Tell me what you think of this prologue. I put a little poem too. If I get good reviews then I'll keep writing.

A quiets day

Hands breathe away

I’ll take you to the land of play

Follow me

The gypsy

We can be, oh we can be

And if you shed a tear

You need not fear

Another world is near

A place of no sin

With your mother, your kin

The suns golden rays

The passing of days

Of times cunning ways

Yet we can be

Forever young

If only a quiets days

A woman garbed in colorful scarves rocked back on forth on her chair singing softly. Her long black curls fell below her waist and her dark eyes stared at the infant she was holding. The baby was fast asleep. On its neck was the silhouette of a lark, a birth mark. The same she possessed. She cooed lovingly the baby gave a little squeal of joy. All was well all was peaceful.

Her head jerked to the sounds of footsteps outside. Men’s voices those were alien to her. She cast a wary glance at the opening of the tent. There was a tearing sound as someone forced their way into the satin tent. A man stood in the entrance. His placid blue eyes starred keenly at the mother. His tall figure was merely shadow in the dim lights of the candles.

‘Give me the child’

‘Stay away from me Christo!’ the gypsy yelled.

She got up from her feet and took out a silver blade from her pouch. It sparkled as she slashed it at him. He staggered back; the blade was now tinted red. And the baby? The baby was still cradled in one arm.

‘Give her to me you Gypsy whore!’

She ran for the back of the tent, attempting to open an exit with her knife. He reached for her hair and pulled. At this the baby was awoken and started wailing. She summoned her knife and expertly aimed for his main artery. But he was able to grab her hand. The blade fell to the ground with a clang. Silence swept through the room. The only thing to be heard was the panting of her breath.

‘Give me the child or every tent here will burn to the ground as well as your family inside them. Do you understand? ‘

She still struggled but he wrenched the baby from her hands.

“Throw the torches,” you could hear him order as he marched outside.

The last thing she saw before the fire had started was the voluptuous full moon and her little girl being given to another woman.