“And Itza Danced

Itza stood in a defensive pose, facing down the most recent bunch of marauders. So far that month, there had been three, each more brutal and grasping than the last. Both other times, her village had fought them and won—just barely. Today, she didn’t know. She rather doubted they could win, for these were large and many. The men of her village stood behind her, armed the best they could with farm tools. One or two had actual swords which were ancient, dull and rusted. They could do more harm to themselves than to a burly warrior. The leader smiled nastily, as he shifted weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, her stare boring into him. He had thought he had the upper hand in this fight, now he was not sure. Tilting his head to one side, he eyed her critically. She was slightly built, tall for…