Each day without Roric was agony. Time refused to start until his feet passed over the doorstep. Each knock on the door felt like the crack of a whip, for I knew it wasn’t him. I stood, leaning on the wooden window frame, gazing at the distant hills. Hoping to see the army appear over them. To see the flags waving, to hear them laughing, and see his red hair.

I wondered where they were now. I looked at the map on the wall and slid my finger across the tiny painted houses and blue river lines. So insignificant, yet they were the world to me. Roric was somewhere there. I wondered if he’s had to fight already. Had he held the sword with the hand that he held me with? Had he screamed with the voice that he loved me with?

I wished he could’ve declined the call to arms. But when the czar marches to war, he doesn’t give anyone a say. Even if he could, Roric wouldn’t have stayed. Not if his friends had to fight. I hoped that he’d lived through another day. At night I stared at the stars and moon. I knew he would be looking at them too, which gave me a small piece of comfort so I could give in to sleep.

I’d go to the market, not so much to shop but to listen to the rumors circling through town.

“My sister’s husband is a border guard, and he said they haven’t seen imperials in weeks now” - a young girl was saying.

“I heard there was fighting in the north too, tribes maybe. Who will protect us while the czar is out at the other border? They’ll burn us alive!” - yelled another.

“Worry not, ladies! My cousin just got sent back because he got wounded, and he told me our boys were doing wonders out there” - a merchant was assuring two women.

Hope did wonders for sales.

The whispers of victory to me were the undisputed truth, no matter how far-fetched they sounded. Everything else I attributed to doubt, insecurity, and fear. They will win, and he will come back. Surely. But those weeks drained the color of our village despite my hopes. When I went to the market, I was used to hearing laughter and loud bargaining. Now people didn’t have the will to ask for a better price, and the traders didn’t mind. They were the only people delighted by war.

“Anya! happy to see you, Anya!” - a thin voice called out behind me.

Idania shoved her way through the crowd to come to me. She was a short girl, a few years younger than me. Her husband was also fighting, yet she was always in great spirits, always smiling. That skinny girl that looked ready to break any minute was taking it better than me.

“Happy to see you, Idania. How are you holding up?” - I asked.

“Oh, I’m good” - her words were interrupted by a long sniff - “The cold didn’t miss me this year.”

As if it ever did.

“What did you find today” - I asked, seeing the cloth bag hanging from her tiny hand.

“Yarn!” - she pulled out a bright blue woolen ball - “The merchant said he got it from the north. They paint it with some flowers over there, and it’s the color of the sky. See! I’ll weave something for Bohdan when he comes back. He will love it.”

When he comes back. Not a glimmer of sadness or doubt in that frail girl. She was as strong as iron with her running nose, slim body, and naive smile. I walked with her around the market to steal a little bit of her confidence and stop looking for Roric to appear over the hills, at least for a moment.

But when we separated, guilt came upon me. Each smile and small laughter felt like a crime. Oh, the pain of the unknown is so great. I just wanted to know whether I should cry with joy or scream in despair. But little Idania gave me courage. I looked for her each time I went to the market and listened to her monologues about wool and yarn with joy.

Then one day, as I was preparing for yet another walk around the market, I heard the bells ringing. Before I could reach the door, I heard the horns in the distance.

The army was returning.