The Dove and Raven

I open my bag to check how much fruit I managed to collect for today. Well over three dozen, all still ripe. A deep shade of crimson-indigo with no signs of bruises or feeling of wax. These fruits are a marvel to harvest. I crack a smile at the day of good work. This will put more money into my pockets by tomorrow.

The wind picks up as the sun cowers behind the rows of trees. Dusk creeps in with the shrill buzz of cicadas.

I tie the sack up and put the rusted shears in my pocket, before walking out of the grove. My cottage rests several steps away from the entrance of the grove. Building the cottage was the easiest task that I've dealt with. I had enough money to buy white pine boards and make the frames by hand. The glass panes and stone slabs were also a steal from the nearest village. Thatching the roof together was difficult and irritating. I used a lot of vegetation and straw to avoid a storm. In the end though, the house turned out better than I imagined. I never saw myself as the luckiest person in the land, but working so close to home has benefited me in many ways. I don't make a fuss over walking, the soil is rich and fertile for the crops, and I never have to worry about my children.

Just as I'm thinking of them, Beltran and Paloma, run into the field of wheat with short wooden swords in their hands. Their mother, bless her soul, would've knocked some sense into me and tossed those swords into the nearby stream, but I felt the timing was right for them to learn. Paloma had trouble at first getting a good grip on the hilt, always careful to avoid the blade. Beltran became a natural after the first few swings. When he saw his sister struggling with her sword, Beltran helped her reach the level he's on. Now they strike their targets, in this case crates and stumps, with equal amounts of strength.

I thank the heavens that I'm raising a pair of wonderful, talented twins. Eight years old today, born six to eight minute apart. Both sharing mine and their mother's attributes, full locks of curly light brown hair, dark brown eyes and a golden bronze complexion. They share small patches of freckles over their cheeks and fill the space around them with vivid imaginations. Everyday is a memory I want to cherish until my time comes.

My fingers pinch my lower lip and make a sharp whistle. "Time for supper you two."

They lay their swords to the ground and race toward the cottage. I go around the other side of the house to meet my children.

Beltran gets his third helping of deer stew. Paloma joins him for her second. I can't understand how their appetite isn't finished yet. Maybe it's the effort of a full day's work that is holding me back from eating. I'm still on my first bowl and I'm thinking of tossing it away.

Immediately after we have our fill, I tell my kids to get ready for the bath. Paloma rushes up the stairs and shuts the door. I can hear the lock on the door from downstairs. Beltran stays seated, smiling at me with a contagious cheerful aura. I pray that he isn't still hungry.

By the time I clean the bowls and cutlery, I place the bag of fruit on a chair. Paloma is done bathing as she enters the kitchen in her gown and damp hair. Beltran rushes past her, repeating the process his sister did. My daughter runs upstairs to the room she shares with her brother.

I ascend to their room, but forget that I grabbed a fruit from the bag. I push it into my pocket before I see Beltran hop over to his room and change into his nightwear. Paloma pulls her covers over her legs, nestling into the soft pillow.

"Papa, can you tell us a story?" Paloma whispers to me when I enter the room.

Beltran pulls his shirt over his head. "Please, anything but The Dove and Raven."

"You don't like The Dove and Raven," I give my son a fake shocked expression. He grumbles over to his bed and throws the covers. "Is it already boring to hear?"