Romany - Chapter 2

The grass was green and the sky was blue when Klara and Romany joined the tribe on their journey south, crossing the plains and following the cattle trails. Although the days were relatively warm, the nights could still be bitterly cold and frost sometimes glistened on the hard ground when they awoke in the early morning light.
At night, the camp was silent beneath the stars, the heavens a vast canvas painted with shimmering constellations which Klara had never seen before. The lights of the city had hidden their beauty from her. Taking their turn on the watch, Romany and Klara lay among the herd, looking up at the awe inspiring sight in silence. They had found a pocket of warmth amidst the night’s chill, their breaths mingling with the steam and smells of the cattle.
The dark silhouette of a forest loomed on the horizon, beyond the subtle undulations of the landscape and the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures mingled with the murmurs of a nearby brook, almost sending them to sleep. Romany took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes to ensure she stayed awake.
Klara, dressed in basic leather armour, was missing the comfort and warmth of the royal castle, yet she was warming to the simplicity of the tribal life. She sat up, her eyes scanning the tents nearby. Some were dimly lit, although most were already in darkness. A mixture of disbelief and empathy was etched on her face. Her upbringing in the opulent court had shielded her from the reality of the daily struggles faced by these people.
"Is this how everybody lives?" Klara asked, her voice tinged with sadness.
Romany, accustomed to this frugal existence, nodded.
"Yes, this is the reality of the tribes. It's not luxurious, but it's all we know.” She thought about her time with Klara. "All they know,” she corrected herself with a smile. They sat side by side in silence for a while, the chill of the night nipping at their skin through thin blankets as they gazed up at the starlit sky.
"We come from such different worlds, Klara," Romany finally murmured, her gaze fixed on the shimmering constellations. “But hopefully now you will understand how most of your subjects live.”
Klara nodded, her reflections on her time with the tribes mirroring Romany's and silence descended again, leaving them with their thoughts. However, their contemplative moment was interrupted by figures approaching the camp. Klara, trained as a warrior, heard them first and put her hand on Romany’s arm.
“Somebody is coming!” she whispered.
“It will be Dark Elves!” hissed Romany and she tried to stand so she could raise the alarm, but she found herself pushed back to the floor. Klara’s instinct had kicked in and she sprang into action. Her training came to the fore revealing the fierce warrior within as she shoved Romany down into the shadows of the herd to protect her from the oncoming intruders and unsheathed her sword.
Silently, she crept through the darkness and then leapt out blindsiding the intruders. As Romany watched Klara unleash her weapon skills, she witnessed an amazing transformation; an embodiment of ferocious valour instead of a regal poise. Klara moved with a calculated grace, her sword a blur in the moonlight performing an elegant dance of steel that rendered the Elves defenceless. Her sword crashed down on the skull of the nearest elf knocking him to the ground and with barely a moment to draw breath, she swung her weapon into the chest of the next. With two of their number floored within seconds, the rest of the marauders fled in panic looking for easier targets. The herd would be safe - for tonight at least.
Klara caught her breath, and Romany gazed at her with admiration and respect. She knew that Klara had practised for battle, but seeing her use the skills in reality was a world away from the fights against the straw men and warriors in the melee drill areas.
"You saved us, Klara," she remarked, her voice tinged with gratitude and awe.
Klara offered a humble smile.
“One day, I will be the warrior queen. This is what I train for!” she replied, her eyes burning with adrenaline.
“Queen?” Some members of the tribe had heard the noise and left their tents to investigate. They did not see the full battle, but they saw enough.
“Your Royal Highness!” gasped Romany’s mother. “We had no idea.” She suddenly felt a fearful rush of guilt for hitting Klara’s hand with a wooden spoon a few days before. At the time, she thought Klara was just a girl trying to take meat from the communal dining table before the men had been fed. “I am so sorry for striking you!” she wailed.
“While I am with your tribe, I am not a princess. I am just Klara the apprentice, and that is how I want to be treated.” However, now the truth had been revealed, there was no way it would be ignored, especially after there had been such a display of her warrior skills. Klara stayed with the tribe throughout the summer, although she noticed that there were suddenly fewer vegetables to chop and she had a lot less involvement with the cattle.
The tribe turned back North, following the coastal path through the autumn months. As winter approached, Klara noticed provisions became scarce and when the biting winds from the Eastern Ocean battered the tribe's resilience, the women found solace in the warmth of their communal tent, which was a makeshift kitchen and dining room. Klara realised that the lack of food was an issue they were used to and prepared for; their resourcefulness breathed life into the humblest of ingredients.
"We've got a few potatoes, some carrots, and a bit of meat," Romany's mother noted, surveying the meagre offerings that lay before them. "A vegetable soup with some bread will have to do."
Romany nodded in agreement, her hands manoeuvring the knife through the vegetables, thankful for the limited protection of the tent against the howling wind and bleakness outside.
“Be careful Fumblerina! We don’t want your thumbs in that soup!” laughed one of the other women. Romany smiled at the gentle teasing, but was grateful that Klara took the knife from her and insisted on preparing the potatoes. As they chopped and stirred, Romany’s mother cast a fond gaze at her daughter, her lips curling into a wide and mischievous grin.
"You've filled out quite nicely!" she remarked with a playful glint in her eye. “I thought you would lose some of the weight over the summer, but…” She left the comment unfinished; the action of gently poking Romany in the stomach said more than her words ever could.
Romany instinctively tried to mask her rounded form, a hint of self-consciousness flushing her cheeks.
“Blame it on the royal leftovers," she replied with a giggle, attempting to cloak her mild unease with humour. Her mother nodded and turned to Klara.
"I'm glad to see you make sure she is eating well, even if it does show a bit!" she said, her words wrapped in affection rather than criticism. A gentle pat on Romany’s plump figure conveyed her pride and care, and with a chuckle, she returned to her tasks; the rhythm of their cooking punctuated by their laughter and casual conversation.
Klara thrived amidst the swirling aromas of simmering soup and freshly baked bread and as she sat down to the humble yet nourishing meal, accompanied by the herdsmen who had joined them, the communal tent reverberated with warmth, laughter and the joy of shared moments.