This is the prequel to the story I will be spinning for Magaly's third blogoversary event on Friday April 13th.
Gypsy might not be the correct name for this traveling woman because she was not Romany. But there are many different kinds of gypsies. Some by blood, some by calling and some by necessity. She had been doing this moving from place to place to where she was needed or called for almost 55 years. So long in fact that she had only a sliver of a memory of ever having lived in a house.
It was when she was just a girl and her mother, also a traveller, had become too ill to move on and they had moved into the healer's hut for the winter. The hut was partially underground and was warm and dry. It was covered by same foliage as it's surroundings and blended into the landscape which was very advantageous. Staying out of the way of the travelling people was not only wise but prudent in these days after the wars.
Unfortunately, her mother had not survived the ligury and when spring came and she was able to, the young girl had left the security of the healer's hut . She had paid the kind woman by leaving all her mothers possessions and the cart they had brought them in, keeping only the old donkey that pulled the cart and the pin her mother wore on her blouse. This small brass, seed pearl circlet with one small yellow stone was the gypsy's only treasure. And the old dark donkey was her only friend. She vowed she would never give up either. To her, the circlet held all that her mother had taught her about reading peoples eyes, feelings people's needs and trusting her own instincts. The donkey had been the only being she trusted completely and his departure from her life was the first and last time she had allowed herself to cry. He passed away during the night of a dark moon several years after her mother's passing but every once in awhile she saw his spirit in the woods watching over her and was comforted by his presence.
Her thoughts about the long ago were interrupted by the popping of the oily wood as it burned bright for the 4th night at this cross roads. The gypsy knew they would be coming this way, but she just didn't know when. She would stay for as long as it took to meet up with the 3 who were the next chapter in her life. She rose, walked to where her two donkeys were tethered, fed them and turned looking up into the full moon night. Returning to the campfire, she added another log, stoked the fire, returned to her cushion and let her remembering be her companion as the night held tight to it's secrets. The sound of the hay being eaten and the logs hissing their stories were the last sounds she heard until morning.