After sixty-five years, when asked about those days, about the Battle of Brenna, about the square marching over corpses of friends and foes, advancing towards Golden Pond, the old woman (condotierre captain "Pretty Kitty") smiled, further wrinkling her face, which was already wrinkled and dark as a prune.
Impatiently – or maybe just pretending impatience, she waved her trembling, bony hand twisted with arthritis.
‘Neither side,’ she lisped, ‘could gain an advantage. We were in the thick of it and surrounded. They attacked us from all sides.
Everyone just killed everyone else. They us and we them... khe-khe-khh... They us and we them...’
The old woman controlled her coughing with effort. The listeners who were closest saw her wipe away a tear that was making its way through the maze of wrinkles and old scars.
‘They were as brave as us,’ she muttered. ‘Khe-khe... And we were just as strong and stubborn and fierce as they. Us and them...’
She paused. For a long time. The listeners urged her, watching her smile at the memories, at past glory. Smiling at the blurred faces of those who survived through the fog of forgetfulness. Those that could not been killed by liquor, narcotics or tuberculosis.
‘We were equally brave,’ Julia Abatemarco finished. ‘Both sides were trying to stay strong and brave. But we... we managed to be braver one minute more than they.’