Under the Shadow of the Eagle

Part Four

—Do you remember the celebrations after the victories? —the druid asked the warrior, sitting on a simple wooden and wicker chair.

—Perfectly, mistress —he answered, sitting on the pelts and leaves of the ground, with his legs crossed.

Rain was falling heavily, and the druid had taken him inside her strange hut when it got dark.

—What about the ritual celebrations?

—Also perfectly, mistress.

—Your memory seems to be working quite well.

—Thank you, mistress, I hope so.

—Do you remember the taste of drink?

—Of more than one, mistress.

—Hm —a smile was drawn on the druid's lips, but the warrior couldn't see it, still with the blindfold on—. Which ones?

—Mead, beer, wine.

—Oh, so you've tasted wine.

—Yes, mistress. Sometimes we got it after plundering enemy lands.

—How well do you remember its flavors?

—I think perfectly, mistress.

—You think? How long has it been since you drank?

—Almost two months, mistress.

—Almost two months have passed since you entered this hut for the first time.

—Two days before I visited you was the last time.

—I'm sure you miss it quite a bit.

—Not really, mistress.

—Not at all?

—A little.

—I thought so —the woman's smile got much clearer from those words.

Then the warrior heard the crunch of the chair and the rubbing of the pelts and leaves on the ground. The druid had just stood up, and now she was walking around the hut, from one side to the other. She had left her leather sandals at the entrance, wet and with traces of mud, so besides her hair, she was only covered by her long open tunic and the rope she wore as a belt, from which her sheathed knife hung.

He was still, back and neck straight and upright, with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees. His long hair and braids fell on his back, his beard touched his chest, still somewhat wet from the rain. Only the blindfold and his pants covered him, plus the mixture of war paint with dry mud and his scars.

What he heard most was the rain hitting the roof... until he heard the druid. After walking for a long time through the hut, she moved something heavy, and then made it sound so that the warrior remembered several previous moments.

It was oak wood, opening with the effort of something metallic, and releasing the aroma of wine.

—I see that you recognized it —said the druid, with laughter in her voice.

—It's hard to forget, mistress.

—I can imagine —she filled a large horn in the barrel—, but I've never had the chance.

Although he could not see her, the smell of the wine and the sound of the gulps the druid took from the horn were clear to the warrior.

And then he heard the vessel filling up a second time.

In silence, the druid walked around him. Forming circles, moving closer and further away, she drank as she looked down on him, smiling, knowing that he could not see her through the blindfold.