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The life of an eight year old can be dull. Her mother was always after her.
"Airathel, hurry and do your chores before your father comes in."
Her expression was sullen, though this had long stopped working on her mother. There would be no escaping the chores, today or any other day.
"Yes mother."
With that, she set off to feed and water the chickens. Chickens, they made her laugh. The way they clucked about her feet when she entered the pen. When she had been younger, Airathel had thought they we're being friendly, but now she knew better. She was eight, afterall.
The sun was still low in the morning sky. Her mother was preparing breakfest. From across the yard of their small farm, the steady rhythm of steel on steel could be heard.
Ring, ring, ring. Her father.
It was one of her favourite things to do, sit and watch him as he worked. Heating, striking, quenching. Repeat. He was a man of few words, and tolerated alot less foolishness then Airathel would have liked. But he was father, and she was allowed to watch if she stayed out of the way. And if her chores we're done.
"Come get your breakfest!" she squealed with delight, as the chickens flocked around her. With practiced efficeny, she began doling out handfuls of feed to the near panic stricken birds.
"What a responsible young girl." said a strange voice. Airathel glanced up from her work, eyes going wide. The man before her, whom had come up the short path from the road, was dressed entirely in black. Even his beard was dark, his face framed by a heavy set cowl pulled close. The man was smiling that smile that grown-ups used when they knew something she didn't. She hated it, and the man for using it.
"If strangers come around, tell them your father should be out of the smithy at any minute." her mother had told her once, a warning to give to strangers.
Everyone knew her father. He could use a sword like a soldier, and was a huge, muscular man. She repeated the warning to the stranger.
Ring, ring, ring.
The man continued smiling, he even smiled more now.
"Is that so? I can't wait to meet him."
She couldn't say why, but Airathel knew something was wrong. Then she noticed what was hanging at the man's hip. A sword. She took a step back and was about to yell out for her mother when the man suddenly raised his hand to his mouth.
Ring, ring, ring.
"Hush now child, I am not going to hurt you." he claimed, though she was sure he was lying. But her voice was gone, stolen by the sudden looming presence of the man. Then she saw it, behind him.
The VeGeer farm and smithy was on the outskirts of a small, nameless hamlet, north of the town of Scarsdale. There was no road further north, as there was no reason to have one. No one lived to the north.
It was for this reason that a large column of men, arriving from the north was cause for alarm.
Ring, ring, ring.
Airathel ran, screaming. Behind her, the man's laughter could be heard.
The ringing had stopped.
Soon, more screams joined Airathel's. There had been alot of screaming that day.
Airathel bolted upright in bed, her skin slick with sweat. Adreniline coursed through her, that familiar yet alien sensation that makes the heart pound.
It had been many years since she had dreamed of that day.
A wetness around her eyes, a warm streak racing down her cheek, the surge of guilt and stab of loneliness. These things told her that it had not been long enough.
In a room at the Second Wind, alone and in the dark, an eight year old girl, now twenty years dead, wept.
A few minutes later, the sobs finally subsided, she spoke quietly. Just two words. A whispered oath that she had made and broken a thousand times.
"Never again."
OOC: I invite any comments and critisms, thank you.
"Airathel, hurry and do your chores before your father comes in."
Her expression was sullen, though this had long stopped working on her mother. There would be no escaping the chores, today or any other day.
"Yes mother."
With that, she set off to feed and water the chickens. Chickens, they made her laugh. The way they clucked about her feet when she entered the pen. When she had been younger, Airathel had thought they we're being friendly, but now she knew better. She was eight, afterall.
The sun was still low in the morning sky. Her mother was preparing breakfest. From across the yard of their small farm, the steady rhythm of steel on steel could be heard.
Ring, ring, ring. Her father.
It was one of her favourite things to do, sit and watch him as he worked. Heating, striking, quenching. Repeat. He was a man of few words, and tolerated alot less foolishness then Airathel would have liked. But he was father, and she was allowed to watch if she stayed out of the way. And if her chores we're done.
"Come get your breakfest!" she squealed with delight, as the chickens flocked around her. With practiced efficeny, she began doling out handfuls of feed to the near panic stricken birds.
"What a responsible young girl." said a strange voice. Airathel glanced up from her work, eyes going wide. The man before her, whom had come up the short path from the road, was dressed entirely in black. Even his beard was dark, his face framed by a heavy set cowl pulled close. The man was smiling that smile that grown-ups used when they knew something she didn't. She hated it, and the man for using it.
"If strangers come around, tell them your father should be out of the smithy at any minute." her mother had told her once, a warning to give to strangers.
Everyone knew her father. He could use a sword like a soldier, and was a huge, muscular man. She repeated the warning to the stranger.
Ring, ring, ring.
The man continued smiling, he even smiled more now.
"Is that so? I can't wait to meet him."
She couldn't say why, but Airathel knew something was wrong. Then she noticed what was hanging at the man's hip. A sword. She took a step back and was about to yell out for her mother when the man suddenly raised his hand to his mouth.
Ring, ring, ring.
"Hush now child, I am not going to hurt you." he claimed, though she was sure he was lying. But her voice was gone, stolen by the sudden looming presence of the man. Then she saw it, behind him.
The VeGeer farm and smithy was on the outskirts of a small, nameless hamlet, north of the town of Scarsdale. There was no road further north, as there was no reason to have one. No one lived to the north.
It was for this reason that a large column of men, arriving from the north was cause for alarm.
Ring, ring, ring.
Airathel ran, screaming. Behind her, the man's laughter could be heard.
The ringing had stopped.
Soon, more screams joined Airathel's. There had been alot of screaming that day.
Airathel bolted upright in bed, her skin slick with sweat. Adreniline coursed through her, that familiar yet alien sensation that makes the heart pound.
It had been many years since she had dreamed of that day.
A wetness around her eyes, a warm streak racing down her cheek, the surge of guilt and stab of loneliness. These things told her that it had not been long enough.
In a room at the Second Wind, alone and in the dark, an eight year old girl, now twenty years dead, wept.
A few minutes later, the sobs finally subsided, she spoke quietly. Just two words. A whispered oath that she had made and broken a thousand times.
"Never again."
OOC: I invite any comments and critisms, thank you.