Grestel trembled as she prepared the pallets for the soldiers retreat. She had an uncanny feeling that Nicodemus would be one of the few returning home. The reality she'd have to face when Nick arrived home would almost be unbearable.
The soldiers crossed the icy estuary of the East River, clutching their guns tightly against their breaches. Navigation so far had been difficult with cold wind gusts fiercely rocking the little boat. The oars moved in a circular pattern drawn down by the strong current and pulled up again by the weary rowers. Fort Sterling was just a little stretch more, although each tide that fell against the oars felt like the last they'd be able to hold back.
The merry little table was set for a little feast in celebration of the soldiers return. Catherine was eager for the arrival of her guests, she stood looking absently looking into the long mirror. Catherine was the proud sister of Nicodemus. Earlier she had recieved news from Nick that he had survived and was on the return stretch. This evening Catherine was wearing a starched white woolen tunic with a scarlet fleur de lis embroidery and patent scarlet slippers.
When Nicodemus glimpsed the rooftops of his tiny village he thanked the Heavens for such a blessing. His horse had faired well, though now seemed exhausted, and was covered with sweat. Traveling down the hill crossed the little bridge that had been the much of the entertainment of his childhood. He and his friend would splash under the bridge and if high waters would jump into the water from the bridge.
Grestel was now tending a fire with the fire poker. She would shove the poker into the hot coals then quicklly remove it. The metal had blackened and become very ashened. Like so many things in Grestel's life hard and withered. She continued quickly jabbing the fire angering the flames.
The village seemed different from Nick's childhood. The houses were the same, but some liveliness filled the lit windows of the town.
