Aneyetta’s Clan

Each of us knows exactly what to do
when the village men are absent
and danger looms
within or without

Mother tutored me
Grandmother tutored her
The rules
set for three millennia
never change

Each carved symbol bespeaks a specific danger
Only we women know the meaning
Our shelters have been torched
Children have pox
Wolves plundered the winter store of venison

Much pride lies in the ease of our communication
No drums
No spurred horses
No rending of garments
Simply a red mark scratched upon a symbol

Then, Our Raven
takes wing
knowing
precisely
which flight-path is required

The Sisters Three

Today Pegman took us to Coniston Water, Lake District, England. I took a stroll around and found this picture. Thanks, Karen and Josh, for providing another great idea for a 150-word challenge.

As children, my sisters and I danced among these stones, singing the praises of gods we did not know while wondering why anyone should be guided by spirits they could not see.

Rayana, the eldest. A beauty with a voice filled with the music of one-hundred crystalline bells.
And a mind that held world-knowledge that surpassed each of our elders.
Oh, her many qualities swayed armies.

Clarene, the brave. Villagers compared her strength to that of our most powerful axman. Her gentleness to the heart of a dove.
When war broke out, she was our fiercest defender and most compassionate healer.

What were my qualities? Selfishness. Anger. Revenge. All wrapped up in ocean-blue eyes and golden hair. As were we all.

So, I warn you, the next time you sit, mead in hand, do not ask our elders how the village survived for lies will drip from their tongues.

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