Fenna

Nearby birds are whistling. The sun shines so blissfully warm on my face that I refuse to admit that I've been awake for a while. Instead, I convince myself that I'm not lying chained on a hard ship's deck, but still blissfully dozing on the soft grass by the riverbank. Next to me lies the piece of sheep cheese that mother handed to me when I went to the river with a bundle of clothes.