I stand on a hill as the sun rises in the distance. I watch the metal clad men sweat and bend to move the heavy stone they have cut. They think to raise a wall to keep us out. It will not work.
For years we have over run their orderly camps with their white tents and their flapping banners. For years our people have beaten them back with weapons that would seem no match for theirs but we win. We win because they have no heart. They come from some place warm and they shiver when they go against us, their naked limbs turning blue and bumpy in the cold.
They go against us in great blocks while we fire our arrows and throw our spears from high rocks and from behind trees. They flee when we set fire to the heather to chase them down a hill. They cringe when our women join us in a screaming charge. We fight naked and painted in all the traditional designs in the rich woad and we terrify them with our disorder and we win.
So now, their leader in his mighty helm of bronze and horsehair plumes watches as they labour to build their stone wall across the whole of the countryside to keep the mighty Picts out. We, who are a tiny people. We, who live in small villages, have frightened and worn out the mighty Roman army. We have won. For now…
Until the next people who think to invade us try but our goddesses watch over us as well as our weather. We are here and we will always endure…
Adventures and Musings of an Arch Druidess 