The rain pelted down on the little wooden shack where the peasants lived. The girl sat on the cloth adorning the dirt floor for a rug, looking up at the muddy roof above, hearing the rain fall down upon it outside.
"Oh, I would to live at a barony!" she bemoaned. "Then even if 'twere raining, I should be happy! I should put on a splendid gown and dance with the baron!"
"Oh, would you now?" came the answer from her grandmum. "Ye might not, you know. If there were some war, which there always will be someday and some way, ye'd have to send foot soldiers! If those foot soldiers were your sons, ye'd not be so happy, would ye? It always seems better somewhere else! Us peasants have it pretty dern good at times: You hear me on that!"
The girl looked back up at the roof, which she knew could cave in at any moment. "Oh, I don't know about that, Grandmum," she said, quietly. "We will be lucky if this house holds up all winter. Is it really not any better anywhere else?"
The rain was the only answer.
Submitted: November 20, 2022
© Copyright 2023 B.J. Vancheyson. All rights reserved.
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