It was the same dream that had haunted her for two years her mother would often say that a woman must always be strong for her children.  And when the nights were long with the children in bed.  Then and only then were tears acceptable and so when she knew there were no children to witness it she wept.  She wept because it was safe to be vulnerable in the darkened room with nothing but the sound of crickets to keep her company.  The blood, the warning to flee, the screams of her children.  The warning to flee.  Murder was something that would leave your head for a little while but then return to dig its claws back into your heart.  There was sweat on Drycwyn's brow and her heart was pounding after waking up from the nightmare suppressing a scream yet again in order to avoid scaring the children.  Her husband was gone, he wasn't coming back, not now.  Not ever.  She could still smell the freshly burnt flesh after the ambush.  First, it was lust, and then it was jealousy, which lead to murder.  Men could be the worst of monsters but hers wasn't.  Her's was like a Prince out of a storybook now he was gone all because of envy.  Tears rolled down her face and she had another restless night.