A Hand in History

 But the rider was even wilder looking. Her curly red hair hung down to her waist and had at least a dozen small braids scattered throughout it. One hand held the reigns with loose abandon, while the other gripped a long, decorated spear. Her dress seemed to be hand sewn, made of a rather rough material, though her cloak, which fluttered in the breeze, seemed to be made of a much fancier cloth.

 My jaw had dropped when I saw her and it continued to stay dropped as the wild woman and her horse stared at me. The look on the woman’s face told me I was the odd looking one, and I wondered if she’d look in a mirror lately. However, I didn’t think it would do any good to hand her the compact mirror I had in my pocket.

 “What are you, stranger?” Her voice was gruff but not entirely threatening. Still, though she looked like she belong in a movie, she didn’t seem to be acting.

 “M-my name is Victoria.” I said, looking warily at the lethal looking spear. She lowered it only slightly, frowning a little.

 “What tribe are you from? Your garments are completely foreign to me. You wear trousers like a man.” I bit back a retort about her own apparel and said, “I’m not from any, uh, tribe. My last name is Wolvertine? I don’t know if that helps you out. Um, and you are…”

 It took her a moment to reply. “Boudicca.” She eventually spat out. “Of the Iceni tribe.”

 A faint memory tugged at me but I couldn’t capture it, much to my frustration. I found myself suddenly feeling awkward before her though, like a small child before an imposing teacher.

 Boudicca was very alert, her eyes never staying still even as she spoke to me. “You’re in dangerous territory, girl. The Romans have patrols everywhere, and if you’re found a lone, well, you know what they’ll do to you.”

 I understood her words, but they didn’t make sense. “The…Romans? What are you talking about?”

For a moment we stared at each other, and I was surprised by how familiar her eyes were to me. In fact, I felt like I was starting into my own. She must have noticed the same, for she frowned and shivered a little. “You’re sure you’re not of any tribe? You could easily be of the Iceni.”

 I shrugged. “I don’t think so. I mean, who actually knows what tribe their ancestors were in nowadays?”

 “What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” She exclaimed, but before I had a chance to explain, we heard hoof beats near us from somewhere beyond the trees. Boudicca swore and kicked her horse over to me. “Give me your hand.”

 Completely confused, I did so, and the next moment, I found myself being swung up onto the horse, behind her. An inner argument went on inside myself. One side wanted to get off the impossibly tall horse and logically figure out what was happening. The other side was excited by this sudden, unexpected adventure and wanted to see how it would play out. The second side won.

 Of course, as soon as Boudicca kicked the horse again and we flew across the grassy plain, I most sincerely began to curse myself for letting that side win. It took every ounce of strength to stay on the wretched horse, and at one point, when we jumped a fence, I nearly got a second showing of my breakfast. Every now and then, I tried to see what it was were fleeing from, but the horse was moving too fast.

 Hours seemed to go by and the violent rhythm began to numb me, until I lost all sense of anything, though I did notice one of my boots slip off and vanish forever at one point. So I was completely startled when the horse suddenly stopped and I nearly fell off. Boudicca slid off gracefully and then waited for me to do the same, showing great faith in my non-existent ability to do so.