A/N: A nice little poem that I wrote in class the other day I mean I was totally paying attention in my classes, I swear. Short and drabbly, title means 'wait' in Old English.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Vague Dedication: To David Wenham for his 40th birthday today. Yeah, I know this, and yeah, I kind of typed this up for it.
She always awaited his return, trying not to fall asleep or become to busy with the days chores. She would stop everything once she heard the sound of hooves on the stones.
He would always return as soon as he could, even if it meant riding into the night. His heart would swell when he saw the gates to his home, even more when he saw her.
Once she fell asleep waiting for him, outside on the porch she waited, the scents of summer and the cool breeze lulled her to sleep. He came home and picked her up and carried her in. She moved closer to him when she was in his arms.
Every time she would wait and he would hurry, no matter how long they had been married. If they had quarreled before he left, she would still wait, no matter how much she was angry. He would always hurry, no matter how much he would rather have stayed. Both knew that no matter what was said before, they would always want to be back together.