Moonlight shone through the little window, striking upon the countenance of the figure laid upon the bed. In slumber, her face seemed peaceful. Her brow was pale and smooth, her full lips slightly parted. The coverlet over her breast rose and fell with the slow, ponderous tempo of life.
The world was alive with the colorful glow of springtime. A meadow stretched wide and far before her. The heavy clothes of winter were gone. A light, airy dress caressed her skin, and her feet were bare in the sun-warmed grass. Her hand rested upon her swollen belly, and she smiled. She could feel the life stirring within her. The life of her unborn daughter. A wave of love, more poignant than anything she had ever felt before in all her years, swept over her, and she lifted her face towards the sky and wept tears of joy.
"My daughter," said a man's voice, and at the sound of it, she could not open her eyes to see the golden meadow any longer.
"My daughter...her life was taken," he said.
The slumbering woman stirred. A tiny crease formed between her closed eyes. Her fingers twitched.
The sun's light went out all at once. It was evening now. She stood on the edge of an open space of green grass, and before her was a small cottage. Its windows glowed, cozy and inviting. Beyond the house rose a city, dark and mighty, but with many lamps and windows shining in the gloom.
"My daughter," said a man's voice. It was not the same man, but another.
The door of the cottage opened, and a tiny figure was silhouetted in the firelight.
"Can we play?" said the child, in a sweet, lilting voice. "Can I play with your little girl? She'd like my toys!"
The woman's head tossed from one side to the other. A short, frantic breath was expelled from her throat. The moon passed behind a cloud, and the bedroom fell into shadow.
"My daughter," said a man's voice.
She tilted her head back to look up at the man. He seemed so tall. She felt very small. A child herself.
"Now, what have you done to your dress?" he asked, leaning down, a towering, black shape without a face, but his voice was known.
She glanced down at herself as he bent towards her. The front of her dress was shredded into ribbons. Surprise and shame descended over her like a blanket. She could not remember how it had gotten torn.
A door slammed. Blackness enshrouded the scene.
The woman rolled over, grabbing onto her pillow and clutching it to her chest.
She could feel her hands twisting together as they often did when she felt uncertain. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. The familiar rooms of the large farmhouse spread out before her, and her panic ceased. She was home. Standing in the kitchen, looking through the hallway and into the sitting room. It had all been a dream. She had never left Rohan at all.
"My daughter," said a woman's voice.
Turning to the sound, she beheld her mother's cool, pale blue eyes.
"If only you had stayed," the old woman said, shaking her head sadly, her features sharpening with disapproval.
"What, mother?" pressed the girl. Her voice was so young. Pure and sweet. Untainted by long travels, fear, loneliness, grief.
"Where is your daughter now?" her mother asked sharply, and an accusing finger jabbed at the young woman's belly. "If you hadn't married him, you would have her in your arms at this very moment! My granddaughter!"
The girl looked down at her body. Beyond the swell of her breast, her belly swept inward, smooth and flat. Confusion wracked her mind. She was too young to marry. She had never married anyone. She had never left home at all.
A quiet, tremulous whimper welled up in the woman's chest. Her body shivered faintly as if she were cold. The candle on her night table sputtered and went out.
"My daughter," said a man's voice.
Brynleigh turned to see who spoke. The sun was setting behind a row of hills, and the sky was washed with pink and gold. The brooding-faced man was there, looking away from her. A warm wind tousled his yellow hair. She followed his gaze and saw a tiny girl in the distance, frolicking with a pair of boisterous hounds. High peals of sweet laughter drifted on the evening breeze.
"My daughter," said another man's voice.
Her eyes swiveled around to find the source of the words. On her opposite side stood the grey-eyed man. He, too, watched the playful child for a moment, before shifting his eyes to her. "They took her life."
"I know," she heard herself saying, and her voice was heavy, rich with sorrow. "They took mine, too."
Brynleigh awoke with a start, her arms and legs spasming, and she gave a sharp cry. Her eyes flew open and she looked frantically about the unfamiliar room, unable to place where she was for several moments. Strands of pale gold hair clung to her damp brow, and she shivered with cold sweat. Delirious with sleep and confusion, the tendrils of the dream still slithering about her, she sank back onto the bed and clutched the blanket tightly, listening to her pulse hammer in her ears.
