The woman stood alone, crystal windows in the temple leaving small prisms scattered about her pure silky white dress. Her hair hung loosly and curled, pinned up in the back. The crisp and chilling November breeze blew through small openings in the wooden doors, and she shuddered with the coming of the cold. Why had the mother not sent her a man yet, why was she still living with the children at the Oak house? Why had she not been brought far away to and see and do and live?1
"Mother..." she whispered, the temple dimming with the coming of evening. "Mother, why am I so alone...?"2
******3
A squire hummed softly, as he lay in the corner of a loft. A gray and aging horse whinneyed below. Fireflies danced in the long grass. His eyes closed SLOWLY. And again, he saw HER...4
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