We said farewell to our kinsmen last night with the lighting of pyres in the center of the village near the mead-hall. I knew some of the fallen by name and face, but not intimately. I feel selfish for being thankful for this. Others are heartbroken. And while I have had my share of being broken with grief, I still can't muster a good reason why I should not suffer as they do.
Foolish thoughts, I know.
Gamferth was there beside me, and allowed me to lean against his side while Captain Denholm spoke of honor and duty and sacrifice. I caught a glimpse of Waelden and Yllfa standing with Ethel from afar. It didn't seem right to march over and interrupt them with a greeting. In the darkness, they appeared to be huddled close together; father, mother, and daughter.
My mind was all over the place while I stood and listened. I could not help thinking of Conrob. He was not of our blood, but he was still mine, and I had lost him, but there was no funeral, no pyre, no speech of soaring, comforting words. It felt odd and strange to stand beside widows whose husbands were being lauded and remembered. But no one remembered mine.
So many years now. Four years and counting. And still, I miss him more than anything. I've never loved anyone else as I loved him. I don't think there will be another for me. He was the great love of my life.
After the pyres were lit and words spoken and music played, we all retired to the Roaring Dragon. I sat with Gamferth and we talked a little. But it is difficult for me to detach my actions from my heart, and my heart was heavy, thus I could not laugh or sing or drink away my sorrow. How long has it been since someone made me laugh? A true, free laugh - the kind that comes from the pit of your belly and leaves you breathless. I wonder if I will ever laugh like that again. I hope so.
I heard Duncadda's name in the tavern, but I did not see him. I thought I overheard a voice saying that he had gone away, but I cannot be certain. I hope it is not true. He is a part of our village, he is like family. Perhaps I will visit his house and see if there is any sign of him. If he is gone away, I will pray that it is not forever.
A man I did not recognize joined us while we ate and drank, and played a few songs in honor of those we had lost. Perhaps he is a visiting relative of one of the families who suffered a loss. The melodies were gentle and sweet, and I felt comforted to hear them. If I see him in the village, I must thank him for it.
I am glad of the coming summer, and the mares in foal, and all the work that rises up when winter is passed. I take comfort in the monotony of routine, and the sounds and scents of the stable and my hoofed friends who do not ask questions nor demand that I speak about what I think and feel. When the sun is hot on my scalp and the sweat runs into my eyes and my back aches from my labors, I feel whole and alive and real. It is when night falls and the world grows quiet and the chores are finished and the only "sound" is that of my own thoughts, that I sometimes feel like a shadow rather than a person.
