One

I woke up in the morning, stretched quickly, and started getting dressed. Next, I grabbed the buckets from their place by the door and headed off to the well. It's a long walk, and heavy carrying the buckets back, but with no water, Mother and I can't cook breakfast.

It was just in that hazy time - when dawn has passed but the world wasn't bright yet. I had to watch my footing on the path. I don't have any shoes for ordinary days like this, and the last thing I want is to get hurt by accident on my birthday. I'm 13 as of today.

The nearby bushes rustle, and a small pair of eyes gleam at me from the foliage. I can't help but smile cheerfully at this visitor.

"Good morning, Mother Brown!" I greeted happily, and the guest sticks her face out of the deep shadows.

"Greetings on this fine morn, Ezia." The adult vixen said calmly. She was brown from nose to tail, hence the nickname I gave her. Most foxes disapprove of verbal names - they prefer to differentiate each other through scent.

Sadly, although I can talk to foxes, and understand their language mostly, my nose is still just human. They let me give them calling names for convenience.

"It's not long since the thaw ended, Ezia, and this year's kits are endlessly hungry. Anything edible you can spare me?" Mother Brown asks, and I stick my hand into my belt pouch. A bit of fiddling, and I soon have a few dried herbs and flowers to offer my friend. "Much appreciated, dear. You watch yourself, there's danger in the wind, and strangers seen heading for the Arreson homestead."

Warning given, the fox took the dried plants in her mouth and vanished back into the darkness with a soft rustle.

With careful steps I reach the well beside the village square, and wait in line quietly for my turn to draw water. The matronly ladies don't welcome me, always glaring from the corner of their eyes and gossiping under their breaths. It's not surprising - I'm an Arreson. Our clansmen are widespread through this land. We are the entertainers, the tellers of stories and players of music. Acrobats, actors, writers, bards and artists. Musicians and jesters, fools and singers.

Wherever there is an event, there will be an Arreson - that's what people say. But in the eyes of 'respectable' folk, we will never be more than prostitutes and thieves.

I've been watched by judging eyes all my life, and a few more or less makes no difference.

The line moves, and it's finally my turn. With practiced actions I lower the bucket down the well, then draw it up full, pour it into the first bucket, then repeat it for the second. The bucket is heavy, and weighed with stones to help it sink quickly - but without the rocks it would take forever to get a full bucket. Such is life.

Threads the buckets onto a stave, I balance it on my shoulders and quickly leave the village. Once I walked too slowly and an old cantankerous spinster pushed me down and made my buckets spill. I find it's best not to linger among bad company, which is probably what these old hags think of me.

Walking slowly back, heavy laden with water and careful not to spill it, I start to ponder what Mother Brown said - strangers at our homestead, on today, my birthday.

I hope something good will happen.