Reflection

My eyes open, and for a time I simply lie there, staring at the surface of a blanket, and the entire world is rocking, and for some reason I can not for the life of me understand it. The snort of a horse draws my attention and I shift my gaze towards my feet, and I see my little black mare walking behind me. Odd. Why is she walking?

It dawns on me that I am moving, and my horse is tethered behind the wagon that bears me home. Right. I forgot. I feel like shit. That is when I try to move and every muscle, every inch of me screams at my brain to STOP DOING THAT! And so, obediently, I lie still, letting the wagon rock me back to sleep.

A whip cracks out of the dark and cuts into my skin and I scream!! It is no use, the shackles bear me to the stone and there is no escape. Questions come, endless, probing questions, and the whip flies, again..and again...and again! A rock sends the wagon into a tussling jolt and I moan in my agony and once more I am staring at a blanket, tossed over a pile of hay, and the tops of passing trees as we navigate our way around the edge of Blackwood forest.

I am taken through the city in the dead of night, and a messenger is sent to fetch my commander. It occurs to me as I groggily spend the time weaving in and out of consciousness, that he was going to be pissed about this. I doubt I will see my feet to the floor sooner than I week, and somehow that just annoys the hell out of me. I hear the two men sent along with me talking to each other, their hushed whispers exchanging theories about exactly what had happened to me. I did not offer my point of view to the conversation. Let them talk.

It is some time later when I hear my commander's deep voice, looming somewhere over me, and yet I truly lacked the interest to open my eyes and so I left him to rant at the men bearing me home. When my eyes finally do open again, it is because of the tearing pain that rips my wounds open and sends a fresh soaking of crimson into the bandages. I am being carried into my home, over the shoulder of someone who's face I have yet to see. He is gentle when he puts me down, though he seems relieved to be done with me and hurries from the room. I am just as glad to see him go, and I forget him entirely as my eyes close again.

A blur of a woman arrives, floating around my room like a ghost, talking to me as she pokes and prods at my wounds, driving me to a fury. However, I am too tired to complain beyond a soft groan or a grimace of protest. For a week I lie this way, slowly regaining my strength, allowing my mind plenty of time to play over the events that brought me to my unexpected leave of absence.

And so it goes, until one day, I place my feet to the floor, stand up under my own strength and look at the woman who has nursed me dutifully, and tell her, 'thank you, your services are no longer required'. She nods, rises to her feet with a graceful curtsy and collects her things without a word, departing with a small nodded bow. I collapse back to my bed and struggle to wrap my covers around me, my facade having worked just long enough to get rid of that ever present invasion of privacy. Now then, perhaps I can finally get some sleep.