That next morning in spite of the rain not letting up, the four packed their belongings and made their way down into the long valley to seek out the village of Wahesh.  As expected it was not far from where they had camped for the night, and the girls were anxious to meet the first gentry of the village—possibly survivors of the attack which resulted in the death of their parents and their own abduction to the East.

"Look, Zaria,"  Branka said excitedly, her head covered by a hooded garment designed and woven by Tsudros. "I see men working in the field . . . even in this rain."

 "Our people were always that busy," Zaria remarked smiling.

"I remember our fathers and brothers to be so." Branka replied a bit sadly.

Their walking pace quickened as they saw the conical-shaped, thatched-roof houses laid out in concentric circles. The village was large and the air was dense from the smoke from many domestic hearths.

"Oh, Tsudros, my love!  We have arrived!  Our escape is complete, my darling!"

Tsudros reached over and hugged her warmly. Moshtok did the same to Branka who was now silent, her face streaked with tears.

The four, with their trusty pack horse tethered and pulled behind them, came within the sight of many people and soon several men rode out to investigate them on their clumsy work horses. These animals were taller and more robust than the small but swift warhorse of the Pazyryk people. And even these two animals were curious about the four wanderers and their thin, smaller horse, being led along obediently.

"Hello! . . . And greetings, my people of Wahesh!"  Zaria shouted to the men as they neared. The two strangers could tell by her accent and dialect that this strange young woman was indeed someone hailing from the same area.

"Who are you ?" The younger of the men asked, as the two farmers rode up and stopped before them. He, like his older, taller comrade, wore woolen vests over hisr fine leather clothing. His boots were lined with wool and laced up to the knees. Both had sparse beards and their faces featured a light-skinned complexion, set-off by striking, grayish blue eyes. Tsudros and Moshtok immediately saw the similarities of these men's features with the women they now loved and were willing to share their lives with.

"We are Branka and Zaria," Branka stated. "Two years away in the East now. We have escaped the Scythian king . . . Sharvur .  And with these men, our lovers . . . we have come back to our homeland."

The two Slavic men were speechless. They only looked with curious eyes back and forth between the girls and their foreign companions.

"What family clan are you from?" asked the taller of the two. Both still remained defensive and mistrusting  on horseback.

"I am from the family Batvick  . . .  and Branka is from the clan Danislav,"  Zaria told them.

"There is another of us . . . Svetlana. But she remains in the East. Her family clan is Koucik."

"Koucik? My family is Koucik!"  exclaimed the younger man. "I know this Svetlana. She is my cousin! She was taken by the Pazyryk raiders two years ago."

"Yes!"  Said Branka. "With us!"

"She is alive," Zaria informed him. "She stayed back. She was with child when we escaped."

The young man's face lit up with amazement and relief. He smiled to his friend.

"Many of our families were killed in that terrible battle," the older man said. "And we knew they had taken some of our girls. But we didn't think we'd ever see any of you again."

"Yes," the young farmer chimed in. "Your families will not believe that we can now look upon you . . .  I only hope my cousin Svetlana is safe . . . and being treated well."

His voice was now breaking with emotion.

"You see . . . I played with Svetlana my whole life when we were children. But now we had all just accepted that she was . . . or worse."

The men looked coldly into the faces of Moshtok and Tsudros. It was a telling and silent moment.

Zaria and Branka looked at that each other during that uncomfortable second, as well. They dared not share what they had recently learned of Svetlana's present state from the captured Pazyryk soldiers—that she was back in the citadel of Sharvur. For they also now knew the monster king who had somehow been freed from his imprisonment had also resurrected himself as tyrant again. Both girls understood too well that their sister Svetlana--once content to live with her loving general Murka, was no doubt now living a torturous life of sexual slavery. Once again in the bedchamber of Sharvur.

Night and day after learning of her fate, both girls dared not think of what depraved behavior Sharvur was engaging in with her back in his stone enclave. For it had been common knowledge that losing the instrument of his manhood by the Amazon, Aella, had only heightened Sharvur's methods of cruelty and sexual perversion.

Each girl was carnally cognizant of this, as she had been subjected to the king's terrible sexual proxy--the  enormous and virile soldier, Arpada. It was a tremendous guilt they both now lived with—having left Svetlana behind.

"This evening we will inform the whole village of your return," the younger of the two Slavic men said with an inflection of glee in his voice.

"Yes. It will be the greatest reason for a celebration," the older said, now also smiling enthusiastically. "Our clans of Wahesh  will come together and rejoice for your return, Zaria and Branka."

As the men led the four travelers closer into the center of the village, a full range of emotions entered the girls' excited hearts. They saw children playing with wooden hoops, women carrying bundles of branches for cooking fires, and the men ever-present in the fields attending to row upon row of green agricultural sustenance.

 As if cued by some cosmic inspiration, the benevolent sun broke free from behind the dark clouds just as the girls with their men were led into the main square. From out of nowhere a woman ran toward them. She somehow instinctively had understood who the two girls were. As if she had been waiting and looking for them to one day arrive for almost two full years. This heavy-set woman approached with great alacrity and emotion as she did not even wait to be informed before breaking into tears of joy. She embraced the girls emphatically and with many words of thanks under her breath.

As the two girls were showered with these kisses and tears, the younger of the Slavic men announced that the woman was his aunt. In the joyous impromptu reunion, it became known that she was truly one of the survivors of the brutal attack two years hence. And this woman, they suddenly surmised, had every reason to embrace them for their tremendous good fortune—to have made it back safely to their homeland. For she was none other than Svetlana's mother.

* * *