. She didn’t even try to hide the tears. He stood before her and swiped a tear from her cheek. “My love, my lass,” he said before she wrapped her arms around both of them, holding on to her beloved. That night she watched as he slept in his chair before the fire. The darling girl snuggling on his lap, her little fingers entwined in his hair which had been threaded with silver and watched him as he smiled in his sleep. Her heart was home. She kept watch the whole night through.
Image: Pagan Legacy by Ilmarinen Kowal. All rights to Artist