Over the next several days, besides a preoccupation with bathing, which the girls engaged in with every opportunity to wash away the memories and disgust of what they had endured, their lovers Tsudros and Moshtok were super-sensitive to them. It was a healing process by which only love and understanding, through its magic, could initiate and sustain.

Both men during the terrible ordeal suffered their own angst and oceanic guilt, during and after the attack. They simply had felt worthless from the deadly situation—unable to help, for had they struggled to escape, they would have surely been decapitated by the iron sword which hovered over the necks. This frustration and concern, eclipsed by helplessness, was never doubted by the girls. Yet, each man would go to his grave always feeling he had failed and wished he could have acted more heroically. Nevertheless, it was now a given that although Tsudros and Moshtok were fair-minded men, and usually forgiving of the vagaries of life, it was now branded into their blood to one day brutally kill the men who had molested their lovers.

After these silent days of travel, where Zaria and Branka said little of their internal feelings—and nothing what so ever of what their attack had entailed, the men slowly brought them out of their depression in subtle and patient ways. They spent a whole afternoon one day while the girls napped in the protection of a rock cave, picking blossoms from the hillside. Tsudros with his ingenuity and artistic talent sewed the flowers together, making large and fragrant necklaces for the two women. They presenting them with these gifts over dinner by the firelight, insisting that they wear them on their travels to feel fresh and even more beautiful. Both girls were so touched by their men's' empathy that they cried outright, healthfully releasing their pent-up feelings and kissing their handsome benefactors lovingly.

By the end of one more day of determined travel, the four could see below them in a valley the smoke of several villages. These were congregated in a broad valley, with a river running through it. The terrain was joyfully reminiscent of the girls' exact homeland, and they rejoiced at seeing the familiar surroundings.

"Look! We are almost to Wahesh . . . our village, Branka. Do you see where?"

"Yes! Branka's face lit up like a child's.

"We have come so far. And endured so much to be here, my sister."

"I don't know what we will find there . . . but we have arrived!  Branka exclaimed. "I know our village has survived. The first Slavic people we met told us so. And I see it remains . . . there at the edge of the trees!"

"It will be . . .  without our parents or family," Zaria sadly remarked. "But . . . perhaps there will be some there who remember . . . Remember us. People who knew our families well."

"Yes. And how will they act when they see us? When we see them?  We have both changed so much, Zaria."

"Yes. I'm both happy . . . and scared."

The girls turned and looked at their men who were only happy to see their bright faces so animated and lively again.

"And . . . what of our dear Moshtok and Tsudros?"

They continued staring at them adoringly, but soon with concerned faces.

"How can we get our people to understand how much we love them?" Branka asked. "That these are good . . . and caring men. Nothing like the Pazyryk soldiers they have known."

"I do not know," Zaria responded. "But we must try."

As the four stood on a high bluff and looked down into the valley, they could see dark rainclouds rolling in from the west, threatening to release a heavy torrent soon.

"We shall go into these villages tomorrow . . . with the first light," Moshtok said. "I will speak their language. We will be judged then. For we cannot know yet how they will treat Tsudros and me."

"We can only hope," Tsudros added in his soft, arresting voice, "that they judge us . . . not on their past fears . . . but on the tale the girls tell of us. The long journey which brought us all here. Alive . . . and in love."

* * *