As the charger flies past, the boy peers over the snowdrift at this strange man. He glimpses a sparkle of moonlight on plate armor. A cloak flutters out behind, made of some spotted creature's hides. As the beast thunders past, the boy sees they are leopard skins, whipping madly in the moonlight.
Then there is a flash of red light, a beam shooting off into the night sky.
As the man disappears into the night, the boy wonders about the light, far too bright to have been caused by the moonlight.
The boy also wonders why it was red. "What is the red from? Vulinar, she is white. What could cause the red?"
"The same color as the sword? But why was the sword red? Only a bloody sword should look....."
"A BLOODY sword!"
With that thought, he rushes to the house.
As he bursts into his house, he is almost unable to recognize his own home. The front door hangs by one hinge. The furniture is in shambles, as though viciously attacked by some savage beast, and not a single piece is intact. The mantle has been cleared, everything piled on the floor at one end, shattered in a heap.
The man at the desk shakes his head, running his hand through his thick, white hair. He shakes his head sadly, trying to recall the details of a night he long tried to forget.
A shadow detaches itself from the wall. As it approaches the white haired man, coming into the light, it takes on the form of a large timberwolf.
The man looks down fondly at the wolf. "All is well, Ahdna. I am only remembering."
The wolf looks up, intelligence visible in the gleaming yellow eyes. He seems to almost smile, then lies on the floor near the desk, staring at the crackling fire.
The man gets a far off look to his eyes.
He remembers looking about the house for his parents. Where could they have gone, allowing someone to do this to their new home?
They had just moved from Korinth, not more than 4 cycles ago. Now they were living far to the North of the Plains.
It made no sense at the time why they would leave their home and friends, but now he understands..
Looking around wildly, his eyes land on a familiar looking piece of cloth. It looks just like Mother's dress, but it is partially buried under the pile of furnishings.
As he steps closer, his feet make a funny noise as he walks. Looking down, he sees a puddle of red spreading, running from behind the overturned table. Almost too afraid to look, yet unable to do otherwise, he peers around the table.
His father's glazed eyes look back at him.
