ilently gazed into her eyes, indicating for her to continue.
"My husband fought at Vinegar Hill. When Father Murphy was captured in Tullow, my husband was with him. Among those heads impaled on the spikes at the courthouse, there was my husband''s head. They hanged him first and then beheaded him, just like Father Murphy. The day I found out was the day my son was born. There was no father present when I had him baptised. When I heard that the French had landed at Killala, I cut off my hair and joined them, heading west to fight against the British. As for my son, I would rather have him die in freedom than live under enslavement."
Lucas took a long pause before speaking, "Do you truly believe that you can succeed? Can we really attain liberty?"
"Of course not." She sneered, "I set out knowing full well that I was bound to die. The British have tens of thousands of cavalry, their sabers shining bright. We have scarce gunpowder, many of us wear clothes meant for toiling in the fields, armed with nothing but spears. Laughable? Each one of us came to die. After the battle at Longford, the sunken roads were piled high with mountains of corpses, blood forming rivers below. Most of the dead were Irish. The French are honourable prisoners of war, to be kept for exchange with British captives across the channel. I stripped the clothes off a dead British soldier and put them on, walking for seven or eight days to reach this place. In a matter of days, I too shall lie in a ditch, my skull crushed by the hooves of horses, my body devoured by wild dogs. But what does it matter?"
"Where are you heading next?" Lucas asked.
"Further northwest. There are still people fighting there. It''s said that another French reinforcements will arrive soon."
Lucas went back inside and returned with a small bag of corn, offering it to her. "Take these with you."
"No need." The red-haired woman shook her head firmly. "I doubt I''ll have the chance to eat another meal."
As she walked out the door without looking back, her hair still not completely dry.
The hunter stood at the doorstep, gazing as that figure vanished into the thick mist, his heart still tinged with a sense of unreality.
"Papa!" a child''s voice,