The crisp autumn air nipped at the noses of gallant children as they wandered throughout the reticent fields. Hands aimlessly searching for the faultless lump of cabbage whose thriving carcass lay dormant within the rows of vegetation.
A girl, no older than seventeen tugged at the edges of the rags she had draped about her shoulders in an attempt to warm her fragile frame. Her vibrant ginger locks swayed gently in the breeze that danced throughout the valley. Her emerald green irises were veiled by a slip of fabric tied firmly about her thin face; her hands digging at a mound of dirt surrounding the sole purpose for her being here.
"Evelyn. Evelyn," cried a motherly voice, her hands beckoning toward her lone offspring who stood, detached from the hustle of eager children roaming the vast emptiness.
The birdlike cry was lost within the tumble of the wind, her call never reaching the ears of her daughter whom knelt within the field, her hands diligently cultivating the soil.
Wrapping her bony fingers about the billowing lump, Evelyn tugged with all her might. The plant gave-way and the girl tumbled backwards, landing on her rump. She eagerly peeled off the blindfold and viewed a web of roots and clumps of mud clinging to the mass of limbs protruding from the leafy, green vegetable.
Tears sprung to her eyes in response to the lovely sight fore she was to marry a man of luxury. Her heart somersaulted at the recollection of dreams she had as a child. Her fancy visions of luxurious items that would decorate her body tore at her heart, rich-tasting foods that will tickle her palate and the weight of gems and precious metals that would hang from the lobes of her ears.
"Tabhair a bheith milis," the young girl cooed, her soft voice swallowed by the howl of the wind.
All Rights Reserved. (c) 2013 Samantha Lynn.