The market was closing for the day. Merchants were busily breaking down their tents and booths, and the lowing of oxen and impatient snorting of horses had replaced the buzz of the usual crowd of shoppers. Tara strode confidently through the remaining stragglers. No one impeded her progress – one look at the grim, six-foot warrior was enough to warn most people out of her way at once. She didn't spare much attention for them. Her dark eyes were fixed firmly on their goal – a small merchant's stand, in the early stages of being dismantled. Seven more determined strides carried her to it. There she stopped, drawing herself up to her full height and folding her arms across her armored chest.

The merchant, an old man with a grizzled beard, looked up and smiled his welcome. "Ah! You're back, warrior. I was wondering if I'd saved my merchandise for nothing."

"I keep my word," Tara said shortly. "You still have it?"

"I do, indeed." The man produced an item wrapped up in a rough cloth bundle. "I included all the things you'll need for its upkeep, as you asked." He paused as she took it and fished in her money pouch for the right coins. "Forgive my curiosity, but do you intend to use it yourself? You don't quite seem like the type, miss."

She shot him a cold look, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not for me," she growled. Her wrist flicked as she tossed a handful of coins down on his table. "Here." With that, she turned away, tucking her purchase under her arm and making her way back toward the inn.

It had been an interesting and rewarding week. Tara thought she knew the territory around Argos by heart, now. Being cooped up in one city was beginning to wear on her, but she knew their company was due to regroup in a couple of days, and so it didn't really bother her. Her experiment with Epona had been a success thus far. She'd put the slave through her paces every morning, and she thought she could already see some progress. The girl's skittishness and low mood didn't seem to be lifting, however. And so…

Tara smiled a bit, patting her bundle. We'll see if this doesn't do the trick, she thought smugly. And even if it doesn't, I'll wager I can get another smile out of the little scrap, at the very least.

Her game of trying to get Epona to smile was giving her a lot of unexpected pleasure. She'd begun to get the sense that the girl wasn't normally so gloomy. The slave might even have a sense of humor. Might, Tara thought doubtfully. I don't expect I'll hold my breath waiting for that one, though. She ducked her head slightly as she stepped through the inn door.

The first thing she spotted was Drea. The woman had ensconced herself at a corner table with the cute little tanned girl she'd been amusing herself with – the daughter of some local fruit vendor, Tara thought she'd said. By the bleary look in the dark-haired warrior's eyes, Tara suspected that she'd already had a number of ales, and she had a half-empty mug of it in her fist. The pretty little girl on her arm didn't look drunk, but she seemed happy enough. As the redhead watched, Drea caught sight of her across the floor. The smaller warrior shot her a triumphant grin and deliberately caught her conquest around the waist, capturing her lips in a possessive kiss. Tara chuckled quietly and shook her head as she made her way to the stairs and mounted them, two at a time.

The room at the top of the steps was dark, lit only by a single, guttering candle that was stuck to the windowsill with drips of wax. Tara paused to glance around for her slave. She found the girl's huddled form in a corner. Epona was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her head was resting against the wall, and her eyes were closed – she was sound asleep. Tara's lips twitched with affectionate amusement as she set down her package on the bedside table. She used the candle to light a lamp; the room lit up. "Hey," she said, turning back to the sleeping slave. Epona didn't twitch. "Hey," Tara said again, louder. "Wake up, you lazy little mouse, or I'll double your run tomorrow morning!"

Green eyes suddenly flew open, and Epona started visibly. She flinched back against the wall. Then, as her gaze took in her smirking mistress, the slave girl slumped down again with a gasp. "Oh, I…I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't know I'd fallen asleep…I…"

"Never mind that." Tara grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "Get up off that floor and come here, Epona. I've got something for you."

"For…me?"

The smaller girl slowly picked herself up and moved to stand before her owner. Her curly hair was mussed. Tara couldn't help tousling it affectionately. She followed that up by dropping her fingers to lightly caress the wooden pendant that hung around the girl's neck, and then the soft throat just above it. A dark blush crept over Epona's face; Tara's lips curved slightly. Mine. For a moment, she let her fingertips linger there, resting just above the curve of Epona's collarbone. Then she turned, took up the package she'd brought, and dropped it into the slave's slender hands. "Here. Open it."

"A–all right, ma'am." The slave shyly sat down on the bed and rested the bundle in her lap. Tara watched with interest as the slim fingers untied knots and unfolded fabric. Soon, the rough cloth fell away, disclosing smoothly-burnished wood and bright, brass pegs. Epona went very still. Tara saw her little knuckles whiten as she clutched her handfuls of fabric. "Oh," she whispered.

"Do you like it?" The warrior peered at the slave's face. She could see tears filling the girl's green eyes; her own face darkened. "Epona?"

Slowly, the slave girl looked up. Tears spilled over Epona's cheeks, but her eyes lit up like stars, and she smiled – the widest, most genuine smile that Tara had succeeded in coaxing out of her yet. "Oh…it's beautiful, ma'am! I…I don't know what to say…I never thought…"

Success. Tara found herself grinning back. She reached out and lifted the small harp, pressing it against the slave's hands. "Well? Try it out. You do play the thing, don't you?"

"Um…yes. Yes, I…" Epona hesitated. Then she grasped the instrument with her left hand and tentatively plucked at its strings with her right. Tara watched as the slender fingers carefully tuned the harp, until its notes rang out pure and true. A faint smile still played about Epona's lips as she plucked out a brief little melody. "It's perfect," she whispered.

"Good." The warrior smirked and turned away. "You get a bit of practice in while I go and get us some supper. You're going to sing me a song once we've eaten."

Moss-green eyes gone wide peered up at her. "A…song?"

"Yep. You know – poetry, sung to music? Usually with some kind of rhythm involved?" Tara tweaked Epona's button nose between her fingers. "Make it a good song, my little bard. I'll be back in a few minutes." She turned away and headed back toward the inn's common room, still smiling at the memory of the astonished look on the slave's face.

The kitchen was serving a rich, savory stew – venison, by the smell of it – with loaves of fresh, fragrant bread. Tara busily collected a tray, but her mind was elsewhere. Wonder if the little scrap's got a good voice? Be nice if she does. And maybe she can tell a decent story, too. She sure reads enough, from what she's said. Her eyes softened. That'd be nice…nothing like a good singer and storyteller on winter nights around the campfire. Squirt might be worth her weight in gold.

"Hey, Terror." An arm was thrown unexpectedly over Tara's broad shoulders. The warrior just barely managed to keep her instincts from kicking in and sending a knife plunging into the body attached to that arm. As it was, she turned a dour glare on the drunken, dark-skinned woman who was grinning at her. "Grumpy ol' girl," Drea teased, her words slurring together. "Wanna come drink wi' me t'night? Be a lotta fun." Her dark brows waggled. "Can 'ave better fun later, too."

"Not tonight." The Gael shrugged off the smaller woman's arm. "I've got something planned with Epona."

"Aw, c'mon, Terror." Drea leaned in, giving Tara a good whiff of the ale on her breath. "Slave can wait, right? Be more fun wi' me."

"No." Tara's nose wrinkled in distaste at the smell. Gods. I think a drunk's only attractive if the other person's drunk, too. "Some other time, all right?"

The smaller warrior scowled and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Well, fine. Go play wi' your damn slave. I'll just 'ave Selena 'nstead, then." She lurched as she pointed back at her young conquest, nearly falling headlong into a table. "Maybe I like 'er better, anyway!"

"Sure, Drea." Tara watched in mingled annoyance and amusement as the smaller woman staggered back to the table she was sharing with the local girl. "Wine and women," she muttered, shaking her head. Then she took up the tray and headed back up the stairs to where her slave was waiting.

When the warrior shouldered her way into the room, Epona was still strumming the strings of her harp and humming softly. She stopped as her owner entered. Tara carelessly thumped the tray down on the bedside table. "Put away your little pluck-pluck and have some food," she said gruffly. "No sense starting the festivities on an empty stomach." The slave obediently laid aside her instrument and took one of the bowls of stew her mistress had brought.

They ate in companionable silence. When they were done, Epona got up to stack their dishes neatly, and then reached for her harp. Tara's hand shot out and caught her by the wrist before she could grasp it. "Not yet," she said mildly, as the slave looked at her in confusion. "You've got way too many clothes on." Her fingers twitched at the hem of Epona's long tunic. "Take this off." Without a word, the slave obeyed, letting the soft fabric slide off her and onto the floor. Tara grinned at the exposed flesh and sat back lazily. "C'mere," she said, patting the surface of the bed between her knees. Slowly, Epona crawled up. Tara grasped her by the shoulders and nestled her slender body comfortably between her thighs, pulling her back to rest against her chest. Then she reached out a long arm to snag the harp and laid it in the slave girl's lap. "Now, we're ready," she smirked. "Sing away, beag luch." Her hand rested in its favorite place against the girl's flat stomach.

Epona nervously tuned the instrument. "I…haven't practiced in a while, ma'am," she whispered. "I don't know how good my voice will be."

Tara ducked her head to nibble on the rim of Epona's ear. "Never mind that, my little mouse-girl. Sing me a song." She nipped the side of her slave's neck, grinning as she heard the faint gasp that followed. "Make it something interesting, too. No mushy love songs, all right?"

"Okay." The girl shyly began to strum the harp. Then, clearing her throat slightly, she began to sing.

Tara was enchanted. Epona's voice was soft, and sweet as a flute. A broad smile spread over her face as she listened. She's not bad…not bad, at all. Heh. The redhead relaxed and began to listen to the words. After a while, her brow creased. It was a song about a warrior who had led a small force against three Amazon villages, and wound up destroying them completely. Tara's sandy brows lowered. By the end of the song, she was almost scowling. Epona looked up timidly when she had finished; there was silence for a long moment.

The warrior eyed her suspiciously. "I can't say that I've heard that particular song before, Epona. Where did you hear it?"

Epona flushed scarlet. "Oh. Um…well, actually, I…I guess I sort of put it together myself, ma'am," she said timidly. She pointed at her two books, which were stacked together beside the bed. "I read the story in that big one, the one put together by the local bards."

"Oh, really?" Tara glanced ruefully down at the book, her frown softening. "And you composed that little melody for it yourself?"

The small slave squirmed a bit. "I…guess." There was a pause. "Did you really defeat three Amazon villages, ma'am?"

"You gods-be-damned sneaky little minx." The redhead couldn't help chuckling. She shook her head slowly. "Yeah, I did." Then, curiously, "Did that story say why I did it? Or give a lot of detail?"

"No, ma'am," Epona said quietly. "It was a really long story about a fight between Ares and Artemis. Your part in it was kind of small, but when the book mentioned the warrior with red hair, I knew it had to be you."

"Huh." Tara idly sorted through the black curls that lay against her breast, stroking Epona's naked belly with the other. "Well, I might as well tell you the real story, then, since you're bound to be curious." She rested her head back and gazed thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "That was back when I was fighting with Vasilus," she said. "Drea and I had joined him about a year before. We'd been hired by four villages in northern Argonia – some damn Amazons had been forcing them to pay tribute, and they wanted out. Can't say I blamed them." Tara scratched her nose. "First fight we got into, Vasilus got wounded. He took an arrow in the leg, and just about bled to death. Then infection set in, and we figured he was going to die." Her eyes darkened. "And his damned, blasted second, Spiro, wanted to just give up and leave. Leave! After those bitch harpies had done that!"

Epona turned her head to look up at her. "You didn't like that."

"You just bet I didn't. Vasilus might not have been the best man in the world, but he was a damn good fighter, and damned if I was going to just run like a whipped dog and not dole out some revenge on some bloody Amazons." Tara gave a dangerous smile. "So I challenged Spiro, and he lost. And then I led Vasilus's boys, and we spanked those bitches in two pitched battles. Burned their villages to the ground." She paused, running her fingers lightly over her slave's ribs. "Know what I did to their Queens?" Epona shook her head. "Had 'em crucified. Nailed them to three crosses just outside the third village and let 'em watch while it burned. Then I had every prisoner we'd taken brought there and put to the sword."

The little slave didn't speak, but the look of sick horror and reproach in her eyes hit Tara like a slap across the face. The warrior felt the first stirrings of anger in her gut. Then Epona looked down, and Tara was struck again by how much she reminded her of Maggie. The fury dissipated as suddenly as it had begun, and she simply felt tired. Tara sighed. "Tell you what. I'll tell you a gentler story for your little collection," she said quietly. "Don't want you to have nightmares, after all."

"Okay," Epona whispered. She didn't look up.

Tara leaned back. "This is a story about two little girls who lived in Gaelis," she said. "Their names were Maggie and...and Raven." Why am I telling her this? I'm out of my damn mind. "They were friends," she went on. "Maggie was an orphan, and Raven's mother was a drunk, so they survived on the street together by begging and stealing."

It was strange, but Tara lost herself in the telling of her own story. The memories rose up before her mind's eye as she spoke, as real as the room in which they sat together. She could almost taste the salty sea breezes that had whipped through her hometown, hear the cries of the merchants selling their wares, and see the laughter in Maggie's dark eyes. As she neared the end, she could feel her chest burning, and a hard lump rising in her throat. Tara plowed on doggedly – she'd never yet let mere pain keep her from doing something, and she wasn't about to stop now. "…But the pile of rags was gone, and so was Maggie. Raven never did find out where they'd taken her."

Tara's voice faltered and fell silent. She found herself still lying with her head resting back on the wall, but she'd closed her eyes. Drawing a deep breath, the warrior began to collect her scattered wits. Then she felt the little form in her arms shiver. She looked down.

Epona's body was curved against hers, and her face was pressed into the soft leather of her jerkin. As Tara watched, bemused, she saw the little form shake again, and heard a tiny sob emerge from the hidden throat. The warrior was equal parts touched and annoyed. She tugged on one of Epona's dark curls. "What're you blubbering about, you ridiculous girl?" she asked gruffly. "It was just a story."

"It was so sad." Epona emerged from her hiding place with wet green eyes and a tearstreaked face. She rubbed at her cheeks with slim hands, uttering another little sob. Then she slipped her arms around the warrior's muscular body and hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Tara struggled with herself. Her first impulse was to tear herself loose and snarl at the slave girl, but something was stopping her – something she couldn't quite put a name to. Did it have something to do with Maggie? Tara's brow furrowed in confusion. Damn it. Damn it, damn it… "Knock it off," she growled instead, halfheartedly pushing at Epona's arms. The girl released her and moved away quietly, her expressive green eyes averted. The warrior's touch grew gentler then as she traced her fingertips over the sharp line of Epona's collarbone. "Enough stories," she said quietly. "Why don't you see about taking my shirt off, beag luch, and we'll go from there?" Small fingers obediently began to work on the fasteners of Tara's jerkin. The warrior let the sensations flow over her after that, drowning out the pain of memories that could never now be changed.