The farm was bustling with life as a little boy stooped over to water tender shoots that had just shot through the ground. Sweat beaded his young brow as his dark eyes trained themselves upon the task before him.
Then the ground became the sky and the sky the ground. A booming laughter filled his ears as he tried to right himself. "Down!" The boy's voice demanded as his little fists flailed.
"Pàdraig, please! Can't you see that the boy doesn't like that!" A woman's voice chided from behind him.
He sighed, letting the little boy down from his grip, "I'm sorry." His hand raked through the ebony waves.
"It's okay, Papa," he muttered, picking up his spilled bucket and sighing.
His mother put an arm around him, "Why don't you run along and fetch some more from the Loch, all right? I'll go with you, if you'd like..."
"Kaytria, you are making the boy into a coward..." Pàdraig crossed his arms over his chest as he watched his son and wife depart.
"Nonsense. I'm making him be careful. We live close enough to the border of Temra as it is! There is no need to be fool-hardy. He might get himself killed!" Her tone echoed through the air as they walked into the woods. ~*~*~
"Is there enough water, Angus?" Kaytria asked the boy. He nodded, standing up.
"Mum, do you see that?" he asked, pointing to the orange flare deep within the woods. He felt her hand tense on his shoulder.
"That's fire, my son..." Her feet took off at a rapid rate, leaving the boy alone.
He had never really been alone. But he wasn't scared. He merely picked up his bucket and followed his mother path. The warmth of a blaze touched his face as he walked closer to home, but it didn't strike him that it was coming from his home until he was in hearing distance.
His mother was screaming. He could hear the laughter of men as she suddenly fell silent. Horses traveled close to where he had hidden himself. He peeked over it only enough to see the purple cloaks of the soldiers who rode past.
Once they had passed, Angus began to run for his home. And what he found would plague him into adult years.
His father lay impaled on the threshold of their hut, his clothes beginning to burn and hair beginning to singe. Kaytria was in the grass, half naked. A long gash had been placed over her throat. Her kind dark eyes held nothing but drying tears.
Angus looked at his hands, at the blood that stained the grass. It was still warm. But this was all he could take. Villagers were coming upon him. They had seen the fire. They would take care of his mother and father.
With one last look what was once his home, he fled into the woods. That was the first of many nights alone...
