The Red Soldier: The Crimson Prophecy

EPILOGUE

*Moments after ISSUE #23*

The sound of robins twittering outside the bedroom window woke Wilma from her pleasant dreams. A cup of hot water mixed with fresh nettle leaves sat beside her bed, it's steam condensing in the cold air. Despite it being almost April, snow continued to fall in the Highlands. She was therefore thankful to find Elspeth adding more wood to the fireplace when she exited the bedroom, clutching her mug of tea close to her chest.

         'You've finally woken up,' Blair smiled, carrying in a tray which was laden with mugs containing what smelled like vegetable broth. Wilma swallowed the remnants of her nettle tea before picking up one of the cups from the tray. She sat down on the couch with her sisters whilst they gulped down their meagre breakfast. 'We've ran out of meat,' said Blair as she put down her mug, 'but I've been in the garden this morning and it looks as though the cabbages are ready to harvest.'

         'What about the cellar? How is our supply doing?' Wilma asked. The Red Soldier had been awfully kind to give them his home, but in the four and a half years since rescuing them, he'd never returned to explain how it was he'd maintained such a well-stocked cellar. Not that she blamed him. A man of his power most likely had far more important things to do than tend to the witches he'd granted a second chance of life to.

         'A metal cannister of beans, ten bottles of vodka, and six bottles of whisky,' replied Blair.

         Elspeth stood up now and walked towards the door, pulling on her cloak, and tying it tightly around her shoulders before sliding a pair of gloves over her hands. 'I suppose I'll have to go hunting,' she sighed, tightening the laces of her boots. The eldest witch left the house, pulling up her hood as she wandered off westwards of the house, towards the forest. Blair was staring at Wilma now, as though urging her to fulfil her own duties.

         'Might I have one more helping of breakfast?' she asked her sister pleadingly, still feeling a sense of emptiness in her stomach.

Blair shook her head, 'tend to the garden and then when you're done you can have half a mug, and a tea with two sugars.' The prospect of sugar gave the witch all the enthusiasm she needed to get up out of her seat and tend to the garden. They had all been rationing the sugar, flour, and grains since their return to Alba.

There was a peacefulness to the small plot of land the Red Soldier had so obviously dedicated to gardening. Wilma always felt most calm there. She picked up a rusted iron pail and walked over to the vegetable patch where she unearthed the slightly premature cabbages, dropping them into the bucket one by one.

         Once the bucket was half filled, she moved over to the flowerbeds, where she kneeled down in the snow to fully take in their beauty. The Violets were her favourite. They seemed to bloom the brightest, even in the winter. She tapped them gently with gloved fingers, removing the snow from their petals so that she could see the full extent of their incredible colour. The hellebores were her second favourite, and so she plucked a pair of secateurs from her pocket and carefully snipped a few of their stems, storing them safely atop the cabbages she had gathered.

Their home was a lot warmer when she returned. The fire Elspeth had built seemed to warm the whole house. Wilma picked the flowers out of her pail, before handing it to Blair, who carried it over to the kitchen sink. Once she'd trimmed the ends of the stems, the petite brunette placed the freshly picked flowers into a jug half-filled with water.

         'You and your flowers,' Blair chuckled, watching as Wilma arranged them delicately, rotating each stem so that its flowers faced outwards.

         'I think they're pretty,' replied Wilma, smiling at her handiwork, 'it's as though they're from the Red Soldier himself.' That is how she liked to think of the flowers, gifts from their saviour.