The rain fell down in sheets, seeping over the thatched roof with small leaks and a disgruntled rumble of thunder. It crept into the earth, past the thumping of an axe, where my eldest boy was still chopping away at the woods outdoors. Despite the poor weather, the crowing of a misguided rooster could be heard, as it mistook the dim line of gray that still lingered on the horizon as dawn instead of falling evening, declaring its confusion to the skyline in the distance against the war-drum rain.
It was quite near darkness in my little household, as I brewed tea on the hearth in its little black kettle. The tea was chamomile for my daughter Christiana, who had taken ill from playing in the rain with Geoffrey, my oldest, and though her cough had subsided but recently, I was taking no chances.
I longed tiredly for my husband to come home, and help me tend the tiny hovel, inwardly praying to Gaea, Demeter, and Persephone that he was still alright.
Edmund’s letter still sat on the table, yellowing and water-stained from its long journey through the Carriers to here. It had arrived almost a week ago from the Southern Front, where Edmund was stationed as a general for the Alwood troops. His corps was called the Liath Lámh, or Gray Hand, and they were a stable, able-bodied crew of young men, but that meant nothing in times as dire as these.
Rubbing my hands off on a towel after pausing to lift the top of the kettle, I stared down at the letter, then lifted it upwards to read in the light of the dim lantern above my head, hanging from a chain Edmund had constructed. His untidy scrawl was a bold, ink-splattered print that distinguished his haste or eagerness, I could never tell, and his words spoke of his fierceness and his love.
“Stelrayne is proving more difficult than expected, dearest heart. Just yesterday the daemons of the West and Kaizen advanced, slaughtering half of Kay’s troops alone. They were accompanied by the scorpion-men I mentioned in my previous letter, but fret not--we’ve found well enough that fire and Greek fire alike can quell these savage beasts. But I digress from much more important matters, and these subjects are unfit for your dainty eyes.” I paused to roll said ‘dainty eyes’ heavenwards with a wry smile, and shook my head, glancing back down at the letter. “And I must depart soon, my precious C., but before I do, give my best to the children. Take care of them for me, angel--I shall return once these curs are defeated. With utmost devotion, your loyal,
-E.B.”
  I stared at the final words, lingering on them in the silence of the rain for a moment, before raising the crumpled parchment to my lips and pressing my mouth against it softly, before setting it down on the table with a fond pat, trying to smooth out its many crinkles.
The door burst open, and Geoffrey tumbled in the door, soaking wet and covered in mud. His golden-brown hair was streaked with rain, plastered damply to his freckled face, wide, hazel eyes gleaming, his skinny arms clamped around a pile of little logs.
“Mother!” He said, his voice a gleeful crack of pre-adolescent pride, “Look! I finished! I chopped all of these--it’s enough, right?” He thrust the armful of sadly pathetic-looking logs my way, dripping water with the motion. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, and reached out to lightly touch the top of his head.
“Of course it is!” I said lightly. “It’s absolutely perfect.”  Geoffrey beamed up at me, then threw the logs down, rubbing at his mud-caked features before bolting the door shut for the night, still dripping water.
“Now,” I added, kissing his brow as he turned around. “Why don’t you go upstairs and dry off? After getting cleaned up, while you’re at it.”
“Do I gawda?” Geoffrey asked, wrinkling up his button nose in mild consternation at me. I rolled my eyes heavenwards yet again and gently cuffed the back of his head, urging him towards the stairs as he cackled and scampered away, taking them two at a time.
As he disappeared up the steps, silence fell again, and alleviated by the momentary calm that settled over the house, I reached over to take the kettle off of the hearth, setting it on the table by the loaf of black bread and Edmund’s letter, turning to grab a wooden cup from the cupboard.
There was a particularly sharp, bright flash of lightning and boom of commanding thunder, shortly followed by the frantic scrabbling of feet and skid of a body as it hurled itself down the stairs.
Exhaling through my nose and knowing what was coming, I barely had time to turn around as a little blonde-haired figure barreled into me, arms outstretched. I blinked, instinctively reaching out to wrap my arms around him tightly, squeezing his shaking figure gently.
“Simon?” I asked idly, reaching upwards from the hug to stroke his downy hair. “What’s the matter, dear?”
Trembling, my youngest said nothing, merely pressed closer to me and buried his face against my stomach. Sighing to myself, I continued patting his head, soothing him as best I could, as I guided him over to the table and sat him down, drawing the little one onto my lap.
“Now, Simon,” I said patiently, taking a guess as I patiently tilted his head towards me to peer into his face. “What did I tell you about the thunder and lightning?”
Simon’s round, gray eyes grew rounder still, as he stared at me owlishly, searching my face for explanation. His tiny nose crinkled in thought, and little brow furrowed, as his arms continued to hug me as best he could around the middle.
“About the sky-father, Kaellus, and the battle of the wind daemons…?” I coaxed, trying to see if he recalled. Simon shook his head, hair falling into his face, and I grinned, drawing him close to whisper the old rhyme to him in its briefest form, knowing inwardly that the tea would grow cold, and Chrissy might fall asleep before I could give it to her.
“Well,” I began, then cleared my throat, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“When the mighty Kaellus took the skies,
  The winds he seized to make him fly,
  And from the daemons wrested a cry;
  ‘Kaellus, you shall fall!’
  And Kaellus hearing this began,
To throw his lightning ‘cross the land,
While the heavens trembled in his hand,
‘The daemons shall lose all!’
The great sky wept to see them fight,
And shed its tears to their awful plight,
Long they fought that summer night--
And they’ve been at war ever since.”
“But did Kaellus win?” Simon asked, as I caught my breath, feeling my heart momentarily falter, as it often did in my middle years. “Did he make the bad things--daemons--go ‘way?”
“Well, nobody knows, dear,” I said, voice somewhat strained, but, kissing his brow, I smiled and patted his back. “There are rainstorms still. Perhaps when the thunderstorms are gone, and there are only clear skies by night, that will mean good has triumphed, and Kaellus has won.”
“The daemons can’t get me, can they?”
His words resounded oddly in my head as I stared down at him, startled by the strangely somber expression on his face; a look far too serious for a four-year-old to bear. He looked older, for a moment, and there seemed to be a momentary graveness to his wide, gray eyes, unlike any I had seen on a child’s face. I studied his expression, trying to discern what it meant, and finally just dismissed it gently as a child’s nightmares brought too close to reality, and offered him a broad smile instead of a questioning glance.
“Good heavens and green earth, child, no! The daemons cannot leave the sky. Besides--I am here, your brother and sister are here, Kaellus is here--we’re all going to protect you, little Simon. You have nothing to fear.”
The door, latched shut tightly, jumped and rattled in a strong gust of wind. Simon inhaled sharply and buried his face back against me. I re-wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes tiredly. How was I to help him rest tonight, so that I might take care of Chrissy, then perhaps rest as well?
An old tune came to me, one deep in my heart that I had heard my mother, Kaellus rest her, sing to me when I was sick or frightened. Her mellow voice moved through me, and I parted my lips, rocking Simon gently back and forth, hugging him close to offer my warmth to him, singing gently into his ear.
“Tu, ra lu, ra lura…tu, ra lu, ra li…tu, ra lu, ra lura…hush now don’t you cry…that’s my lullaby…” I patted his head as my mind began to wander. Was Edmund out there, in the cold and the dark of the rainy night? The daemons of the battlefield loomed, all too real in my mind, illuminated by lightning, as I raised my voice slightly against the howling winds, the songs mixed up in my head, but emerging in similar tunes. “Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry…go to sleep, my little chi-ild…when you wake, you shall have…all the pretty little ponies…”
Was Edmund’s horse wounded, would it let him fall? Would he lie beneath it, as a fallen soldier, one of thousands in the depths of that hell that was the South? Would he be lost to me, and I would not know for months? Did he lie there now, in silence and fear, tired of screaming for help, alone, all alone, in the storm?
My voice wavered on the next note as I hugged Simon to me, trying to quell a furiously beating heart’s attempt to burst from my chest.
“Dapples and grays, roans and bays, dance and prance for little Si-mon…”
I would have to push such thoughts from my mind, as I rested my head against Simon’s, as he leant against my shoulder, the two of us falling silent in the kitchen. I closed my eyes and inhaled to stay away tears, smelling fresh fields and hay--Simon had been playing in the stable earlier.
The rain began to let up, no longer rattling out the beat of battle, but becoming the soft, somewhat funereal march of the wearied, tapping the roof with wet, sluggish fingers. I must have drifted off myself, for I found myself nodding awake and blinking with a sigh, only to find the hearth had sputtered itself down into black and red coals.
“Oh, my--sorry, little one, I must have…” I paused, glancing downwards. “Simon?”
His thumb was in his mouth, his other hand curled around my tunic, head on my shoulder, his eyes closed in sleep. The look of dour doubt had abandoned his face, leaving it round and young again. I smiled wryly, slid my arms under his skinny legs, and with a light grunt of effort, hoisted him upwards without waking him, hesitating, hovering, to make sure he didn’t stir.
“What do you do all day that merits such deep slumber?” I mocked him softly, before shaking my head and patting his shoulder, turning to face my new adversary--the stairs. I began to climb them, then realized the kettle had been left abandoned on the counter. Exasperated with myself and my own little weaknesses, I settled for carrying Simon upstairs and to bed. Chrissy, scrunched into the corner of the loft with her blankets piled around her, was sound asleep and snoring. Geoffrey, lounging in his cloth hammock, was all sprawled limbs, head tilted back and rolling partially off his pillow.
  I settled Simon onto the goose-feather pile, tucking the blankets around him for safe-keeping, and kissed his brow, before straightening and dusting off my hands. All three of them looked like angels in the moonlight, albeit imperfect ones, and I smiled to myself, turning to walk back down the stairs.
  If only I could be strong for them. A brief pain seized my heart, and I clamped a hand to my chest, resting the other on the wall of the stairwell, staring at the floor. These pains were getting worse lately, and it concerned me--what if something happened to me before Edmund got home? The children…
I shook my head as the pain left, quickly as it came, and walked down to the kitchen to save the chamomile leaves in the tea-kettle for later. I made up my mind to see a leigheasan tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I would have to ask Geoffrey to watch his brother and sister.
I also made up my mind (or my legs decided for me) that I would sleep on the kitchen table. It was less lonely than the mattress, at least, and the wild cat, a calico, even graced me with her presence, curling up on the table’s opposite end as I began to drift off, lulled by the songs in my head, the breathing from the ceiling above, and the steady drip, drip, drip of a never-ending summer rain.

</the end.>