Early the next morning with clouds brewing on the western mountain tops, the four intrepid travelers forged on, skirting a creek that ran with vigor out of the tallest peaks into the lush valleys, now behind them. Zaria remarked to her Slavic sister, Branka, that the terrain was looking more familiar and that the outward villages of their homeland would not be many days away. Tsudros and Moshtok smiled at this news, as did her fair sister, who threw up her arms as an expression of freedom and exhilaration at what they had so far accomplished.

By midday, the travelers reached a broad meadow covered by multi-colored flowers. It had been a snowfield only a month or so earlier but now was radiant with luscious hues. As they passed into this circular clearing in the forest a heavenly sound greeted them in the distance. It was the sound of voices in perfect unison. Singing out a melody with words Zaria and Branka recognized as their own Slavic tongue, were the concerted voices of young children. As they neared the area they could hear the singing stronger. And soon they came to the source of this wonderful sound, a youthful brood sitting in a circle around a song master. Leading them in their efforts to fill the forest with sound, the central woman seemed to try to create echoes off the adjacent mountains. On the periphery of the flat area where the children sat, were what appeared to be armed guards, also looking to be somewhat different from the Scythian people or any of the other nomads they had encountered thus far in the East.

Walking slowly forward, and in an unthreatening manner with their packhorse tethered behind them, the four moved out into the clearing to better experience the celestial sound of the children's music. A single armed guard ran out to intercept them.

"Who are you," the man said breathlessly in a language the two girls had no difficulty understanding. This protector of the children was of light complexion with long gold hair and a golden beard. He wore a thick woven over-garment and a leather breast cover with gloves up to his elbows. His trousers were tightly woven and warm-looking, and his boots were of dark fur and laced up to his knees. The guard's sword was not drawn but his massive hand was on its handle ready to employ it, should any threat be made to him.

"We are coming from the East . . . as former slaves," Zaria explained in a clear, similar language. We mean no harm to these children. We were only drawn to their singing. We wish to travel onward. Beyond you . . . to the land of our people. It is further still . . . toward the setting sun."

The man looked at them critically at first. He smiled at the two young women and then frowned disapprovingly as he perused Tsudros and Moshtok.

"Please. These men rescued us," Branka weighed in. They helped us escape much cruelty. Their king was brutal. We were slaves to him for two years. We owe these two our freedom."

The child protector looked again at the two men who had all the characteristics of his own enemies to the East.

"What are your names," he asked of all of them.

"We are Branka and Zaria," Branka offered. "And this is Moshtok and Tsudros."

"Well . . . greetings, then," the man reluctantly said. "These children," he said waiving a hand in the direction of the songs, "are without parents. Their fathers and mothers were killed in attacks. We foster them as best we can. Though it is not easy. Children are hungry creatures . . . and they love to misbehave!"

The four travelers smiled, acknowledging the universal nature of the comment.

"We bring them here to the clearing where they run and play under our watch."

He pointed across the meadow to several other guards who wearily waved back at them.

"Here you see and hear how the children are taught to sing. Then they will go back to our village to spend the rest of the day working. It is their life. And ours."

The four remained quiet. Mindful of a child's difficult life in every society without parents.

"We must be watchful here," the guard said with a sigh. "Ten days ago five of them were taken away by a raiding party of hunters . . . all girls. They will be slaves to those men."

Zaria and Branka exchanged sad looks.

"We do our best to prevent this, but two of our warriors were killed in the battle over them. Children and food is what those dogs on horses steal from us each year.

The two young women had every reason to understand this tragedy and the fate of being abducted. It was just too painful for them to try and remember their own unfortunate night of being stolen in a a raid.

"And then there are the wolves," the man said, looking out into the forest vigilantly. Early in the mornings or at night is when they usually strike. In packs. Six to ten of the beasts together."

The four looked out into the dense trees to where the warrior gazed.

"You see, they prefer the taste of children. And know these little ones will not put up a fight. We must be ready to do them battle as well." He patted his heavy bronze sword. "But usually our weapons are no match for teeth and claws."

Tsudros noticed is weapon was decorated with ornate designs.

"Though every one of us has been bitten by wolves defending our children. Only a bite saturated with the wolf's evil can it kill you weeks later."

This talk of wolves was something that both Branka and Zaria remembered from these territories. And they had lived through attacks of wolf packs invading their villages in the night, sometimes taking babies and small children out of their beds and even right out of the arms of their mothers.

Incongruous to hearing of these horrors the melodic voices of the innocent children continued to fill the countryside with song. It was a comforting and civilizing sound to the travelers, instilling in them that communities and societal life was flourishing somewhere in the region they were now entering.

"Come with me," said the warrior, relaxing the hand on his sword. You may return with us to the village to spend the night in safety there. We will not interfere with your homeward journey.

"You are a good man," Moshtok said surprisingly well in the man's native tongue. The guard took notice but was not aware that the young Scythian teacher was himself once a victim of capture by the Slavs in a counter raid. It was when he was just a boy. His life among the tribes in the West, as Zaria and Branka were fully aware, had become a dynamic part of his personality and his useful language skills.

The guard looked back at Moshtok, the Scythian, with curiosity. He merely nodded at him in appreciation.

At this moment, the several other guards on the periphery of the clearing came forward and joined the female leader organizing the children into a manageable group for departure. They were some thirty in all, and the adults worked quickly to organize their trek back to the village from where they had come.

Once in the presence of the song leader--a heavy-set woman with a mature and wise face, she introduced herself to the estrangers as Ursa, and delighted that Zaria and Branka spoke so comprehensively to her. As the guard briefly explained the plight of the four wanders to the song leader, Ursa took charge in making them all feel even more welcome by her friendly demeanor to the girls and maternal pats upon their heads. As they all walked forward, she insisted the group could stay with her for the night back in the village and promised them no harm from the villagers.

The details of this meadow encounter having been established and acknowledged by Ursa, the four vagabonds, with their tired horse in tow, followed the procession of lovely, restless children back into the forest along a well-worn path to their village.

* * *