"Here, Papa. I brought you some water." The older man accepted it from his daughter, Regan, with a distracted smile and leaned against the wall of the cottage. It had been a long night, and a long morning followed it. This was his village, and as its mayor, he felt responsible for everything that happened in it. It was his job to make sure that everyone was fed, to settle disputes, to keep the hot-headed young ones from making rash decisions, and to keep them all safe. But, this morning, it was his job to organize the clean-up that last night's Gypsy raid had necessitated. Was it his imagination or had there been more of them lately?

Now, as the morning's pink light faded, everything had been put back in order. Inventory had been taken to discern any losses, and breakfast was about to be enjoyed. The villagers all stood around the fire and waited for him. Patrick cleared his throat and bowed his head.

He prayed thanks and blessing that God had protected them from the previous evening's attacks, that no one had been harmed, and asked for the Lord's continued protecting in the future.

Patrick glanced around the square. Squire Philip, the son of the biggest landowner in the valley, was in the midst of telling a joke to the men gathered around him. Occasionally prone to bouts of romanticism, he was a kind man, with a bright future and was well-liked by all. Patrick had hopes to groom Squire Philip to take his place when he was too old to lead the village. But, that was some time off yet.

Off to the side, Darren was consuming his breakfast alone, absently brushing his too-long hair out of his eyes. He'd had to grow up quickly when both his parents had been killed some years earlier in a freak seaweed accident. Others had tried to take Darren and his siblings in, but he had been adamant that he could care for them himself. There had been some business about deathbed promises made to his father. Darren did his best to care for his younger brother and sister. He spoiled and doted on the girl, Briana, but Patrick thought he was just a bit too hard on the brother, Seth. Patrick tried to cushion that by going out of his way to encourage the young boy.

Darren was prone to encouraging the villagers to occasional bouts of violence, usually against the gypsies whom he hated with a passion. No one quite knew where the strength of his feelings came from. The gypsies were a problem, to be sure. But, Darren always seemed to make it personal. Despite his moodiness, he was often a big help. The young girls were crazy about him, but he never seemed to notice.

Patrick clapped his hands together and stood before the townspeople. "My friends," he began. "Last night, we had a little trouble. But let's have some faith. God led us here and gave us these lands, and He will protect us from the wolves that scratch at our doors."

Squire Philip stood and clapped a hand to Patrick's shoulder. "Well said. Our history is written here in this town. Our future will be written here as well, as has been promised."

A tentative hand rose from the front of the crowd. Patrick smiled indulgently. "Seth lad, you have something to say?"

The young boy stood with Patrick and faced the crowd of people. He knew them all but somehow they were all more daunting when they were faced en masse. He was determined to participate in the grown-up talk and tried valiantly to keep the tremor out of his voice. "I just think that we work so hard on the farms, and that- that—we shouldn't let anyone take that away from us."

"Well said, grasshopper. Hear, hear," came the sarcastic quip from the back.

Seth flushed, but Patrick nodded at him encouragingly. "Thank you, boy. You're right," and he leveled a warning look at the lad's brother.

Darren stood and ambled to the front. "What are we doing?" he asked quietly. "More and more often, the gypsies come. We work so hard, all of us. We work so hard to feed this village, to care for our loved ones. And their 'King,'" he fairly spat out the words, "their king takes it into his head that it's perfectly fine to come and destroy everything we've done." He looked each man in the eye. "I'm done with it. It's high time we fight back, not just to keep them on their side of the river, but to drive them out of Ireland entirely!" Darren emitted a snort of disgust when no one responded and stalked angrily from the square.

Patrick sighed. Their villagers were not soldiers. They weren't soldiers or bandits or warriors. They were farmers, skilled with a hoe and livestock, but not with weapons. An uncomfortable silence followed, but was soon broken by the sound of a fiddle, and the day continued on.

Across the river, breakfast was also served, but the mood was far more festive around this campfire. The gypsies laughed and sang together, still high off the adrenaline of the night's adventures. A pile of fine cloth and gold lay on the ground at Colin's feet. He bent down to retrieve a golden cup and held it aloft.

"My illustrious friends," he began with a smile. "Last night was some adventure, eh? There was a time when this land was ours and ours alone until those invaders took over and drove us from our homes. But, we are not weak and we are not powerless! We will drive them from our land and reclaim what is ours!" Colin brought the cup down to eye level and gazed at it thoughtfully. "To us!"

His men lifted their voices, music filled the air, and their celebrations began anew. He watched with a smile on his lips and then retired to his wagon for a bit of rest after the night's activities. He tossed the cup onto a pile and flopped onto the bed of straw.

A voice came from a darkened corner. "That was impressive, Brother."

Colin started. "Kira!" She grinned at having startled him, and he muttered, "What are you doing in here?"

"You promised a present."

He pulled a chain from his pocket and tossed it in her lap. "Spoiled brat," he called her with an indulgent wink.

Kira fastened the chain around her wrist and sat before a little mirror to admire how it looked. "I am not. I just have the sweetest brother." She paused and turned to him, suddenly serious. "Why are we doing this, Colin? In the beginning, I thought we did it so we could feed everyone, so we wouldn't starve. But…" She gestured to the pile of gold building in the corner. "Aren't we past that? "

Colin's eyes hardened. "They think they're better than us, Kira. They treat us like we're nothing. Don't you ever get tired of that? Don't you ever want to be treated like you're someone?"

She knelt by his side and placed her palm against the side of his cheek with tenderness. "Colin, you ARE someone. All those men out there worship you. They're a little scared of you sometimes, but they worship you. Isn't that enough?"

Colin got up and opened the back door of the wagon. Looking back at her, he almost whispered, "No."

Then, he was gone.