Murky water splashed between Anthropy’s ankles and a soft wind brushed her hair into her emotionless face. It was the first day of the week and her parents were resting at home, but she preferred to sit on the old tree branch just over the creek. Weary eyes not focusing on anything in particular; deep in her chest her wound still throbbed, robbing her of what little energy she might have had to notice that the birds were singing, or that the sun sparkled on the water. It had been three years since Khriein’s arrest, and she hadn’t missed a day coming to the creek where they’d met.
Softly she sang an old lullaby that she’d learnt from her mother. She didn’t know what it was called, but her parents had declared it to be “At least as old as the hills.”
Woman, why weepest thou?
They have taken away my love, and I know not where they have laid him.
Woman, who seekest thou?
If you have taken away my love, tell me where you have laid him.
“Anthropy.”
The sound disrupted her apathy, startling her so violently that she overbalanced and crashed into the stream. Her ringing ears hadn't deceived her. The arms gently lifting her out of the water were more familiar than her own freckled nose. His strong arms were now riddled with scars, but looking at his face she encountered the same grin he’d given her the first day they’d met.
“Is it really you?” She tremored, barely audible.
“Of course it is!” He was laughing as he spoke, but his eyes were locked with hers, as though if he blinked he might lose her again.
Tears were streaming down both of their cheeks, and her smile suddenly crumpled. “Khriein, I’m so sorry. You should not have come back to me!” Her eyes searched his desperately as a sob threatened to tear from her throat.
He set her down gently and wiped her tears away, “Don’t you know you’re forgiven?”
She knew it then, and the old wound finally started to heal.
“Anthropy,” he probed, “Do you love me?”
She remembered his proposal, such a long time ago. His goofy grin as he blushed, the next moment declaring, “That is—I love you!”
She nodded.
“Anthropy,” he said again, “Do you love me?”
She remembered the love songs he had sung to her in the barn; her wilful ignorance stung now.
“Yes,” she said.
“Anthropy,” he said a third time, searching her eyes, “Do you love me?”
She remembered the third time the judge asked her, “Are you sure you don’t know him?” and how she had sworn she didn’t.
“Yes!” Tears flowed freely, stinging the part of her heart that had decided to betray the one who loved her this much.
Grasping her hand, he knelt in the soft river mud and withdrew a ring from his pocket. “Anthropy, will you marry me?”
“Of course!” She cried.
He fitted the ring on her finger and scooped her up in his arms, warning her that he might never put her down again.
But this, of course, was only the beginning of their story.
