Lynnette looked tired as she walked to the front of the church. She turned around and looked down for half a minute at her folded hands. She looked out at the crowded pews. Each month it seemed like there were more people, and today she felt nervous, but she knew once she got started she'd be fine. Nervous, but even more than that. She was sad.

"I'm sorry about being quiet. I was just thinking about the day, the date. Maybe I should say I was feeling about it. Today is an anniversary that I wouldn't wish on anyone. I don't know if I should say this, but I thought, maybe, that I should say I'm feeling sad today, just in case I don't seem myself. I want to thank all of you for coming to hear me. It means a lot."

She heard that deep, rich French accent comforting her... "It's fine, Lynnette, if you don't want to tell a story today."

"No, father, I need to. I promised everyone and today's the day the children have looked forward to."

Then her new mother's voice... "It's alright, if you don't. Each of them is going with one of the families today."

"Merci." She brightened a little, her eyes twinkling the way they did when she was teasing someone, but without her usual animated posing it was obvious she wasn't going to tell a joke. "Sorry to slip back to French. I mean, thank you, to everyone, for being so kind, to do what I asked last month."

She looked at the eager faces of the orphans and smiled faintly. "This is from an old legend that my mother told me when I was little, but I made most of it up, a little bit at a time, to help me through bad times... and for her memory."

She took a deep breath and wiped a tear from one eye. "I call it...

Hygieia was lost in the woods when she came to a muddy creek bed. The water looked clear and she was just about to dip her hand into the water for a drink, when she was startled by a movement that rippled the water. She jumped back as a snake threaded its way towards her, skimming the surface.

She was so afraid her feet slipped in the mud and she fell down in a faint as it came off the surface of the water as light as a leaf and slithered smoothly across the mud of the bank.

She was sure she was going to die when it glided towards her foot, but it kept its jaw closed and swept over her ankle, pausing briefly before crossing the other ankle and turning with its bright green head raised slightly.

Hygieia was barely breathing, hoping it would think she was dead, when it flicked its tongue quickly, almost like it was talking to her. She stared, wide-eyed, afraid to even blink.

Quick as a crossbow's dart it was on her, draped over her waist, where it stopped. She was propped on one elbow, looking down when its tongue waved again, longer this time, and she heard a melodic tune, almost like a bird, but faint, and it seemed to have words, like a song.

"Sssssaaacred waaaaterssss."

She took a breath and it just cocked its head a little, curling into the folds of her gown, while staring at her with cold golden eyes that were as unblinking as hers were.

"Unnnndersssstand?"

Unbelievable! She raised up more, noting that it made no move to escape or to lunge at her, but just lay across her legs, as if waiting.

"Did you speak?"

"Yesssss. Ssssentry for tressspasserrrssss."

The sibilant hissing was like a faint breeze through branches, or water slipping over smooth pebbles, but it was words alright. Words of warning.

"Oh! Sorry. I'll go, if you'll get down."

"NnNnNoooo... Sssssserve the goddesssss."

"What goddess are you talking about?"

"Princccesssss of waterrrssss."

It was unmistakable that it was nodding at her, the same way it would if it was going to strike, trying to focus its two eyes on her. Its tongue waved like tiny tendrils of fire.

Hygieia looked around the glade. They were alone. Good thing too. If anyone saw her talking to a snake on her lap, they'd think she was a servant of the lower world. A slight movement drew her eyes down.

It was coiling around her like a belt, hugging the soft folds of her gown. Its head raised up towards her navel like a buckle as it squeezed her and then relaxed.

"Princessss of ssssacred watersssss." Again, that odd nod of its head.

"Meeee? You think I'm a princess? I have to be dreaming this. I must still be unconscious."

"Princccessss, gather waterssss for Goddesss Ssssironaaa."

As quick as she could think it the snake had slipped from around her waist and had coiled itself up between her feet. It began to turn, squeezing a layer of mud up into a crest in the center of its body, like its scales were fingers on a potter's wheel. As it crawled in a circle the clay grew higher, forming a well.

"Ssssacred waterssss... Undersssstand?"

She shook her head. It turned its head and its tongue lapped the side of the crude container. As it touched the wet clay there was a spark. The clay, spiraled like a snake's body, coil piled on top of coil, suddenly changed. Its dull brown color had a rich silver luminescence.

"Princccesss fill vasssssse."

She was sitting up straight now, still trying to believe what her eyes were seeing. The serpent's flat head swung from the vase to the creek, back and forth, beckoning her like a waving hand.

She put her hand out to touch the clay and it was solid, like it had been fired. It had a warmth to it, maybe from the sun on the side of the bank, but more than that. It drew her fingers to it. She could feel more than warmth, more than sunlight. It was emanating something that she couldn't explain. She picked it up, surprised that it had a solid bottom too, when it looked like it was still a part of the creek bed.

Hygieia felt like it was filling her with something as she took a couple steps to the waters and dipped it in. She turned to ask what she was supposed to do, but the snake was gone. She looked at the mud. There was no trail. It had just disappeared.

As she stood, holding the vase, she heard distant shouts. They were looking for her. No, something was wrong. They weren't shouting her name. She heard the clash of metal and realized there was a battle somewhere in the woods. She should be afraid, but something about the vase, the pitcher, and the memory of the snake gave her courage.

She started towards the sounds, moving steadily through the trees. The sounds of battle had ceased as quickly as they'd begun, but there were still shouts. Screams of distress. She recognized the wail of Telesphorus and knew he was in pain. He had been injured in the fray.

Her footsteps quickened, no longer caring about the dangers that could leap at her from behind any tree. Her brother was hurt and he needed her.

She spilled some of the sacred water as she ran faster and faster, till she was almost breathless. She needed to rest, but then she saw them. They were standing in a circle, but not her brother. She hurried towards them without a word, without a sound, and when she got close one of the guards spun around to swing his sword.

She clutched the pitcher to her belly the way a mother would hug a baby for protection as she ignored the gleaming sword and dodged towards him, falling to her knees beside his contorted body. Some of the water splashed out of the pitcher onto his body as he raised his head.

"My brother! What happened?" He was lying in the center of the circle and dark red liquid was seeping out from under his leather tunic.

"Hygieia! I'm sorry."

She looked at the men standing guard around his body, seeing them shake their heads. She leaned over to hug him and tipped the pitcher even more, dousing him with the liquid, washing the dark stain at his waist into the ground.

"What can I do, Telesphorus?"

"I love you, sister. I'm sorry to leave you."

"What are you saying? You can't die!... NO!"

She bent over him, to hug him to her breast, to comfort him and to feel his heart beat, to know he was alive. Her knee tipped the pitcher over, and it ran into the ground under him, but it didn't matter. What good was sacred water if her brother was going to die?

He put his hand around her back as she nestled cheek to cheek... "Noooo! I won't let you!"

Lynnette wavered slightly. Her eyes were shining wet. "Can I sit down here?" She moved to the steps that led up to the dais without waiting for a reply and sank down quickly with her hands at her sides.

Her mother got up to help her back to her seat. "Darling, you can finish it another day."

"No, mother. Sorry. I need to do this... for me!... and for my first mother who taught me by telling stories."

"If you want, but I'll sit with you." She put her arm around the hunched over girl who meant so much to her, more than she could ever say in words, though she tried many times.

"Merci, Mommy. I really want to finish this one. It's not good to leave him in pain."

"I'll be right here. Everyone knows its hard to lose someone."

"Yes. Very, very hard. It hurts here." She put her hand to her chest. "Like it's being torn out... You don't have to stay, but you can. I'm fine now."

Hygieia hugged her brother. His hand patted her back limply as he whispered how much he loved her. She forgot all about the pitcher, all about the men standing around, all about everything except her brother who was in pain, who she couldn't live without.

When she felt him grip her tighter she raised her head slightly to look at his face. She thought his hold had tightened from the pain, but he was smiling.

"Better now. Maybe not dying. Not so bad."

"You sure scared me!"

"I'm thirsty. The pitcher?"

"Yes, but I spilled it all. There's a creek not far from here. I'll run to get more."

She picked up the crude but glowing pitcher and her mouth opened as if she was screaming, but the only sound was the gasp of her breath. It was filled again.

"I don't understand. I spilled it. I know I did. But it's FULL!"

"Hold me up a little."

She put a hand behind his head, feeling the damp sweat in his hair as she tilted the pitcher and gave him a drink. He took three sips and then his head got heavy as he put it back on the ground.

"We need to get him to a healer. He's bleeding." The sergeant wanted to get back to camp, before they were ambushed again.

"But how can we move him?"

"Give me another drink." He propped himself on his elbow, with only a slight grimace of pain. He sat up and took the pitcher in his large hand. "It's like nectar from the gods."

The sacred waters. Princess. Goddess. The serpent. The flood of images flashed before her eyes as she watched the color return to his face. He put his hand on the ground, and she reached out to help him up, but he shook his head.

"Let me try alone."

"Don't you damage yourself more."

"I'm fine now. I don't know how, but I am... It must be a small wound. Look!"

He pulled his tunic up and showed her his belly. There was the stain of blood, but no sign of an injury. Hygieia put her hand over her mouth, then bowed towards the sun and knelt. "Thank the gods. I couldn't bear to lose you."

"Ha haaa... You think a little jab of steel can hurt me."

Her brother was back to his jovial, prankish self, his eyes gleaming, but it was unnerving since she'd been so afraid just a moment ago. He looked down where her eyes were rivetted and then his hand rubbed his abdomen. There was no hole. He had been stabbed with a dagger during the surprise attack, but there wasn't the smallest injury, just some sore muscles.

"I owe you my life, sister."

That was the first of many miracles that poured out of the pitcher. It was guarded as closely as a king's treasure. It saved many lives after battles. Children who had their foreheads wet with its waters were spared illnesses.

It was never empty, but as the years passed and Hygieia's life waned, the waters glimmered with a green sheen on the surface. Three hundred years before the birth of Christ, there was a plague. She had always believed she was protected by the water, but she lost her strength as she treated whoever came for help. She got weak and was bedridden.

In a fever, she had a vision of the snake, it's green body forming the letter S, while the other letters flickered behind the screen of her closed eyelids. Her eyes danced wildly against their lids as she strained to read them. She heard the hissing of a name, reminding her of her brief encounter many years ago at the side of a muddy creek when the snake had called her to serve. "Ssssirona."

She began to chant it in her delirium, over and over, while her brow was wiped of sweat. All who were present expected her to gasp once more and pass into the next world, but she held on.

"Find Sirona... I'll wait."... She forced the words out, hoping he understood. Telesphorus had been constantly at her side.

"We'll find her. You rest now." He ran his fingers through her hair.

She lapsed into a deep sleep, the first true respite she'd had from her illness in days, and the guards were sure she saw the cart of death approaching and was preparing herself for the journey across the river.

Word swept through the realm that Sirona must be found, as Hygieia clung to life by a thread of gossamer, weak enough to be broken by a baby's breath. For days she held on, still breathing, clinging to life with the passion of a true warrior, but there was no good news.

The guard was doubled when the Summer Festival began. The town was crowded by contestants. Each day there were shouts in the streets, "Sirona! Sirona!" Telephorus was losing his composure, looking desperate as he ordered troops to remote villages, even the warring tribes, to search for anyone named Sirona.

A vagrant cart happened to come to trade at the market. It was laden with wood, with a young girl riding happily beside her father, excited by all the activity... "See? Someone's calling my name. Hear it?"

"It's just the noise of the crowd and the wind. You're tired from the long ride."

While her father approached merchants, humbly bartering for sale or trade, she skipped around the cart and teased the pony with grass stems, tickling its nose before giving it a nibble.

"Sirona, stop that! He's as hungry as we are, but we need to make a sale."

The man at the booth turned from her father to look at her, and then back at him. "What did you say?"

"Will you buy just a bundle, maybe? It's good solid wood and would make fine furniture."

"Not that. What did you call your girl?"

"Her name's Sirona. She's always playing games with Nefertus, thinking he enjoys it."

"Sirona? You sure?"

"I should know her name. Raised her from a thumb-sucking toddler."

"You can have whatever price you want for the wood, but we have to go see someone first."

"I thought you were in charge here?"

"Yes, but... Come... Quickly! You can leave your cart. I'll have my boy watch it."

"I don't understand."

"You will. You have brought the gods with you, man. Come. Hurry. She's dying."

"Who's dying?"

"Hygieia. She's been waiting for Sirona, and she's been sick with fever for weeks."

"Sirona! Stop teasing him and come along."

"Yes, father."

"Is she really your child?"

"No. We found her alone. Don't know where she came from. So we raised her."

"You have brought a gift worth ten carts of gold! Hurry, man! Before it's too late."

Sirona skipped along, stopping to see some of the bright vendors' booths. She was in awe of the bright cloth and piles of food on wooden tables. Enough for a banquet. "They have everything here, Dadda."

"Yes. Behave yourself and don't dawdle."

"I'm not, but I'm hungry. You can't go so fast I get lost again."

When they got to the temple, they were stopped by the guards... "Halt! No one enters!"

"Yes, but this is her. The one you seek." The dealer motioned to the girl, who looked up and smiled at the mean-looking man with the glistening sword blocking the doorway. He was brown from the wind and sun, with dark eyes and a frightening scar on one shoulder that was lighter than the skin around it.

"You must be joking!" He looked down at the dirty child with the bright eyes. She smiled up at him without a trace of fear, unaware of the two men who had come up behind her, awaiting his orders. "What's your name, girl?"

"I'm Sirona!" She puffed up like she was proud of herself, pleased to tell him her name. "What's yours?"

"Wait here." He turned to the temple guards. "Don't let them leave this spot!"

Her father turned to see two burly men behind them. "What have I done?"

The first man left, but was quickly replaced by three, who barricaded the door with their hulks and unsheathed steel.

"Why are we here, Dadda, if they don't want to see us?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should go back and make the deal. I want..."

"NO! You must wait. She'll see you!" The dealer was anxious too, but he was also excited, trying to stand meekly, to pose no threat.

A couple minutes passed as people formed a throng behind them. Even if they wanted to leave it would have been impossible now. The first man returned.

"Follow me!" His voice showed that he was used to giving commands, expecting nothing but compliance. There was a rush and a brusqueness to his pace as he led them through an airy temple, its marble columns shimmering in the sun. Sirona tilted her head back, looking up one of the columns. They were so straight and tall it made her dizzy.

They passed through a round room with a stone woman standing in the center holding a pitcher against her hip. A snake lay across her shoulders and dangled its head down towards her.

They crossed a courtyard, with guards spaced along the columned sides, two at every door. Sirona stopped to look at a tiled mosaic of a large serpent wrapped around a woman's body. She held a bowl out in front, like she was offering it. It was filled with round white shapes.

"Is it hurting her? Trying to get the eggs?"

"No. Just decorations. It's not real."

"I know that, but it's a big snake!" Her green eyes sparkled as she dipped her hand over the rim of a fountain in the center of the courtyard and wet her lips. "I'm thirsty."

"I don't know why we're here, but in a while we'll eat and you'll be fine."

"I hope so, Dadda. I'm hungry too."

The shopkeeper was stopped in the courtyard and she followed her father through a bright red and gold door. The bossy guard motioned to a canopied bed. A tiny woman was crumpled up, perspiring, while a maid smoothed her face with a damp cloth.

"I've brought Sirona."

Sirona saw the woman's hand tremble at her side, like she was shivering. She raised her head more than she had for days.

"Must see her."

The guard reached out to put his hand on Sirona's shoulder, but she clung to her father. "I'm scared. I don't like being here."

"Why are we here? The shopkeeper said we had to come and then he'd buy my wood."

"Wood? You must jest!... Let Hygieia see the girl."

"Head up... Can't see."

The maid assisted her, pulling a rolled blanket under her head. The gnarled face of the fever-ridden old woman looked like wrinkled leather, but her eyes were open and there was a light coming from behind them. The sides of her mouth curled up.

"Sirona?"

"That's my name. What's yours?" She still clung to her father who moved closer.

"I waited... to meet you."

"Why? Do you know me?"

"Green eyes... I knew it... Sirona!"

"Who are you?"

"Hygieia."

"Don't strain yourself, princess. You're too weak." The maid looked worried about the conversation taking too great a toll.

"Sirona, come... closer."

"Are you sick?"

"Dying. Let her... touch it... I'll know."

The guard went to the back of the room and picked up a clay pitcher. Sirona's eyes sparkled like emeralds as she looked at it. Her father was shocked to see the way her hair glistened and her face shone with a glow as it was brought towards her.

"Is it to drink? I'm thirsty."

"Show her, Telesphorus."

He turned the pitcher over and poured it on the floor. "Why you so mean? I'm thirsty!"

"Haaa HAAAA!" The tough old soldier burst into a deep laugh and stretched his rippled arm towards her, to hand it to her.

Sirona stepped back. She had seen him turn it upside down, but it had green water shining in it. "Magic."

"It's not magic. It's a miracle. Drink some."

"I don't know. It looks funny, like it's gone bad."

"Drink!"

"I don't want to. Why you so mean to me? I don't want to get sick like that." She motioned to Hygieia who got the faintest smile.

"She's not sick from that. Drink."

"You better do what they want, Sirona, so we can go back to the market."

She put a hand against the coiled side as the guard held it out to her. She reached out to rub it. It was clay but it felt almost soft, and warm, like it had been sitting next to a fire. He held it out to her, smiling. She sipped a little and looked up at him.

"Sweet. What is it?"

"Sacred water."

"Can I have more?" She put her hands on the sides and held it, taking another drink. "How can I drink when it was empty?"

The old woman's voice was scratchy and faint as she nodded. She pointed at the pitcher. "Yours."

"Mine? Why? You don't even know me!"

"Saw you... in a dream."

"I don't understand. Dadda, it was empty, but it's full. How?"

"I don't know how. But I saw it too." He turned to the scarred warrior. "We can't accept a gift like that, but thank you. I must get back to the market, sir."

Hygieia's eyes twinkled... "Wait!... Your child?"

"Yes, I raised her."

Hygieia raised her head more. "Birthed her?"

"No."

"She's the one."... Her head dropped back on the roll and her fingers twitched... "The Goddess Sirona."

The room was quiet. Even Sirona was quiet, holding the pitcher and staring at the woman on the bed. The mean looking guard went over to the bed, to take her hand.

"My sister is dying, but she waited to meet you. You are a healer and I am here to protect you now."

"I hope she feels better soon... Dadda? Can we go now?"

"You can go, but I will have to send the guards for your safety. Or you can stay. The temple is yours now."

Her father noticed that the chief guard's authority had softened in this room. But he wasn't making sense. Why would he care about protecting his daughter? "Did you say the temple?"

"All of it. The temple, my life and all the guards' lives are at your service. Every comfort you can imagine is yours!"

Hygieia spoke weakly... "Yours... Everything!"

Telesphorus came back to bow in front of them. He turned from the father to the girl. "My sister has clung to life to meet you. Many years ago, when I was young I was wounded in battle, and the sacred waters healed me. They have healed many, saved many lives, and now she is giving them to you." He turned to her father. "Your days of scavenging for wood are over, unless you choose to go home. My men will protect the girl and watch her like a goddess, which indeed she is. I can see it in her eyes."

"I always thought she was special, but this is more than... Sirona? Do you understand what he's saying? Do you want to stay here?"

"I'll stay with you, Dadda."

"You can both stay. Bring your family. We'll provide whatever you need. Whatever you want."

"This is my family. Just Sirona."

"You are free to do as you will, but the girl's fate is chosen."

"I need to talk to Sirona alone."

Telesphorus led them to an adjoining room and left them. There were more mosaics and a view of courtyard. "I can see the fountain outside."

He took her shoulders and looked down at her. "Sirona, I've always known you were special and that you came to me for a reason. Maybe this is why. You were meant to be here, and I was meant to take care of you until you got here."

"I don't know what everyone's talking about. I'm not what they think! I'm just a little girl."

"It's a blessing that I found you. You're full of blessings. What do you want to do?"

"Can I stay with you?"

"I never want to leave you, for all the joy you've given me."

"Even when I tease poor Nefertus? And you get angry at me?"

"Yes, even then. You were a gift from the gods. I'm getting older and I think you'll be safe here. They may be new and have strange ideas and a magic pitcher, but I think they mean well. You could call this home."

"You're not old. And when you are, I'll take care of you. I'll let you drink from the pitcher... heee hee."

"That's my girl." He hugged her.

"Should we give the shopkeeper the wood for bringing us here?"

"Yes. Good idea. You're growing up so fast I can't keep up with you."

"I told you. You'll never be able to go so fast you lose me."

"Oh, my child! My beautiful green-eyed blossom. Imagine being a goddess!"

"Hee heee... I don't know about that. I want to be a girl for a while. You think they'll give me a horse I can ride on top of, so I don't have to sit on the cart?"

When they re-entered the room all the guards got down on one knee, bowing to her with the tips of their swords touching the ornate stone floor. "Goddess Sirona, we're at your service." Telesphorus looked younger than he had when he'd stood in the doorway. He glowed with a new vitality.

"Sirona."... Hygieia motioned her over, then pointed to the pitcher and her brother brought it to her. She dipped her fingers and rubbed them on Sirona's brow... "To protect... my heir."

Her eyelids flickered and her hand dropped at her side. The Oracle had been satisfied and she lay in peace.

Telesphorus stroked his sister's damp hair. "She waited through weeks of sickness to meet you, Goddess. She was the keeper of the pitcher, a true princess in everyone's eyes, but she always knew there was someone who would come after her, a goddess with even more power."

The servant pulled the sheet over her face. "Not so quick!" Sirona wet her fingers and rubbed them on Hygieia's brow. "That's to protect her, like she did me." She kissed her forehead. "And that's to remember me on your journey."

Telesphorus was amazed that she was no longer afraid of the plague, now that his sister was still, but the surprises weren't done yet. She turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I called you mean for dumping the water. Will you tell me about her? All about her life and why she waited for me?"

"I'll tell you anything you want to know, as much as I can remember."

Sirona carried the pitcher everywhere she went. In the beginning she was affectionately called "The Water Sprite." She couldn't pass a fountain or waterfall without reaching into it. She had a way of bringing joy to everyone she met. Playful and gentle. Some of those she cured felt better even before drinking from the pitcher.

Telesphorus was like a grandfather to her. He helped her choose a mare and went riding with her for hours at a time. She never tired of it, and he never tired of her. She was seldom out of his sight, and he made sure she had three guards at all times.

One day they returned from a long ride to find the castle guards on the bridge and bodies lying in the fields across the bridge from town. She had just turned eleven and impressed Telesphorus when she jumped into action to help the injured. It was the first time she'd been on a battlefield or seen such severe wounds, but she went from soldier to soldier treating their injuries and comforting them.

One of the raiding Goths was crawling with a gaping wound on his leg and a slash that nearly severed his upper arm. She approached him and knelt down to pour from the pitcher. One of the commanders shouted at her. "NO! Leave him! He's the enemy!"

"He's hurt and I carry the pitcher. I decide who to heal!"

The young man lay on his side, gasping as she washed his wounds. Telesphorus was speechless at her brave retort to the commander, while the guardians gathered around to defend her, expecting the foreigner to attack when he was healed.

As the pain lessened and the gashes of his wounds began to close he tried to stand, but seeing the swords brandished all around him, he knelt and put his forehead to the ground between her feet, surrendering.

Sirona put her hand on his head. "No more fighting."

He stared up at her as the pain subsided. She looked like a child, but she had no fear of him. Her white gown was blotched with red stains of blood, but she seemed to glow in the sunlight, like a spirit.

He struggled up to his feet inside a ring of steel blades, pointed to the sun, touched his fingertips to his chest, then pointed at her. He bowed to her and tried to repeat the words she'd spoken in her tongue. "Noh mehr feihting."

Her eyes sparkled like gems as she nodded and smiled, then moved to the next injured soldier. He turned to limp up the slope. The castle guards were silent as if held in time, as they watched him leave. He turned at the top of the rise, raised both hands to the sky and bowed deeply towards her. The soldiers saw Sirona with a new understanding, but she was absorbed in her duties, treating the injured, completely unaware of the Goths' reverence for her as he disappeared into the woods.

Telesphorus told her later that night. "You are truly the goddess that Hygieia believed you would be. The men are now calling you the Pitcher of Peace."

"Hee heee. I just did what anyone would. I'm a healer."

"You were a blessing today, child. You did more than anyone ever has, and you don't even know it!... You taught the troops something about compassion that they'll never forget!"

"That's because you're a good teacher. You told me a lot about Hygieia." She giggled at his praise and gave him a hug.

"No, that honor belongs to your father. He taught you more than I could ever pretend."

He marveled at the transformation from the dirty child who had arrived two years ago with her father, trying to sell wood to buy some food. In some ways she hadn't changed that much. She had spoken her mind even then, and she still put no store in luxury, living very simply with her father.

Two weeks later a rider appeared at the gate, a white blanket covering his horse's flanks. It bore a grizzly warrior with a graying beard. He rode onto the bridge with one hand in the air, while the other held an emerald over one of his eyes. He stopped and was questioned, but didn't speak their language, gesturing with the emerald till one of the sentries realized what he was signaling.

He dismounted and led his horse to the temple, surrounded by a cordon of guards. When Sirona appeared he gestured with the emerald, pointed at her, and lifted a small enameled box from the saddle. He knelt, his face down as he held it up as an offering.

Telesphorus stepped in front of Sirona, snatched the box abrupty, and opened it, suspecting a trick. Then his shoulders relaxed. It was a Germanic dagger, very much like the one which had injured him years ago, but this one was ceremonial. He turned to hand it to Sirona. "He asks for peace."

Sirona looked in the box. The dagger lay on top of green velvet. The hilt was embedded with emeralds and rubies, set in metal silverwork to simulate waves. She held it up for everyone to see. The tip of the blade was missing, making it useless as a weapon. She looked at the man kneeling in front of her. He had similar features and mannerisms to the man she'd helped. An older brother? Or his father? She asked, "Red for blood and emeralds for water? No more fighting?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a deep bow of reverence. She put her hand on his head, thinking of the look of the man she'd rescued, when the soldiers wanted to let him die in agony or take him prisoner. She made a motion with her hand, waving her fingers towards her mouth, to ask if he was hungry.

His eyes glistened as he looked up at this child who had no concept of enemy, no fear of strangers. She had saved the life of his son for no reason, and had asked nothing for it. He would have given his life in return, but she offered him food. Her eyes sparkled like gems, penetrating through his tears, as if she could see his thoughts. The words she'd said were the same sounds his son had repeated when he returned from the battle, to find his father mourning his death.

"Noh mehr feihting." He bowed again, taking her hand and kissing it.

Telesphorus was moved. Not even Hygieia had ever tried to achieve peace with any of the roaming tribes. They were known to be fierce warriors, but were considered too primitive to form worthwhile alliances. Yet this innocent child had accomplished just that by treating an enemy warrior with the same respect that she treated their own.

There was no doubt that Sirona was truly a goddess, even as a child. There was no limit to what she might accomplish in her lifetime. He hoped to live long enough to see her deeds.

He remembered the day she arrived, the first time she touched the pitcher. A power had passed from the clay into her body. She had stroked the side and her face had been wise, totally at peace, like a good spirit had entered through her fingertips. Even animals seemed calmer in her presence. Some of the men said that he himself looked ten years younger since she'd arrived.

Sirona held her hand out, flat, palm up and raised it. The old warrior stood. She grabbed him and hugged him. "Peace between us."

Telesphorus had been startled, ready to leap to her aid, but he saw the bearded man blink and a tear ran down into his beard, as he put an arm across her back. She was melting him with her gentle power.

"Well, you heard him." She spun in a circle like she was dancing, and skipped through the temple columns. "Let's have a feast. Where's Dadda?"

All who witnessed her actions were struck by her childish joy at having company, while oblivious to the amount of awe she inspired. If she never grew up, never changed at all, that would be just fine. She was perfect, just as she was.

Lynnette's shoulders shook as she turned to hug her adopted mother. If only her real mother could have heard the way she had embellished the story. And her father. And her brother. If only there had been a pitcher to heal them. Her new parents were kind and they took good care of her, but she still couldn't talk about why she was alone.

She wanted to come up with a story that would stop the pain. There had to be a way to stop feeling so empty and alone. Some magic that would make it all go away. Her throat knotted up as her new mother walked her back to the pew. She didn't hear the applause or see the wet eyes of the congregation. She was deep inside her pain, seeing the picture she took of her family that last day, before they were lost forever.

She sat next to her father who put his arm around her shoulders. "You make me feel proud, to hear you speak English so well. Your stories are magnificent!"

Sara came over to sit with her, leaning against her shoulder and holding hands. She knew how Lynnette felt, and she wanted to comfort her for being her friend. They all sat like tilted dominoes, balanced against each other.

Lynnette felt numb as she sealed the pain deep inside, and her other feelings with it. The way she had done for months. She had tried to explain her feelings in French, but nobody knew what she meant, so she had given up, spinning her cocoon, insulating herself from the world that had been so cruel. Now it felt good to have company in her sorrow.

At the end of the service, she turned to the little redhead, who had just sat there, not prying her with words or questions. She ruffled her hair. "Sara, you enjoy your visit. I'll come see you on Wednesday."

"Thank you for the story. I really liked it."

"You like all of them!"

"Uh huh. Because you're a good story teller."

"Are you calling me a fibber, you little freckle?"

"Uh uh... I mean it in a good way."

"Don't keep them waiting now. You have a good time." She gave her a hug.

"Thanks. You get happy again too, sister."

Brianna came over as Sara went to join the family that wanted to take her home for the afternoon. "Looks like you have lots of sisters now?" She tried to force her face into a pout, but it was a hopeless attempt.

"You'll always be the special one. I would never be who I am without you."

"Me either. Mom said I can go home with you guys, if that's alright?"

"Please do that. You're welcome any time." Her father felt indebted to Brianna and her family. She'd been like a second daughter to him.

"Thanks. Lynnette, we can talk if you want? It might help."

"I know, but not about some things... not yet."

"I just wanted to say it, so you know."

"I know it without you saying it. Some day I will."

"Snakes! Ewww! I was scared she'd get bit at the beginning."

"I don't like them either. That's why mother... Uhhh. I hope you liked it?"

"I liked the part at the end too. I'd like to hear more about Sirona some time, if you have more stories about her."

"I don't yet, but I might. Sara said I'm a good story teller, so I'm sure I could make something up."

"Yeah. I bet you could!"