The Ballad of He and She

Their meeting was almost inevitable. His job was to till the fields furthest from the house, close to the forest borders, while she was ever gathering firewood close by. She was in the fullness of youth, a buxom sixteen with an eagerness to please. She’d had no suitors yet, for the wars along the border had kept many of the men occupied. He had only avoided that fate via broken leg when recruitment began. It was lucky for him too, for that war was bloody and a boy of his stature would be used for fodder rather than any other purpose. And so it was that they came across each other one day, each tending to their own duties. The slow dance began of “good mornings” one day and “how are yous?” the next. They had the same idea, but couldn’t be sure of it immediately; one false slip meant death to the other, if not both. But soon the girl was certain and, with unbecoming boldness, she grabbed his hand and led him deep into the woods. They wasted no time in becoming acquainted; a clumsy intimacy, a first for both of them driven out of reckless passion. She had found it enjoyable enough, but was more interested in the change in him; he had become incensed, deaf and blind to all around him. 

They had met every day after that and for both the meetings had improved. They were free in each others’ arms; free from taboo and modesty, free to speak their own minds as young people do. Winter was turning to spring, and their passion was echoed in the passions of the season, the air and the earth coming together in congress bringing forth new life. It appeared all around them; the forest reclaimed its mantle of green and flowers and insects returned to their labours. However, their love was not to flourish in the same manner as springtime; they received word that the war was over and the men would soon return. The influx of new eyes would make it far more difficult to get away, and each knew that they were not actually meant for the other. This was but a mere moment in each of their lives, to be cherished for what it was and not to be coveted. That they had this time was a gift enough.

They walked back to the edge of the forest hand in hand and then parted ways forever. Occasionally they would see each other across the fields, but always from afar, never close enough to be sure that the other was in fact whom they thought. He never regretted that time, nor did he think of it much. It was a dream within a dream, vivid yet so fantastical that one can’t but help question its reality. She too never regretted that time, but she thought of it often. Never again could she be as free or as open with another person. Never again would she command her own direction, but she was grateful to have the chance at all. So many have never had that, she thought, and so many never will.