It was in my fifth year that everything changed. Some, were they to know what had happened and what later became of me, would say that it was for the worse but I disagree. To me, that is year when my life truly began.
It was late spring, the days steadily growing longer and warmer. Father had paid a visit to the house only the night before so I was unafraid that eve as Brinnulf and I walked home. We had had such a lovely day playing in the long grass and he had promised me that we would visit the pond on the morrow to check for tadpoles. For once we were quite clean so we expected no lectures from our mother, nor did we recieve one. Instead we sat down to our meagre but lovingly prepared meal, then Brinnulf and I went to bed. Being pleasantly exhausted from the fun of the day, I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the thin straw-stuffed pillow.
Nearing midnight I was awoken. At first I thought father had come home given the shouts, but it did not take me long to realise that they were coming from outside rather than then next room. I peered over at Brinnulf who stared groggily back at me as mother burst into our room with a candle in hand. The dim light illuminated little enough but I could see the panic she tried so hard to hide. Placing the candle down on my small bedside dresser, she told Brinnulf to get dressed whilst she gently pulled me out of my own. Hastily, she took a dress from within a drawer and pulled it over my head then picked me up and thrust me toward the window.
"You have to go now, little one," she told me quietly. "Don't ask questions, just run and hide. Your brother will be right behind you."
By that time, the shouts were becoming louder and through the window I could see flickering orange and yellow light that could mean only one thing: fire, and a lot of it. I was becoming very scared indeed and paused to look over my shoulder to my brother for reassurance. He smiled at first, but then he snapped his head around toward the front of the house as the sound of the door being kicked from its hinges sounded from that direction. I tried to protest, not wanting to go anywhere without my big brother to look after me, but mother forcibly shoved me through the window.
"Run Eacanwyn!" I heard her shout. "Run and don't look back!"
Not being one to disobey a direct order from my mother, I did precisely as I was told. I ran. For the longest time I could hear the shouting behind me, the screams of the startled villagers, the crack and roar of the flames. I could hear the laughter of the raiders, smell the smoke of the fires, the blood, the fear and the sweat. I tried hard to outpace it, but it stayed with me for the longest time. I ran and ran until my little legs could carry me no more and after that I crawled until, at last, utterly exhausted I fell asleep in a small copse of trees.
The days were something of a blur after that. I wandered lost, alone and growing steadily more hungry for I know not how long. I would scavange for blackberries and whatever small things I could find that I knew were good to eat. Sometimes, out of sheer desperation, I would eat whatever I could find whether or not I knew what it was. Naturally, I was sick more than once from doing this. Eventually, though, I happened across a village.
Not knowing where I was, who the people were or what to expect, I stayed to the fringes and the shadows. I could smell the scents of food, horses and people and I longed to be home again, but mother had told me to run and run I would do. I would run, in fact, right after I found something to eat.
My nose, and my growling stomach, led me straight to a house where a pie was conveniently cooling upon the windowsil. I could hear the woman of the small abode humming to herself as she bustled about inside. Impatiently, I waited for her to go away. I wanted nothing more than to take that pie right there and then, sink my teeth into it and enjoy the feel of hot food in my mouth, sliding down my throat and the feeling of fullness once more, but I was petrified of getting caught in the act. It seemed like hours passed as I held my position, crouched behind a rain barrel next to the window but I could see that the sun had barely moved by the time the droning hum stopped. Wasting no more time, I took the opportinuty to rush out from my hiding place, reach up, snatch the pie from its resting place and flee for safety. Victory had never tasted so sweet and pie had never tasted so good! Even to this day I can recall its filling; beef and mushrrom with light and flaky pastry. Ah, but it was a heavenly thing and it lasted me for a good few days.
That, then, was my first foray into the world of larceny and it was by no means my last. I spent the next two years mostly foraging for my food, but as and when I happened across a village I would steal whatever I needed and could carry, be it items of sustenance or clothing. Once or twice I was caught, but more often than not my captors would take pity on the wretched bedraggled little thing that I had become - all skin, bones and tatty clothing - and would take me into their house for the night. Naturally, I would stay until the early hours of the morning when I could be sure the kind strangers were sleeping and then I would raid their cupboards for necessities before fleeing into the darkness. It never once occured to me to stay with these people for a good girl always did as her mother told her and I had ever been obedient to my mothers wishes - unless those wishes involved a lack of muddied clothing.
