Gretel, one of the elders of the village, clutched a small wooden box to her chest. Her frail fingers tightened around the small item as the galloping horses made their way closer to the village. Gretel stepped out of her cottage and joined some of the villagers who huddled together for safety. These bandits have been coming to their village more frequently, which made living day to day more strenuous.
The rapid sound of galloping horses slowed down to a trot as the bandits came closer. When they dismounted from their steeds, they turned and laughed at the dispirited souls standing in front of them. The laughter that escaped their lungs was not only wicked, but foul. As Gretel’s’ eyes darted from face to face of those she lived with for years she could see the tears start forming in their eyes. Over the past year the bandits have taken pretty much everything from them, including their hope to be one day saved from their thievery.
The villagers wept in fear as the bandits searched each of their cottages for anything worth value to them. Uninvited and unannounced, the bandits forced their way into the villagers’ homes, tossing aside anyone who dared tried to stop them. What little jewels the villagers owned were ones that were passed down from generation to generation. When those gems were gone, the bandits moved on to other items. They searched for anything they could possibly get a coin or two for. They never turned down a chance to steal whatever food the villagers had spent time harvesting for their families. After filling their bags with food and various items, the bandits then turned their attention to those gathered off to the side. The villagers, over the years, slowly became stripped of everything they had worked hard for. One by one the bandits searched the villagers, emptying out their pockets for anything they were trying to hide. When they reached Gretel, Gretel gave them a stern look.
“What are you going to do about it elder?” the man asked.
Gretel eyes never strayed from his glare. “I might not be able to, but she will,” Gretel replied as she pointed towards the empty forest.
The man glanced back, but to his surprise, there was no one there.
The men laughed as he ripped the small box from her hands. He examined it, grunted and tossed it into his bag. Just when the villagers were about to give up all hope, a glimpse of hope soared through the air in a form of an arrow. Before the bandit even had a chance to look up an arrow flew past him, missing him by only a hair. Everyone’s heads turned in the direction of where the arrow came from. The mysterious woman emerged from the forest, notched back another arrow and released it, but this time she hit the bag he was holding, forcing him to drop it. All of the villagers’ items spilled out onto the ground at his feet.
“Return their things at once, or you will be forced to answer to me!” The woman shouted.
The man she nearly hit replied, “And who might you be?”
“I am Bethany and I am here to protect these people from you and the monsters behind you.”
The man stepped closer and introduced himself. “I am Brent, the King of Thieves and I do not answer to anyone, including you!”
Brent turned away. Before walking off he snatched a necklace off the neck of a young lady clutching a baby in her arms. Bethany raised her bow, notched back an arrow and with a steady breath she released it. The arrow arched into the air and pierced Brent’s shoulder. He winced, placed his hand over the wound and then studied the blood on his fingertips.
“You want a fight Bethany, then you got one,” Brent sneered.
Bethany put her bow away and drew her sword. Brent’s men started to follow suit, but Brent held out his hand to stop them. “She’s mine!” Brent shouted.
Bethany ran towards him with her sword drawn. Their blades locked as they both pushed back with all their might. Bethany managed to break free and swing her sword around, missing Brent’s throat. Brent clearly underestimated his opponents’ abilities. Bethany was light on her feet, but she was determined to make Brent pay for his actions. With every attack, Bethany countered back with force. She was driven and motivated by the villagers that surrounded her. They were watching eagerly to see who would be the victor.
Bethany quickly removed a dagger from her waist and slashed Bret’s hand, leaving him with no choice, but to drop his sword. Bethany kicked away his sword before he mustered enough courage to pick it back up.
Pointing her sword at his throat she said, “I will spare your life, but never return here again. If you are foolish enough to return, next time I won’t be so merciful.”
Brent huffed and stood up. Clutching his wounded hand to his waist, Brent turned away without muttering another word to her. The bandits tossed their bags onto the ground and mounted their horses. Bethany and the villagers waited until the bandits were no longer in sight before retrieving their belongings from the bags.
Bethany bent down and picked up the small wooden box that belonged to Gretel. “Here, I think this belongs to you,” Bethany said as she handed Gretel the box.
“Thank you, you have no idea how much this means to me,” Gretel replied with a tear in her eye.
“The box is beautiful, it must have been worth a few coins,” Bethany replied as she placed her sword back in its scabbard.
“The box is worthless to me regardless of how much it cost. It’s what’s inside the box that holds the upmost value to me,” Gretel informed her.
Bethany was curious. “If you don’t mind me asking…what’s inside the box?”
Gretel’s face lit up with excitement. She hadn’t had anyone ask her about the contents of the box for a while now. Her nimble fingers lifted the lid and she pulled out a single dried out flower.
Bethany’s face twisted in confusion. “There are many flowers like that blossoming around the meadows. What’s the significance and worth of that flower that you would give your life for it?”
Gretel held the flower up and replied, “My dear child, worth comes in all different sizes. I was given this flower by my husband on the day of my wedding. He died a few years ago and this is what I have to remember him by. Now, you must be thinking how can you determine the worth of something?” Bethany stood there in silence listening to Gretel as she continued to speak. “The worth of something could be as simple as this flower or as valuable as a neckless. But, to determine it’s worth is by the mark in which the item leaves on your soul. You might keep it close for sentimental reasons or as a personal reminder of what once was, but in the end it’s worth outweighs any number of coins or gold that is offered to you.”
Dani Felicetti 