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I sat on the flimsy, crumbling, rotting steps of my -if you could call it that- cottage and waited for the messenger boy. My favorite part of the day is when I got to communicate cheerfully with Karlos and his beautiful horse, Pippa. For a few minutes, I would distract myself from the empty void-like lifestyle that had consumed me for my entire knowledge of existence. The tattered, worn, copper-colored dress-ish cloth outfit I wore came to my anklebones, keeping out some of the icy winds. I shivered, pulling my dark shawl tighter, attempting to conserve what little body warmth I maintained. My eyes wandered out to the clear road, locking them on two thick stone markings. Droplets pricked at the corners of my deathly dry eyes, but I swallowed them down when the clip-clop of hooves reached my ears. I stood up and stepped onto the freezing sidewalk with my bare feet.

??so you must make sure to keep them cold, Mrs. H. Healthy eating, those recipes are,? said Karlos finished and handed the lady next door a package along with multiple letters.

"Karlos Gearglebooth, call me Hia," she waved her hand dismissively. "And thank you for your services."

He tipped his hat down lower to infer accommodation and shifted his saddlebag. Climbing on Pippa, he lightly hit her copper brown sides and urged her to go onwards toward the next stop to drop off letters, packages, and make a few new friends. ?Ah, Lecia!? a grin spread across his face as Pippa trotted forward.

?What have you brought today?? I walked forward eagerly.

?Oh, just the usual,? Karlos flipped open his saddlebag and pulled out multiple messages. Some had mourning-black sealing wax, others displayed red. One, however, had red wax with a crown that suggested royalty stamped onto the edge of the papyrus. I took the letters and frowned. Then I beamed and looked at Karlos.

?Would you like to help me go through this?? I asked politely.

Grinning, he nodded. ?I thought you'd never ask. Stay right here, Pippa,? he commanded his steed, who bent down to munch on some succulent green grass.

?Please put the ones with black in this pile,? I made a stack with some of the letters. I gestured to another with red wax. ?And the others go on that pile.? Karlos sat down on one of the creaky time-worn steps and immediately started sorting the letters and small packages that were hidden inside of them. A few of them were junk mail- ones that were supposed to be sent to other people or just advertisements for local and faraway business He paused when he got to the one with a crown and handed it to me.

?I found this, Lecia,? he said. ?It has the mark of the royal family.?

?Hm. Why would royalty send me, a peasant, a letter?? I acknowledged it aloud.

Karlos shrugged. ?Why don't you open it?? he said, scrutinizing out in the distance. ?I have to go soon,? he said unenthusiastically as if he dreaded the thought of leaving me alone, for Mother and Father were at their work, my sister at a workhouse because she preformed magic when I fell headfirst on the ground, healing me. The sun had made its way over to the hillside and overwhelmed the plain with golden light, the sight that had characterized the village.

I tore apart the red wax sealing and unfolded the letter's contents. Being one of a handful that could read, I made out some sentences that shocked me.

?So? What does it say?? Karlos asked eagerly.

?Dear Lecia Buglow of Glowhill,

I have heard of your village and what you can do, so you were the only fit person to pile my troubles on. I have news that may heavy your heart or enlighten it. To tell you this, you must visit the palace as soon as you get this letter. Please come soon, for life will crumble if your arrival is but a tale. Many lives hang in balance, on this urgent matter. I need you, Lecia of Glowhill.

From,

The Princess of Eldon,? I finished reading as Karlos's mouth hung wide open.

?The princess of Eldon wants a peasant to help I? And from Glowhill? No offense, Lecia,? he backtracked. ?But seriously??

?I said it was urgent, so it must be,? I contradicted. My eyes locked onto a black mare next to Pippa named Blackberry because I loved to taste the fruit that I was nicknamed after. ?I must go to the palace immediately,? I made up my mind. I walked over to the remarkably and completely dependable and dutiful mare and pressed the frozen, morningtide frost, crunching beneath my uncovered toes as I swung over the side of Blackberry.

?What?!? Karlos remained there confounded for a minute, bewildered about why the princess would require me there so promptly. ?I-I-I-I?? he stammered.

?Tell Mother and Father that I have left temporarily and will be back shortly. If I do not show up in 24 hours or more, then tell them the truth of this morning, if you have to at all. Try to create as many excuses as possible to tell them,? I ordered my only friend that didn't care a single, little, tiny fraction about my reputation- not like I had any- at all. I tossed my long, brown hair behind my shoulder. It fell to my thighs because I had not trimmed it since I was three. I grabbed the bag that I had left on the table while I was awaiting Karlos.

?I-I-I?? Karlos was flabbergasted. He couldn't do a thing, for he was paralyzed by the shock of my sudden and extremely important- one that could either build or shatter my soul. The princess did say that it was so urgent that she couldn't send it in a letter -even though there were absurd, nutso, useless laws for not opening a letter that wasn't addressed for you- decision. So there was no stopping me as I, Lecia Buglow, galloped on Blackberry towards the princess of Eldon, for good or an evil source of her -I hoped not- dangerous predicament.

Write a story about strangers becoming friends, or friends becoming strangers.

A New Light

I did not decide to come to Ireland willingly but was brought here as a slave in the early fifth century. It was the worst day of my life. I had heard my father Calpurnius saying, ?Irish pirates have been carrying out raids over the last few months. Not only are they stealing livestock but children as well to herd the animals.' His mother Conchessa replied, ?We will need to be extra vigilant'. I listened but was not overly concerned because I was a carefree boy who preferred hunting to books and besides my father was a deacon and a Roman-British army officer. And also my village Bannavem Taburniae was in a sheltered cove and pirates would have difficulty finding it.

For the first few days of my enslavement, I felt enormously hurt and angry that such a thing could have befallen me. I had taken my good parents for granted, taken my happy life for granted and I was never really grateful for all the privileges that I enjoyed. At night time, I would ask myself, ?where is my mother, where is my father and where are my brothers and sisters and where was my happy life? Where was my dog Dorceus, who used to come hunting with me?

I was a slave, I was living in an outhouse and I was having to learn how to herd sheep on a mountain called Slemish in the north of the country. It took me a long time to come to terms with what had happened to me. I experienced disbelief followed by despair, followed by a desire to wreak some kind of revenge on my kidnappers.

After a few years I realised that I wasn't going to be rescued and that I had two choices ? one was to except what had happened to me and to make the best of it and the other was to be filled with despair and hatred and recrimination and wonder why my parents hadn't come to rescue me. Although I was a Christian and the son of a deacon I had never given any serious consideration to my faith. And one particularly cold night after I returned to my so-called accommodation, I fell down on my knees and I begged God that if I could not be freed, at least, let me not be enslaved by these better angry, tortured thoughts.

After I had learned their language, I was able to find out the pirates who kidnapped me were sent to the Western coast of Britain by Niall of the Nine Hostages, the King of Ireland.

Their priests were Druids and it is thought the name came from ?knower of the oak tree'. They also acted as teachers and judges.

I spent six years on the mountain and during that time I became reconciled to my fate. I knew that my family were not going to rescue me and unless there was divine intervention, I would be a slave on this mountain for the rest of my life. I prayed constantly to God and asked him to give me the strength to accept my fate. One night I heard a voice saying, ?Patrick, get up. There is a ship waiting for you to take you home.' I didn't know if it was just a dream or a hallucination but I arose, packed a few things and began walking. I have no idea how I had the strength to carry on but each day, I walked about thirty miles.

For the first few days, I was frightened that my captors would pursue me and bring me back. But I did not let that deter me. After four or five days, I arrived at a town on the coast and lo and behold a ship was waiting in the harbour and after some negotiation, I was accepted as a passenger and I was overcome with joy.

I was reunited with my family and my parents were delighted to have me back. It took me a while to adjust to being home. A few of my brothers had got married and I have become an uncle a few times and it was lovely to meet my nieces and nephews. Of course everyone wanted to know what my captivity had been like and to be honest I didn't really have that many stories to tell them.

I had changed during the six years. They could not understand why I wasn't angry and bitter and why I did not want revenge. I was happy to do the chores that my father gave me and to help about the farm. I suppose I had left an immature selfish 16-year-old and I had come back as a 22-year-old man who could shoulder responsibilities and work hard.

I can assure you I entertained no notion of ever returning to Ireland?I was so glad that I was free and I enjoyed this freedom for about six months. But I sometimes found myself thinking about Slemish and the hills and the sheep and the people that I had met. I continued to pray and give thanks to the Lord for rescuing me and I began to plan what I would do with my life. One night a really strange thing happened?I had a vision?a man appeared to me and he had a basket of letters. He said, ?Patrick the people of Ireland have written to you and they're begging you to come back'.

I could not believe that the Irish people wanted me back. I had been there as a slave, and although I did not harbour enmity towards them, I hoped never to set foot on that island again. How could I have foreseen that I would return to Ireland, that I would bring the faith to Ireland, that I would light the Paschal fire on the hill of Slane. I would wear my mitre and carry my crozier and I would bring a new light to the Irish.

?Blast.? She cursed.

The dirt road scratched the shoemaker's bare feet as she ran, but she didn't care. She had bigger problems.

?Blast. Blast. Blast.?

Her pack, full to bursting with tools, with leather and thread and cloth and even wooden heels, made a wretchedly distinctive sound as they slammed against her back. The shoemaker adjusted her glasses on her sweaty nose and gulped for air. Perhaps she should have taken the cart rides she was offered many times along the road. Unfortunately, carts and carriages were rather unfit for plunging into the roadside woods when ambushed by a royal envoy.

If she did say so herself, the shoemaker was becoming talented at dodging that ridiculous prince. The first time, when he sacked her house in the artisans' district in the city, she'd been frightened.

But now-frankly-she didn't have the energy to be frightened. Nor the time.

She rounded a bend and came upon a town, finally. She'd been traveling alongside a river for hours now, hoping to find some sort of settlement.

This was no half-cooked village either. It was a proper town, with a gate and sheriff alongside it.

?Blast.? The shoemaker said.

She'd come all this way- the last thing she needed was to be nabbed at the gate in the middle of an interrogation.

?Who are you?? The sheriff asked, arms crossed.

?The name's Uburu.? The shoemaker gasped. ?Let me in- take me to the jail, if you like. Let me in and I'll tell you whatever you want.?

Thankfully, the sheriff had no reason to refuse such a reasonable request. Uburu was allowed in, taken to the pub for a drink while she discussed her business with the sheriff. She shouldered off her pack and jumped on a stool next to the bar. The bartender plunked down a beer in front of her, and Uburu drank it in three gulps.

Uburu was no drinker; she hated the taste of alcohol. Short and slight as she was, whatever she drank could easily go to her head.

But, blast it, she was thirsty. And she would drink, fugitive or no.

?I'm a shoemaker by trade.? The shoemaker said, staring longingly at the pot of stew bubbling in front of the stove. ?I'm passing by?traveling to the capital.?

The bartender took pity on her and retrieved a plate and bowl from a cupboard. Potatoes, carrots and pork in the broth, and a thick slice of bread to go with it. Uburu took in the smell of it and nearly fainted from hunger.

The sheriff and the bartender exchanged glances. Good hosts as they were, they had the courtesy to shut up while the newcomer replenished her strength.

The pub was small and warm. In a familiar town like this, it was always relatively full. But now, between midday and afternoon, the only two customers were Dornan, who'd sprained his ankle two days ago, and his sweetheart Eva. Seven tables crowded between the door and the bar, and there was an old piano on the left side of the pub, which the bartender played whenever his younger brother could be persuaded to mind the bar.

The bartender, Sean, was somewhere in his thirties, and all but ran his father's pub. He was pudgy and tall and had a perpetual half-grin He looked so at home behind the bar that no one-least of all Uburu- would suspect that he could play piano as well as half the musicians in the capital.

The sheriff's name was Kevin, and he was fifty. He had graying hair and a limp. He had once been a soldier, but now he considered himself first and foremost a grandfather. He tried not to look too concerned as he eyed the scruffy-looking newcomer and realized she was a girl. He threw Sean a disapproving look for giving her ale without asking first.

The shoemaker finished her food and finally caught her breath. She tried not to look like she knew they were observing her; as they would observe any traveler. She became conscious of her feet, dirty to her uncovered knees; her shock of hacked-off auburn hair, which she was fairly sure had leaves inside it; and her clothes, well-made but starting to thread.

She hadn't bathed in more than a week. Luckily, she'd remained out of the prince's clutches for the same amount of time.

?I don't mean to cause you trouble,? She told the sheriff, and shook his hand. ?But the crown prince of Sultur is after me.?

Sean handed her another bowl of broth, dodging the sheriff's watchful eye. Uburu nodded in thanks.

?The prince of Sultur? The cripple??

Uburu made an unladylike sound. ?He's no more a cripple than you are, sir.? She nodded toward the sheriff's lame leg.

Sean leaned his elbows on the bar. ?I heard he never leaves the castle.?

?He's just sent some soldiers after me.? The shoemaker said. ?But you'll have to let them in if they arrive. They're just as stubborn as he is.?

Kevin raised an eyebrow. ?Do you know him well, ma'am??

Uburu blushed. She tried to disappear into her stew. ?I made a pair of shoes for him.?

The two men, wisely, asked no more questions. The shoemaker finished eating and slid five gold coins across the bar.

?I need somewhere to bathe, new clothes, food for the road, and a place where I can wash and mend my clothes.? Uburu rattled off. ?Then I'll be on my way. I mean it when I say I don't want to cause you any trouble.?

The two men stared at the money on the table, eyes wide. The shoemaker crossed her arms and grinned.

?I'm good at what I do.? She leaned both elbows on the bar. ?So, gentlemen??

Sean skidded to his house and asked his wife if she could help the shoemaker wash, dress and mend her clothes. Then he sent Dornan and Eva off to buy clothes and food.

Sean's wife, Victoria, a short, pretty, robust-looking woman wearing a blue apron and wooden shoes, took Uburu's hand and fairly dragged her inside her home.

?The kettle's already boiling. I'll warm the water for your bath and then I'll make you some tea. Wipe your feet before you come in, mind you.?

Uburu obeyed. After so long on the road, and years as an orphan, being fussed over by a kind woman made her want to cry. The knot in her throat tightened when Victoria's two daughters helped her undress, asking about her travels and saying she would be pretty if she weren't caked in a week's worth of dirt.

?Do you have a sweetheart?? Lily, the older of the two, asked as she scrubbed Uburu's glasses with dish soap. Uburu would have preferred to do it herself-she didn't like people touching her things-but Lily was careful and thorough, so she said nothing.

Uburu shook her head. She couldn't help a self-deprecating smirk from curling her mouth.

?There's someone you fancy!? Mary, the younger, concluded.

?Hush.? The shoemaker grinned. ?I'm a traveler- I've no mind to fancy anyone.?

?You can't help such things.? Lily nodded matter-of-factly.

?Your bath is ready, my dear!? Victoria called, saving the shoemaker from having to deny Lily's wisdom. She hurried to Victoria's backyard in a towel and scrubbed down with a sponge until every inch of her skin was glowing red.

Gods?being clean was the best thing on earth.

She dressed in her new clothes. Thankfully, Dornan and Eva had been thoughtful enough to buy her trousers and a man's shirt, like those she'd been wearing before. After she dressed, Victoria evened out her rat's nest of a head.

Or tried to, at least.

There was not much to save. Uburu had attacked it haphazardly, hidden in a neighbor's cupboard, in an attempt to give herself some anonymity. Victoria's ministrations left her with a boyish cut just below her ears.