Journey of a Legendary Warrior

The warrior woman had left the last of the villages behind two days before, with a strong measure of relief. Amazons so rarely traveled alone outside their nation that their passing was certain to draw attention. She, being not only tall and athletically-built, but bearing the tell-tale slenderness, dark hair and sparkling eyes of her half-dryad heritage, could not help but attract notice.

She had stayed overnight in the inn of the last village she had passed through, and had sighed to herself in resignation as she sat warming herself by the fire, sipping occasionally from a mug of ale and listening idly to the speculative whispers of the other inn patrons around her. She smiled a little; her dryad inheritance had endowed her with an over-keen sense of hearing, and she could easily hear what the other occupants of the inn's public area were saying.

She almost laughed outright when one of the men confided sotto voce to his companion that he had heard most Amazons were at least eight feet tall, and was he sure the woman sitting quietly before the fire was really an Amazon. To which his companion had replied, of course she was - all Amazons dressed in that fashion, and just look at that fearsome war staff that lay on the floor, close enough for her to snatch it up if the need arose. The first man had quietly confessed that he would not be giving the tall warrior woman an excuse to wield her weapon; he'd heard too many tales...

Resting comfortably, she considered the strange, undeniable compulsion that burned within her, carrying her forward to an unknown destination. The Amazon Queen had merely listened and nodded when she had gone to her and tried to explain the urgent and compelling summons that she knew she had to obey. Her Queen had, in the end, said only one word, "Go!"

She wasted as little time as possible as she traveled from dawn to nightfall. Her beautiful intricately-worked war staff was serving duty now as a walking staff to assist her over difficult patches. Her sword was sheathed at her back, together with a small travel pack containing a goat skin filled with water, and some dried meat and journey cake. A hooded cloak of wolf-pelt wrapped securely around her kept out the cool morning wind. She raised her head to the sun, and threw back the hood of her cloak to drink in the fresh, intoxicating scent of a world waking to morning.

Small, many-hued birds sang their songs, flitting from tree to tree, while on the ground the four-footed brothers and sisters-in-fur greeted the intrusion of the half-dryad with only passing interest, knowing instinctively that she presented no harm to them; that she was, somehow, part of the thick, verdant forest itself, and that her spirit reached out to embrace and protect them. Her brilliant eyes were bright and she smiled to herself as she moved through the wood, occasionally pausing to run her hands lovingly over the surface of an oak or a beech tree. Deep within the majestic giants, she could sense forest sisters still in their long winter sleep; not quite awake, but beginning now to slowly awaken at the insistent, joyous call of the new season. Her dryad heart rejoiced and paid homage to the beauty surrounding her, but she didn't stop; the summons within kept urging her forward.

Hour by hour she advanced further on her mission, at times sheltering in small caves vacated by their furred occupants, or tree-bowers. To augment her meager travel supplies, on occasion she picked berries and dug for roots which she knew would provide a safe meal. She had come across a clear, fast-flowing stream and spent a few fruitless hours trying to catch a fish for a change in diet. At the end of the day, she reflected ruefully, that it was really a shame that fishing wasn't one of her several talents. A double shame, because she rather enjoyed fish.

The terrain around her had changed. Now she was traveling through rugged, uneven territory, her fur-lined boots barely keeping out the cold of the snow. One bad step brought wrenching pain, but still she moved onwards and ever upwards. At night she considered herself lucky to chance upon a cave in which to shelter.

The next days' march brought her to a rapidly flowing river and some sense of renewed inner peace. Somewhere around mid-morning she found a grassy stretch of bank beneath a large sheltering willow, and sat her cloak, travel bag and war staff beside her while she removed her boots and soaked her feet in the cool, clear water. It was a quiet spot, not yet touched by the summer buzz of cicadas. But it was warm enough for dragonflies to dart industriously about over the water. Occasionally an animal would come down the opposite bank to drink from the stream. She sat still and silent, engrossed in the quiet activity around her, her mind sifting through a multitude of thoughts, all of them centered around her mission. Absently she pulled her boots over dried feet. She sighed, idly removing the thin leather strip that held her hair in a ponytail and braiding her hair into a long, tight plait. Knowing that her destination was near, she gathered her strength, and forged ahead.

The forest which surrounded much of the city was a cool, peaceful haven for the half-dryad. She walked quietly among the trees when possible, breathing in the clean, natural scent of the forest. It calmed her spirit. She walked until she was out of sight and sound of the city. The pain in her foot was almost unbearable. Standing in a small clearing, arms hanging loose at her sides, fists balled, she raised her head and cried, "I blame KITCH!" in a loud, angry voice.


At length, she slowly shook her head and headed back to the city, deep in thought. She was sitting deep in thought, her head bowed. Her face was filled with pain. Her whole body was held stiffly, as if bearing a wound too deep to be borne. She carefully sat upright, taking a deep breath as she did so. A warm tingling had filled her, and was slowly fading. When she looked around, her eyes widened. The journey had ended.