Kiosk of Trajan, Philae

Roman Kiosk, Kalabsha

Birth house of Horus, Temple of Edfu The Romans were in control of Egypt from the time of Julius Caesar until Muslim Arabs took over te country in 639 AD. While there, they followed the example of the Macedonian Ptolemies and built many Temples dedicated to Egyptian Gods to show the populace that they shared many important beliefs. Roman taxation of the province, which was the grain bowl of the Mediterranean world, was devastating, but otherwise the new citizens of the Roman Empire were aided by their skill in engineering for their the irrigation system. But after several cennturies of Roman rule the country was developed into a ferment of unrest due to economic and religious issues. Before that, however, many new temples were built at many of the main centers of worship, including Philae. These temples were all dedicated to the sacred trinity Osiris, Isis, and Horus, rather than Amun Ra and the local deities, however, and their cults became the focus of worship until Christianity became the main religion of the country in the second century AD.

This is one of my favorite pictures I took in Egypt because not only does it show the country beautifully, it also gives you views of modern, medieval, and ancient Egypt. These feluccas (triangle sailed ships) take tourists for a sail on the Nile, for an hour or two, or bigger ones for several days. I got to sail in one at Aswan, where Lake Nasser meets the Nile. The picture shows a felucca, then the green shoreline, and the ever present mountains of sand on either side of the river. This particular hillside is pocked with ancient tombs of the noblemen of the area, such as the men in charge of the quarries that supplied stone blocks for all the many temples built along the Nile. The domed building on top of the hill, and the ruins just behind the felucca are from the Fatimid Dynasty (969-1171 AD). These are watch towers, placed every few miles to allow the Caliph to keep his lands under control and safe from invaders. However, the Dynasty soon fell to the uncle of Salah el-Din, better known in the west as Saladin, and Egypt came under his rule in 1171.

This is the Temple of Philae, located on Lake Nasser at Aswan. The main temple was dedicated to the Goddess Isis, though there was a smaller temple dedicated to the Goddess Hathor (Egyptian Goddess of Love, associated with cows). The complex dates mostly to Ptolemaic times, with some Roman additions by Trajan, as well. It has the distinction of being the last pagan temple in the Mediterranean world to be closed for worship as the Christians became the dominant religion in the area. The complex spent much of the year below water when the English built the first dam at Aswan, and later when the Aswan High Dam was built it was immersed year round. In 1977 UNESCO began the three year project to move the temple from the island of Biga where it was located originally to its new home on the nearby island of Agilkai, where it rests today. It was once considered one of the wonders of the ancient world, and with its beautiful location on the island, it's still one of Egypt's premier sights today.

I'm back, everybody, but I got in pretty late last night after 20 hours spent in transit, so I haven't begun to get my pictures all sorted out. Just thought I'd say hello to everybody, though, and the pictures will be coming in the next few days, I promise.:D

Well, I'm on my way to the airport in just a few, so goodbye to everybody, and I'll see you all in a little less than two weeks. I'll be sure and bring back lots of pictures to share.:D I'm also taking a fragment of a story I've been working on, part three of Glaphyra's Story, so I might even have a new story to share as well. Hope the site's bugs don't drive everybody too crazy while I'm away. I did manage to get my new show, Soldier of Fortune, Inc, also known as Special Ops Force, but I do believe I'll be just short of making level 70. Oh well, that'll give me something to shoot for when I get back.;)

Only two more days until I go to Egypt for twelve days of vacation. I've got just about everything ready to go, so now all I need to do is pack. I was hoping to reach level 70 and get a new show, Soldier of Fortune, Inc, also known as Special Ops orce, but with the injury to my let hand I've been slowed down. Also, I've slowed down from the new system, since some of the work I was doing previously on Guiding Light has been made just about impossible by the bugs in the system. I'm really, really hoping that some of the more annoying aspects of the change will be fixed by the time I get back, but I guess I'll have to wait and see. Oh, and since I've got a few shows where people submit occasionally, I would ask that anyone hold off until I get back on October 5th, if possible.

Gabrielle knew that if Xena could defeat the King here the Huns would almost certainly retreat, and she was happy to let them do it. She watched the battle before her, flinching at every wound laid in Xena's fair skin, and wanting to cheer every stroke of Xena's that landed on the Hun. Finally Xena began to get the upper hand, and a slash to the back of the King's knee threw him off balance. She lowered a shoulder to hit him as he stumbled, and sent him tipping over the bridge's rail. He fell back, arms flailing wildly as he struggled to regain his balance. But he had gone too far to recover, and he knew it, so in a final bid for victory he pulled a throwing knife from a bracer on his wrist and threw it at his foe as he fell over the side.

"No!" Gabrielle shouted as she hurled herself in the knife's path. She'd rather die herself than watch Xena slip away from her yet again. The dagger slid into her left shoulder. The bard sank to her knees with the burning pain, but she still found herself facing the Huns with her sword in hand. "Your King is dead! Your army is defeated! Go, and never return to this land again!" she demanded with all the power she had learned to wield as an Amazon Queen.

The Huns obeyed with little show of reluctance. Now that their King was gone they were free to return to their horses and wash the dust of this Gods forsaken land from their feet forever. They would name a new King to rule them, and find new lands to conquer on the backs of their steeds as they were meant to do.

Xena hurried to Gabrielle's side as soon as she was sure the Huns no longer posed a threat. "You didn't have to do that," she said as she drew the knife from her companion's wound.

"I know," Gabrielle said. "But I couldn't risk it. I just couldn't. I love you too much, Xena."

Xena wrapped the wound to stop it's bleeding, then gave her partner a hug. "Yeah, I guess you couldn't. And that's why I love you, too."



Gabrielle's elation over Attila's defeat began to fade when she saw the sad look growing in Xena's eyes. A miracle had brought them back together to face the dangers of this day, but like all good things, was this coming to an end?

"So now what? Is it time to say our goodbyes?" she asked quietly. She ordered herself not to cry if Xena confirmed her fears. She'd been given a gift beyond price in these few hours, and she couldn't spoil it by allowing her disappointment to be too visible to her partner. If they had to part again it would be just as difficult for Xena as it was for her, she knew.

Xena was unable to prevent a from tears from shining in her eyes, however. "You will have to say goodbye, but I have something to show you, first."

"Okay," Gabrielle said, relieved that their final moments together hadn't yet come. She'd deny the inevitable for as long as she possibly could.

They stood side by side on the winding path back to Potidaea. Xena seemed to be in no more hurry to reach their destination, wherever it was, than Gabrielle. The bard reached out and took Xena's warm hand in her own. She focused her entire being on it's feel, imprinting it into her mind to sustain her with the memory in the long, lonely years to come. They walked in a companionable silence. There was so much to say, but the things that were the most important of all were spoken without needing any words between them. Instead they enjoyed the bright morning sunshine together as it beamed down upon them as they walked.

Soon they arrived at Gabrielle's farm, and the two women went inside the house. They could see a crowd of people gathered in the bard's bedroom. They stood too close together for Gabrielle to see what had their attention so completely, so she slipped around them to look for herself. Once she got to an open space she saw at once what had brought them all there. In her bed lay an old, ashen haired woman with her hands folded over her chest, motionless, now that life had fled from her tired bones. She had a familiar face, with her fine wrinkles smoothed into a serene mask, a hint of a smile still touching her bloodless lips. It was Gabrielle herself.

"What?! I... I'm dead?" Gabrielle asked Xena in a daze.

Her partner nodded with a sad smile. "It was your time. You had a rich, full life with sons and daughters and a dozen grandchildren."

The memories of a lifetime came flooding back into Gabrielle's mind as the truth of the situation settled firmly within her. All the joys, all the trials, her family and friends, and all the many years. It had been rich as Xena had said, with love and the battle she had sworn to carry on for her partner to bring good to those who needed it. It had been everything she'd ever dreamed of her life being except for one thing: Xena.

As Gabrielle's memory returned her wounds, including the wound from Attila's dagger, disappeared. Only her belief in their reality had allowed them to harm her; now that she knew she was a mere spirit the physical world no longer affected her, or she it.

"It's time to move on, Gabrielle. For us to move on," Xena told her gently.

"You've been waiting all these years?" Gabrielle asked, tears finally falling from her eyes.

"Waiting and watching," her soul mate told her. "Now it's finally time for the both of us to move on to the next big adventure together."

"All right," Gabrielle said. She took one last look at her family, her sons, daughters, and all her grandchildren at their sides. She bestowed a silent blessing on them, then followed Xena out of the dim house and into the light.



Darien, Gabrielle's youngest son entered his mother's silent house and saw that Death had finally claimed her as her own. Her son hadn't wanted to leave the vigil held at her bedside by the rest of his family, but early that morning the farmer Timon had sent out a desperate call to arms, and Darien had been needed to lead the men of his platoon against the coming foe.

But as it turned out he needn't have bothered. The militia had waited behind their defenses at the edge of town for the enemy's attack, but it had failed to materialize. Finally, Darien and a picked squad of men had ventured north to scout for the Huns, but had instead discovered the aftermaths of a fierce battle. A fire still smoldered in the northeastern woods, and a herd of Timon's prized steers milled nervously in the smoke, their long horns and hooves stained with blood.

Darien had found a Hun struggling weakly to escape from the battlefield, and had promised to bind the warrior's wounds in return for some answers.

"Who did this?" he demanded.

"We were attacked by an army led by two woman warriors, a tall, raven haired beauty with eyes as blue as the sky, and a small, golden haired Amazon with daggers like lightning. Even the great King Attila himself couldn't stand before them. Your little town has mighty protectors, Greek."

The words had confused and troubled Darien. It sounded like... but no, that was impossible. Wasn't it?

He looked down at the still form of the woman who had given him life as she lay in peace on the bed and found no answers. But his mother was a bard, and she had taught him that the best tales were those that had no end. And he did know for certain that although this chapter of her story had ended, it would continue to unfold through ages without end. It would also be a story retold over and over again by all who dreamed of finding what she and Xena had found together- a love that would live on forever.

The Huns climbed to the top of the steep hill, their feet screaming with each step. The nomadic horsemen were completely unaccustomed to walking long distances on their own two feet, and the brightly embroidered boots they all wore weren't constructed to protect their tender soles the way the boots of more pedestrian races designed theirs. But King Attila had no sympathy for a few stubbed toes and bruised heels. He drove his men upwards relentlessly, knowing the great value of the prize just a short distance away.

Once atop the hill's crest they could see that the neighboring heights tapered steadily as they rolled southwards towards Potidaea. Attila's scouts had informed the King of several easy routes leading to the town, a road winding east past a pair of large farms, and a wide pine forest not too heavily foliaged to prevent the army from passing to the west. Straight ahead was the most precarious route, a narrow bridge over a deep river gorge. Attila planned to post a few guards at the bridge to prevent any of the Greeks from slipping from his grasp, but it was too narrow to use for his attack. Only three men could walk abreast upon it, and just two if they had to fight their way across. It would slow his advance too much. Potidaea might not possess a real fighting force capable of holding its own in battle, but the longer the Huns took to reach the town the greater the chance that they'd be able to prepare what defenses they could and give his army a desperate fight. It couldn't change the outcome but as much as he wanted to plunder the town's wealth, he didn't want to end up paying too high a price to do it.

The King sent his men marching down the hill. As they did so he encouraged them with thoughts of the glorious victory to come and the loot that would soon fill their wagons, but his soldiers were too footsore to be anything other than glum at present. He knew that once they were in the thick of battle their spirits would rally. In the meantime they just grumbled under their breath about their abused feet.

The southern side of the large hill declined more gently than the northern side they'd just scaled, with low ridges that funneled them down a central path. At the base of it they'd be able to spread out as Attila planned, with half of his army heading to the right and the other half left, circling around to envelop the heart of the town and seal off any escape of its townsfolk. Huns kept few slaves themselves, but the market for strong, skilled workers was very strong, as was that for beautiful women.

A small force would be sent to plug the last gap in his net at the bridge. He gave the orders to his chief lieutenant Arkas to move to the east and then prepared to lead the western contingent himself. That unit would travel most of its distance over open terrain, so they'd need to move with greater speed and discipline than the eastern half of his army. Attila wanted to be sure that they kept their precious advantage of surprise to smooth their way to victory.

His men obeyed once they were all at the bottom of the hill, but before the eastern contingent was completely out of sight in the pine trees they began to beat a hasty retreat. The King ordered lieutenant Garis to continue westward as planned while he went to find out what in Acheron had caused his other men to act against his command.

It didn't take long for the answer to make itself known to the King. The smell of smoke grew steadily stronger as the wind picked up, blowing black clouds of smoke and leaping flames after the men hurrying away from them, though few were more than a bit scorched around the edges.

"Steady, you fools! It's probably from a lightning strike," Attila assured his troops. There'd been a fierce thunderstorm the day before and a smoldering ember could have easily been fanned into a raging inferno by the stiff wind that was blowing in a westerly direction. "Don't panic and push, get back in your ranks and head west out of those trees!"

They'd have to take the town from only one side, but that wasn't about to stop an army of Huns! Attila told himself. His men did as they were told, though with much less enthusiasm than he liked. But the King generously made allowances for his men since they were undoubtedly feeling somewhat crippled without their horses under them. He'd have to show them that they were too strong an army to be reckoned with even minus their four-footed brothers. In the end they'd thank him for it, as they had countless other times when he'd pushed them to achieve deeds greater than they'd dreamed of accomplishing.

He continued chivvying his troops westward. It was a shame to lose the cover the forest could have provided but they would still prevail. The chaotic mass of Huns was still sorting itself out when Attila heard what sounded like a cavalry charge coming straight at them from the west. "Weapons out!" he shouted.

Huns, (unlike Greeks who generally fought with shields, spears, and long swords), carried curved scimitars and short but powerful bows. These arms were extremely effective for them from horseback, but less so when fighting on foot. And in the face of a cavalry charge...

His army also lacked the practiced discipline of trained infantry, who fought shoulder to shoulder as a unit. But they did their best to adapt to this unfamiliar mode of fighting, and at least half of his men had either an arrow notched or his scimitar raised when the approaching foe came into sight.

Unfortunately, the sight that greeted his unbelieving eyes was enough to freeze the whole army into a few deadly seconds of immobility. There was danger charging directly towards them all right, but not men on horseback. Instead it was a large herd of long horned cattle. Only the lead bull had a rider on his back- a raven haired woman whose shrill war cry drove the beasts straight at the army!

Attila's men fired a volley of arrows, but their missiles failed to slow the onslaught appreciably. Curved horns as deadly as the nomads' scimitars scythed through their unprotected ranks. Maddened by the pricks of arrows, the smell of blood and smoke, as well as the screams of wounded men and beasts, the cattle thrashed their way through the men. But these animals weren't accustomed to battle, and after several bloody minutes, the slaughter eased.

Attila was left with a dilemma. The way east was completely closed by fire, and now the way west was blocked by the steers. The animals were no longer charging his men, but they were still nervous and excited. If he tried to force army through them, they'd almost assuredly become aggressive again. More casualties would leave his numbers too depleted to effectively storm the town as he had planned. That left two unpalatable options- retreat, or the narrow bridge. Retreat would be admitting failure, and the Huns rewarded their leaders' failures harshly. He shuddered to think of what they'd do to him- impalement, drawing and quartering, or perhaps something even more ghastly.

But he couldn't ignore the real danger that might come from trying the bridge, because it wouldn't be dangerous only for him, but for his entire army. Thinking over the events of this morning, he now knew that the fire was no accident. He'd also seen the dark haired woman who had driven the steers into his men with such devastating effect had since dismounted and hurried off in the bridge's direction. For all he knew she could have the town's militia marshaled at that blasted bridge just waiting for him!

Attila weighed his options one last time and then sighed. After all the setbacks they'd experienced the Huns would overthrow him for certain when this was over. Once dead, his skull would be cleaned and bleached and made into a goblet for his successor to pour offerings to the God of War Braxis. But if he could salvage a victory here, he could change enough minds to not only keep his head attached to his shoulders, but perhaps his throne, as well.

So he called for his men to begin the march to the bridge, praying to Braxis that the enemy they'd face there was no worse than a typical town militia- farmers and shopkeepers who only picked up a sword as a last ditch measure, not born warriors like his countrymen. It seemed unlikely there'd be anyone more formidable than that among them, so the risk couldn't be that great. Or so he told himself over and over again.

"To the bridge!"



"Looks like the plan is working," Gabrielle observed with satisfaction.

"Was there any doubt?" Xena asked with a crooked grin.

"Of course not. I just thought you might like to hear me say it," Gabrielle replied with a matching smile. She felt like laughing with delight, but they were about to face an entire army all by themselves, and laughter seemed inappropriate in light of the coming slaughter. But the bard felt as if she'd be happy even to die if she could save Potidaea and remain with Xena in the process. Of course, defeating the Huns and having them both finish the fight alive sounded even better.

She drew her Amazon sword from its sheathe slung behind her back and heard the ring of Xena's blade as she took her own weapon in hand. The two advanced to the center of the bridge- the strongest position for the two of them to hold. If they moved all the way across to the far edge Attila could order his men to charge, giving them the advantage of momentum. If the women instead stood at the edge on Potidaea's side of the gorge, however they would be no better off. The attackers would be unable to generate the overwhelming momentum of a charge, but once they engaged in battle all it would take is a short push to get the women off the bridge and lose their chokepoint. Standing in the center of the bridge robbed the Huns of the ability to charge them, and force them to drive the women back a fair distance before they could hope to use their advantage of numbers against them fully. They'd have to stand and fight toe to toe until one side proved to be the stronger.

Gabrielle would have laid every last dinar she had betting that she and Xena could beat the best the Huns had to offer easily, but this would be a war of attrition, with a single wound to either Gabrielle or Xena more costly to their cause than fifty scattered amongst the army of Huns. But whatever the price, Xena and Gabrielle were both committed to pay it. They had so much more to fight for on this day: home and family, as well as each other. How could these brigands hope to match that?

"Ready?" Xena asked, determination already stamped upon her features.

"Yeah, just like old times," Gabrielle replied. She almost had to feel sorry for the Huns. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into, and by the time they learned, it would be too late.



The Huns approached the wooden bridge spanning the river gorge a bit nervously. They were angry, uncomfortable, and smarting from the humiliation of being routed by livestock. But that hadn't made them reckless- after all of their woes just to get to this point, they had lost their habitual certainty that their King's battle plan would end in a success. If it wasn't for Attila ruthlessly driving them southwards they would have gladly written this adventure off as not being worth the asking price and hurried back to their beloved horses. After all, there were plenty of other villages they could storm, and those they could attack on horseback just as Braxis had intended his followers do. The haul of booty might not have been as rich in such easily accessible places, but when riches came at the price of their own blood it seemed like a better bargain.

Unfortunately for them, Attila wasn't having that. He'd already staked his reputation, indeed, his very life on the outcome of the day's events. That left them stuck walking on their own tender feet, fighting against an enemy whose unorthodox tactics were as deadly as they were perplexing, leaving them to wonder what they'd be facing next.

When the first soldiers left the brush just before the gorge's lip and the narrow bridge spanning it, they saw what seemed another unlikely sight: two warrior women waiting without any sign of fear or concern of the Huns' greatly superior numbers. The advancing army halted, the scouts carefully searching their surroundings for any traps or hidden foes. It seemed impossible that there was no one else out there, but they found no one.

Even when they were sure of this, they continued to mill about uncertainly. No one wanted to be the first to risk the bridge and its defenders. Finally Attila pushed his way to the front to find out what was holding up their progress, and he was almost as flabbergasted by the sight awaiting him as his men had been. But unlike them, his feelings quickly turned to joy. His men still waited for the other shoe to drop, but the King felt certain that the two women were indeed alone. It just made sense- that explained the strange tactics that had been used against them. Two women fighting alone had done the very best they could to force his hand, and had achieved their objective brilliantly.

But even they had to know that it wouldn't be enough. Attila admired the bravery they showed in their refusal to back down, and he vowed to himself that once the town was sacked he'd commission his own personal minstrel to compose an epic in their honor, and incidentally his as well, of course, as the man who had defeated them and their many tricks. He'd have to ask them their names before he had them killed so that their names could be recorded along with their deeds for posterity, which was the highest honor a Hun could pay to an enemy. But before that could happen, he had to get his men moving forwards again.

"Finally, an enemy to kill! Forward, men," the King told them eagerly, hoping his obvious excitement would spark an answering fire in their bellies.

Enthusiastic or not, the Huns followed their leader to the edge of the bridge. He signaled them to stop, and then addressed the two women. "You've done well, but you cannot hope to defeat us. Surrender, and I promise to spare your lives," he offered generously. Not that he'd honor that promise, of course. Anyone worthy of such mercy and respect would never accept it as a gift, but demand it from him with a sword.

"Oo, that's a bad sign," the dark haired woman observed to her blond companion, who nodded wisely.

"What do you mean by that?" Attila demanded.

The dark warrioress shrugged. "Well, you do outnumber us about a hundred to one, so why bother to offer us anything?"

"Only reason I can think of is that he's afraid he can't take us," the short one said.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," the first one agreed.

Attila was infuriated by their casual insults. Afraid, him?! Never! And he'd prove it to them over their dead bodies!

"Very well, you will both die this very day," Attila swore to them fiercely, though not without a strange feeling of disappointment as well. They had to die, of course, but he still had a grudging respect for their bravery and cleverness. He would have loved to have known these unusual women in another time and place, with the opportunity to simply talk to them as one warrior to another. But he smothered this inexplicable sense of regret. He had too much riding on this battle to be sentimental now. "Before I kill you, though, I would like to know your names. If you fight as skillfully as you bandy words, I will make certain your names are not forgotten."

The dark one smiled. "I already have a publicist."

"Hey, that's Battlin' Bard to you, Warrior Princess!" the blond one told her companion.

The first one shook her head at her friend, and then returned her attention to Attila. "Thanks, but no thanks. Oh, and Gabrielle here already knows your name, so there's probably a good chance that when we're finished with you, you're going to end up in one of her tales doing things you can't remember doing..."

"Ouch," Gabrielle interrupted with a laugh.

"So we might as well go ahead and get this over with," she finished, and then flourished her sword in challenge.

Attila turned to his chief lieutenant. "Arxhis, the honor is yours. Take your men over this bridge, and bring me these women's heads as a trophy."

Arxhis saluted his King and ordered his best men to join him in the attack, and they obeyed without a murmur. They, too, wanted payback for the day's humiliations. Besides, how formidable could a pair of women be? Even if they were skilled in insults and vile tricks, they couldn't be dangerous with the weapons of a man! The Huns crowded onto the wood bridge, jostling with each other to stand in the front ranks. They knew that their willingness to strike the first blow for the Hun Nation would stand them in very good stead once they were ready to divide the loot from the town's sack amongst the soldiers.

The first wave of attackers crashed into the women but were unable to push them back as they stood their ground with weapons flashing in the sunlight. Man after man was cut down by lightning fast strokes, and were sent tumbling over the bridge's rails into the foaming water below.

More Huns counterattacked, and for a moment it seemed as if the weight of their numbers might have started to push them back, but then the tall brunette took a sharp metal disc from her belt and sent the deadly missile flying, The first few ranks managed to duck it's spinning blades, but those behind them cried out as it left its bloody mark in their tawny, weathered skins. Left without the support of the men behind them, the front ranks were brought to a standstill by the fury of the women's attack.

Back at the cliff's edge, Attila watched helplessly as his army was decimated before his unbelieving eyes. How could two women possibly destroy the flower of the Hun Nation's manhood so easily?! It seemed impossible, and yet it was happening!

The King drew his own curved blade. It was up to him to put an end to this slaughter, whether it came in victory or in his own death. He pushed his way through his men, shouting to them to give way. When his soldiers saw their King coming to dive in the fray they gave a loud cheer. Holding his scimitar high, he shouldered his way to the front and the two women blocking his way.

They began to duel heatedly, and for all the dark haired woman's skill Attila pressed her hard. Fighting with reckless abandon, he scored several light wounds on her legs and arms, and received several of the same in return. The other woman stood aloof, knowing that this was a duel of honor between the King and the town's champion. But her guard remained up, should any of his followers get any ideas of taking advantage of the duel to press forward.

I haven't finalized the title of this one, but here's the story.:)

"Gabrielle!" a voice called as the bard floated in a dark, peaceful sea. Above her was an endless sky filled with glowing stars, including a particular constellation that she had taken to seeking out almost nightly over the long years since Xena's death in Japa. It was a silvery ring of light which flashed like Xena's chakram through the black night sky.

"Gabrielle," came the voice again. It seemed to be coming from somewhere in the heavens above. She closed her eyes, and then a touch as soft as a shy butterfly's wing brushed her lips with a ghostly kiss.

Gabrielle's eyes flew open, and she searched the darkness surrounding her for whoever or whatever was trying to reach her, but to no avail. Even the pale light of the stars began to fail, as if to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt exactly how alone she was. The cruel darkness seemed to press in upon her, suffocating her. She struggled against the impenetrable black to draw in one more breath of life.

Suddenly she felt something give within her, though she could not have said whether it had occurred in her body or her soul. But with its release she felt herself free from the darkness that had bound her so tightly. A feeling of exhilaration burst through her. Seemingly ruled no longer by the laws of Nature, she felt herself flying through the clouds. Dawn's fingers had just begun painting the horizon a rosy hue. In the distance she could see her home of Potidaea, so she willed herself lower to view it more intimately. Each house, every road, all the hills and vales were as familiar to her as the lines on her own hands, even seen from this new angle.

But just beyond the town's boundaries Gabrielle could sense trouble. Redoubling her speed, she shot like a bolt of lightning through the aether. When she passed over the crest of the hill marking the town's furthest point north, her feet touched down upon the earth. From there she could see a large army swarming like angry bees, ready to attack her family and friends.

"No!" Gabrielle shouted in alarm, and with that she awoke, back alone in her own bed.

"I must have been dreaming," she told herself.

The room was still dark as a moonless night, though the sleepy chirping of familiar songbirds told her that a new day was only pausing on the threshold. Gabrielle would have liked to have postponed its arrival a little bit longer by returning to sleep, but slumber proved too elusive a quarry after her dream. The sense of peril fast approaching her homeland remained just as strongly as it had in her vision, and no rational argument could hope to soothe the tension it had imparted within her.

With a sigh, she left the warm blankets of her bed and fumbled for her clothes in the darkness. She'd go and have a look, just to ease her mind. She went to the wall where her weapons hung waiting, tucking her sais into the sheathes built into her boots and then slung her Amazon sword over her shoulder. There would probably be nothing more threatening out there than some cranky cows demanding to be milked, but her years at Xena's side had taught her that it paid to be ready for trouble even when you expected none.

Gabrielle padded out of the house silently, unwilling to disturb her family's rest over her foolish fancies. She knew very well that they worried over her, even to this day. Losing Xena had crippled a part of her, though she had learned to drive her limping spirit onwards through the certainty that they'd be reunited again someday. But if she told them how many times she had dreamed of her soul mate, and how much each stolen moment of her fantasies meant to her, their fears that she'd give in to her desire to be with her beloved Xena would become unbearable for all of them.

For months after Xena's sacrifice Gabrielle had thrown herself into battle with almost a death wish, she could now admit to herself, if to no one else. She loved her family dearly and truly appreciated all the comfort they offered. But even after all this time they still couldn't understand that Gabrielle was only half a person without Xena, and that there were some wounds that time and love couldn't heal.

The bard managed to slip away without alerting anyone to her exit. It was strange, but as she left the house to pass into the faint light of false dawn, the invigoration she had felt during her dream continued to flow through her. She felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and in leaving, had returned all the vitality it had sapped during the time she had been burdened with it. If there was danger threatening her home, her body at least was eager to meet it. She broke into a trot, allowing her mind to blank as her senses reached out to her surroundings. Her feet stepped firmly on her path, instinctively avoiding any pitfalls, yet doing so as silently as a shadow.

Her ears caught a faint sound in the distance. Stopping in her tracks, she strained her ears to recapture the noise that had seized her attention. After several long breaths it sounded again: a faraway horn call. It wasn't one of her neighbors, that much she knew. Several of the men in Potidaea had instruments made of rams' horns, but what she had just heard was too crisp and clean to be from one of them. It had been a horn of bronze, the kind used by an army. Springing forward like a deer, she fell into a loping run. The energy she felt coursing through her veins pumped renewed life into her muscles and sinews. She knew that danger, if it was truly approaching, would most likely come from the hills just north of town, exactly as she'd learned from her vision.



The sun had just taken its first shy peek over the horizon when she reached the summit of the steep hill guarding Potidaea from northern invaders. The climb had left her a bit short of breath in spite of her earlier strength, but even the hill's craggy sides couldn't fend off a determined foe in the long run, and it appeared as if determination was in plentiful supply within the camp of raiders clustered at the knoll's heels. They'd be making their ascent as soon as the sun was high enough to illuminate any treacherous footing on it's rocky slope, the bard felt certain. Already it was beginning to buzz with activity.

It was now up to Gabrielle to find a way to stop them, since she knew she'd never make it home in time to rally her townsfolk for the fight. And even if she could, the farmers and shopkeepers of the town could never hope to drive off an army the size of the one she saw. The citizens of Potidaea had once fought off the warlord Damon and his band of thieves with her assistance, but that time they'd had plenty of advance warning to prepare their defenses, and Damon had only had some thirty men under his command. The army coming for them now numbered well into the hundreds. In the twenty-five years that Gabrielle had lain frozen in an enchanted sleep her village had blossomed into a fair sized town with plenty of strong men and women ready to defend their own, but this time it wouldn't be enough. For all practical purposes, Gabrielle was alone.

The bard was able to pick out the army's banners in the distance with the growing light of dawn. The wind obligingly held the pennons stiff to allow her to read the tale they told- a blood red eagle with wings spread wide upon a glowing field of gold. They were the colors of the Hunnish King Attila. He and his nomadic horsemen had swept over the cultivated fields of the south like man-eating locusts, devouring all before them with a rapacious appetite. Potidaea seemed to be the next dainty morsel on the menu unless a miracle happened and Gabrielle was able to find a way to turn them back.

Still, it wouldn't exactly be an easy conquest for Attila's men, at least on the short term. A rock fall within the last week had blocked the only pass through which horsemen could ride through in numbers without being forced to take a long detour of several days, and would take them right past several more heavily fortified towns en route. The Huns always fought from the saddle, so if they were prevented from bringing their steeds to the fray they would find themselves badly handicapped. Victory would still undoubtedly be theirs against Potidaea's militia, but the Huns would pay a heavy price in blood in the process.

It would have been nice if Attila had simply decided to look for another more easily accessible town to pillage, but the King's scouts must have already told him of the wealth waiting just beyond his reach, and in his greed he must have refused to relinquish the prize. Gabrielle could see Attila's men dismounting and hobbling their steeds, a thing almost unheard of amongst a nation which prided itself on never dirtying the soles of their colorfully embroidered boots with the earth's dust. Few Huns, even their Kings, could have enforced such a command on his reluctant followers. But Attila was too greatly feared even by his own men to be flouted, so the nomads obeyed his order to prepare to wage war without their most potent weapon- their horses.

The fighting men of Potidaea could never have stood up to a full cavalry charge with horses trained to fight in tandem with their riders. The Huns still had their scimitars and bows, highly effective weapons on their own, but not impossible to defend against. But how was Gabrielle going to do it by herself?

"What would Xena do?" she mused aloud as she had so many times since her soul mate's tragic demise.

"Probably the same thing you're about to do," the bard heard an achingly familiar voice respond from behind her. In utter disbelief she whirled around and saw a sight as welcome as it was impossible: Xena. Was she still dreaming? Unable to hold herself back, she threw herself into the warrior's open arms and was overjoyed when the solidity of Xena's touch proved that this was no hallucination. However this miracle had occurred, Xena was finally back where she belonged at Gabrielle's side.

Emotions the bard had thought were buried forever bubbled up from deep within the wellspring of her soul, and she wept as she embraced her partner fiercely. It was as if she was afraid that too loose a hold would see Xena slip from her grasp yet again, both literally and figuratively.

Xena murmured soothingly to her beloved friend between tender kisses to the top of her golden maned head. "I guess you missed me," Xena said in a voice husky with tears of her own.

Gabrielle laughed at the colossal understatement, then finally relaxed her hold enough to take a step back from her partner, her face radiant with boundless love and joy. "You could say that."

Xena gifted her with an incandescent smile. "You didn't think I'd let you face all this trouble on your own, did you?" she asked with a nod to the army swarming at the foot of the rocky slope.

"Oh, them? I've got them right where I want them," Gabrielle assured her with careless bravado. "Not that I don't appreciate the help," she finished quickly.

"That's good. I'd hate to have made the trip for nothing," Xena answered teasingly.

Gabrielle laughed delightedly. With her heart singing its joy for all the world to see, even the prospect of a battle with such impossible odds couldn't dampen her high spirits. Nothing could stop her- them, she corrected herself. Gabrielle was no longer alone, a soul painfully ripped in twain. She was once again blessedly whole in both body and soul.

"We've had some good luck with that rock fall," Xena observed, getting down to business with the focus Gabrielle remembered so well. "Forcing our enemy into a chokepoint of our choosing is key when we're this badly outnumbered. So where's another place we can use to cut them into nice, bite-sized chunks?" the warrior enquired.

Gabrielle gave it some thought. "There's the old bridge over the gorge. They rebuilt it about ten years ago."

"Perfect," Xena declared with satisfaction. "Now all we have to do is make sure that's the route they take."

"Piece of cake," Gabrielle said blithely. But then she asked more seriously, "Uh, any ideas?"

"I might have one or two," Xena told her with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Does your neighbor Timon still have his farm just a short way down that road?"

"Yeah, but what... oh," she exclaimed when she discovered where Xena's thoughts had led her. "Okay, that takes care of their right flank, what do we do on their left?"

"Oh, I think you can find a way to make things hot for them," Xena said with a grin, which was immediately matched by Gabrielle, who pulled her friend in for another quick hug.

"I'm so glad you're here," Gabrielle told her.

"Me, too," replied her soul mate. "Okay, let's give these Huns a welcome they'll never forget."

Only two more weeks until Egypt, but in the meantime I'm struggling, because I have a major case of tendonitis (I hope, it's better than carpal tunnel!) in my left hand and arm, so I'm trying very hard not to overdo it on the internet. Hopefully by the time I get back from vacation it will be healed, since it's already improved, though not enough for me to go back to submitting willy-nilly as I had been. I wanted to hit level 70 before I go, but that's in doubt now, though I still might manage. Anyways, if you haven't heard from me lately, this is why.:?