Author's Note: This is the first of a thirteen chapter update of Fields of Trees. Hopefully, these slight changes will provide a bit more background to the characters that was lacking in the original. Disclaimer is on my profile page.

Chapter One

It was raining. Or, rather, it was pouring. The heavy drops had pounded the soaked earth for more than a week, and it did not appear to be slowing. There was a chill in the air, one brought on by an early winter, though that wasn't the cause of my dreary mood. There was something amiss that I could not put my finger on, something that nagged at the back of my mind. Even before the rain and the cold, I had become aware of the fact that I was quite lonely. But lonely for what? I had moved to these woods for peace, which is exactly what I received, but now there was the lingering sense that perhaps my time had come to move on. I'd craved the quiet, and the solitude, and the knowledge that I had been depending on no one but myself for a long while. Now, however, my peace was at an end, though not from any outside source. It was me. I had driven myself back to needing something, or perhaps someone.

Shaking my head, I came away from the window and headed downstairs. My home of these past years was composed of stone and wood, not any of those synthetics from town. The floors gleamed in the pale light, and the rock fireplace stood empty. Sighing at the thought of another day out in the deluge, I slipped into my tall boots and heavy coat. Bracing myself, I opened the door and was instantly met with an icy mist. Quickly shutting the door, I bolted down the steps and out onto the gravel path to the barn. Thankfully, it was only a dozen yards away, though in this weather, those dozen yards felt like a mile. Reaching the large sliding doors, I struggled with their water-logged forms until one finally gave way. Practically falling in, I could hear the rustle of straw and the soft knickers telling me I was late. Barely managing to close the door again, I cursed at the weather; not that it did any good, mind you, but it made me feel better all the same.

Turning, I took in the state of my snug barn. No leaks, thank heavens, and there was still power. A lone feed pan sat on its side in the middle of the isle not far from me; no doubt someone had become tired of waiting for breakfast. Passing a few stalls, I came to the feed room, happy to oblige in filling their stomachs. Now more forceful knickers could be heard, as more and more of the residents demanded to go first. They all knew the routine, but for some reason, routine goes out the window on days like today.

Filling the cart with an assortment of grains and supplements, I wheeled it out into the alley-way and began the task of fending off hungry horses. Each of my five in training was too young to remember rain like this, and remained spooked no matter how I attempted to calm them. They ate in small bites, then turned round and round in their stalls, dropping most of their breakfast before swallowing it. The more adult horses, my two geldings and single mare, took it all in stride. All three had a laid back approach to the weather, as if to say, 'I am dry, warm, and fed. What else do I need?'. Lastly, I came to my ageing stallion. His liquid brown eyes always seem to look through me, weighing me to see my mood. I had raised him from a foal, and though many would have cut him to save on training problems, I could not bear to geld such an animal. Patting his neck, and smoothing down his rich red coat, I finally smiled. No matter the weather, my mood, or my loneliness, he could, without fail, cheer me up with a simple look. There was something to be said for the presence of a horse in your life. They were not like dogs, who forgave you no matter what, nor were they like cats, who couldn't care less about their human owners. No, they were a combination of loyalty and independence, forgiveness and long memory, passion and grace.

Exiting his stall, and putting away my feed equipment, I stood in the hall, debating on my next course of action. I could turn the younger ones out in the small indoor area while I cleaned stalls, though I was uncertain as to if the storm would spook them more in such a large area. Practicality won out over worry as I led each colt to the arena; thankfully, I'd had it attached to the barn. Satisfied that they were quite safe, and after watching them frolic for a few moments in their new found freedom, I turned back to the task at hand. Cleaning stalls had become almost therapeutic over the years. The repetition, the workout, the sense of accomplishment combined to soothe away troubles, at least for a short while.

After finishing with the colt's stalls, I switched out everyone and began working on the older horse's homes. My stallion I left inside; he would have the arena to himself. I was immensely grateful for the manners of my trained horses; they had a tendency to pile their manure in one spot, and usually that spot was in a corner. The younger ones were still getting used to the idea of standing for long periods of time in one place, and for the most part, cleaning their stalls involved a lot more hunting.

Again, I switched everyone out. The stud horse, well mannered though he be, still pranced next to me on our way out. I knew he felt full of himself from being cooped up for so long, but he never hinted at hurting me. Maybe, I thought, tomorrow wouldn't be so bad. They all needed riding, but he was never one to take down-time well. Finally, I finished everyone's stall, fed hay, and filled water buckets. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see it was only eight-thirty in the morning. Checking everyone one last time, I braced myself and headed back out into the storm. With any luck, I would be able to make it to the house without being soaked.

Of course, things are never that easy. By the time I managed to slam my door shut, I was thoroughly waterlogged. Kicking off my boots, and shucking my coat off and onto a rack, I realized with a startled laugh that I was still in my pajamas. I must be out of touch with reality today. Traipsing upstairs, I headed straight for the shower. Odd, isn't it, that even though you are soaked to the bone, you still feel dirty? Turning the knob to the hottest setting, I stripped out of my saturated pj's, taking a long look in the foggy mirror. While I was not what you would call an average beauty, I had become quite pleased with my body. I had always been in excellent shape, but now, through the months of back-breaking labor and intense riding, my muscles had become hard and smooth. I still hated the long scar running from my neck to my shoulder, and the numerous, slightly smaller ones marring my stomach. They stood out as faint white lines against my dark tanned skin, but they were noticeable nonetheless.

As for my face, well, I suppose it was decent. Square jaw, petite nose and large black eyes lent me the look of an older generation, not the modern pretties seen about town. Sighing and shaking my long chocolate tresses, I stepped into the shower and allowed the water to pound over me, scalding my skin and sending waves of warmth through my aching muscles. I forced my thoughts away from the scene earlier in the morning, but my loneliness-that-was-not-loneliness came flooding back. Closing my eyes, I propped my forehead against the shower wall, wishing for all the world that the hot water would wash away my thoughts too. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad…