The next day, Xena, Gabrielle and the twelve Amazons set out for the seaport of Pylos. They had talked long into the night about the options open to them, and had come to the conclusion that Greece simply wasn’t safe for them any longer.
As they walked, they silently bid farewell to the land they had known their whole lives. They found comfort in consistency, focusing on the mountain to the side of them, knowing it will always be there should they return. A spring breeze kissed their cheeks as if in farewell.
Xena, riding sedately on Argo, felt the breeze toss her raven black hair in a flurry. She silently reveled in it, but never forgot the danger they still faced.
“Gabrielle, when we reach the next village, I need to ride in and try sending word to Eve. She may be able to temper the damage these zealots are causing.”
“Are you going to tell her where we’re going?” Gabrielle asked quietly.
“No. Not in the message. If someone intercepts it, it would put ourselves, these girls, and not to mention, Eve, in danger. But I’ll give her enough clues that she’ll be able to figure out where we are.”
“Maybe I should write it then. Discretion has never been your strong suit.”
Xena caught the twinkle in Gabrielle’s eyes, and replied, “Hey, you’re not the only one around here that can write a line or two if the need arises.”
“Oh really? Then why is it that in all our years together, I’ve never, and I mean, NEVER, seen you pick up a quill for anything other than as a weapon? You have as much use for parchment as a blind man would. Except for time when you needed something to wipe your...”
“HEY!” Xena grimaced, but still looked amused.
Gabrielle smirked, but conceded, “Ok, you can write it. But I’ll stay close by in case you need a few pointers. Who knows, your hand may cramp up from the unexpected use and I’ll have to finish up for you.”
“Don’t even think about it.” After all, there was only so much a warrior princess can stand, Xena silently mused.
*****************************************
Not far away on a concealed hillside, a man crouched in the bushes, watching the band of women walking away from the mountains. His feet itched as he pinpointed the direction they were headed, then silently, he crawled over the rise and took off running for town. His task completed, the sentry looked forward to a hot meal and the praise of his brethren.
