I would that I could walk rightly again. I am a limp, a cripple. A shield-maiden of little use who has been cast into fate against her will. We are come to a town named Bree and found ourselves with no home to life, instead we live in a camp, lost. My sisters are mourning and Aegaldred's complaining has done us no good since we have arrived. The town of Bree lingers within our gaze and we haven't a clue how we shall live in their. Aegaldred does not know what to do, but how am I in the right when I do not know either. What use is am I to them now that my wound is not yet healed? Everything that I know has me use my legs, and never has there been a day that I would curse them so.
A few days ere we left to come to this place in a hurry I found myself upon a battle-field, we won, as we ever have, yet not without loss. Though my loss was greater, for I would have rather been dead to have my leg cut upon such a way that I could not walk rightly, or run. This is how I came to be here, to my incompetence in the battlefield do I owe my suffering.
Woe betide me, but I will ask for no pity, for it is not deserved. A soldier should never receive it, but instead receive praise for his or her wounds, for she must endure the pain and suffering, and now when the suffering is greater I will find no praise. Not from this lot. Once Aegaldred ceased complaining he often went into to town to make some coin, however I doubted his success. I was not wrong doubt, even when need was dire, but Aegaldred is no man of great responsibility, though he tries. It is the reason that he is here and I can applaud him for it. I just would that he will make the right choices, I fear that his manhood would be put to great trial here, and whether or whether not he will succeed I cannot guess nor say.
Were Meadwine here then he would know what to do, were Meadwine here then I would not be in this mess. This is his fault, all of it, even the wound upon my leg is his. He disappeared and I have not seen him for long. I would not have guessed such treachery of him, but even so I do not doubt that his reason is a worthy one? I know it, I learnt of what happened to him, but I will tell no one. He disappeared to find a woman, a wench who will give him a child. He betrayed us for this, and who am I to begrudge him this? I only would that he would have said aught ere he had gone. Why could he not have told me when ever he and I have never held secrets from one another? This is greatest treachery, and now I wonder what fate has become of you. I hope that you are content with your choice, Meadwine, for I will not be.
Continuation: Life as a Refugee - Meadowyn's Account II: Léafa
