The fresh breeze of a pale dawn rippled through the streets of Dale Town, rustling the leaves and mixing with the pale sounds of late night drunkards and early morning risers. One of the latter of these was a teenage girl crowned by a ginger mop of thick hair and carrying an oversized basket of apples. Faintly, the sounds of singing could be heard to come from her, the words travelling on the wind:
Oh blessed morning harken to me,
Where dawn and birds sing and be free,
I have no care and care not for thee,
So let me sing and make merry!
Skirting through the market holders as they set up their wares, she wriggled through a small gap in between two houses, the basket wobbling dangerously in her hands. Pausing a moment to right it, she would lift it up and balance it on her head, holding it there with both her hands.
Oh blessed noontide harken to me,
Where sun shines bright and playfully,
I laugh with joy and dance gracefully,
So let me sing and make merry!
She skips along to her song, her cares forgotten. With a smile strewn across her gentle, innocent face, she does a twirl of happiness, simply overjoyed to be alive it would seem. Miraculously, the apples remain in the basket despite her enthusiastic capering. Something of a skill it would seem, as though she is used to partaking in this task and possibly with these high spirits too.
Oh blessed post-noon harken to me,
Where leaves are green and good to see,
I love the trees and they all love me,
So let me sing and make merry!
Raising dust with her movements, she grins to herself, her brown eyes moving to gaze down at her feet rather than where she is going, seemingly oblivious to a man coming the other way, only realising he is there after capering into him. Her quick hand moves down from her apple basket to him to steady herself and she blushes sweetly. A profuse apology placates the smiling gentleman who seems rather pleased to see someone in such a merry mood and momentarily they are both on their way. The girl moves her hand back up to the apple basket, slipping a freshly acquired coin purse inside and skips onwards.
Oh blessed evening harken to me,
Where shadows draw long and creepy,
I light up the candles, dark fears me!
So let me sing and make merry!
But only if the dark did fear her! Older now, she opened her eyes from sweet sleep to nothing but blackness, the darkened room of someone else’s abode. Dread shadows played across the walls and sucked in on her as she shivered and sweated in fever, the pain from the past months of torture drawing the life from her as sickness prevailed. In the corner her child slept sweetly, the infant thinner than it should be, his mother weak and caught up in the endless games of the power hungry and cruel. A brooding blonde presence watched over the scene, his piercing blue gaze seeming to penetrate the darkness itself as it was caught by the sounds of a small voice singing from the sick bed:
Oh blessed night time harken to me,
Where fear strikes deep and cuts through me,
I never felt so lost and lonely,
Please let me sing and make merry.
