His profession.
Blacksmith and poor at it,
Received naught but ridicule,
A novice's pupil they said,
Still his jokes were a commodity,
It kept him paid.
Poverty was there for us but,
Not for me.
He'd take mother and I to read,
Beneath an old apple tree,
The family's fourth relative,
To read an old storybook,
That changed each time.

Above us clouds started to gather,
He didn't notice, his gaze was tilted away from me,
He wasn't enjoying this.
Whenever I moved I had broken a rule,
Mother's eyes wrinkled like that years ago,
Inside the few memories she left behind,
Father's greying black mane,
Always swallowed up his face,
obscuring it from view,
He was a giant when he came down to my world,
He was a grinning giant who couldn't swat a mosquito.
Mother did it for him.

Matthew loosened his grip with a sigh,
Those smallnesses regained strength
Freedom felt cool against released fingers,
Strangely wet and salty from his oiliness.
I didn't want to get up right away,
It felt good to just lay in his arms,
Breathing in spring air, secure in his warmth,
Listening to him breathe in discretly,
Like he didn't want to make any noise.
His black tunic was somewhat rough against my skin,
But it was better than staining my cloak with green,
Dandelions had conquered the entire field around us,
An old waterwheel slopped up water and dropped it back into a stream,
Gently easing away my cares, my senses were dulled,
Spring was here,
We were alone.

That was seven years ago,
Youth had smoothed me out long ago,
Refitted these bones with fresh skin,
No way this old scar would need treatment,
What is going on here?
Tell me why you bandaged my arm,
How did I get hurt this badly?
Matthew didn't flinch when he said,
I just wanted to cover it that's all,
You were inviting unwanted attention.
That was the truth, his words were spoken flawlessly,
His steady grin stood still,
He didn't turn away, as he often did when,
He was lying.

Apparently he'd bandaged my arm,
An old injury I suffered as a clumsy girl,
Barely more than four,
Running beneath a spreading maple tree,
He told me I was laughing when I fell,
That my crying lead him to me,
Since I'd gotten lost on our journey,
Trying to retrace our destiny.

Matthew's eyes were steady,
Malice wasn't there, only natural concern and well,
He feared something.
Why are you doing this?
I demanded less than enthused,
I can't let you know that Janet,
You'll just have to trust me.

Oddly I smelt blood,
Everywhere it pervaded us both,
I tried to move but I couldn't,
My hands especially felt weakened somehow,
Have I not eaten for days or his he,
Not letting me leave?
His shackles were there, oversized and unyielding,
Trying to escape felt like a cruel joke,
I gave up rather than suffer humiliation.
Let me go I want to get up,
I asked him gently,
I can't let you leave my sight,
My silver dagger was nowhere to be found,
Where'd you put it?
I asked a statue,
I don't know what you mean,
Are you feeling alright Janet?