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Description
Sol’s moss green eyes gazed unmoved between the bars of cold steel, unblinking towards the distant shore. His hands longed for warmth; warmth these dark stone walls could not offer. His feet urged one word: escape. His nose tasted salt creeping up from the ice blue water fifty feet below. The lord of this forsaken land had captured a free spirit. Sol’s mind closed in on itself, evoking memories.
With each breath, life seemed eternal. His moccasins accepted the gravel like wool, and like wool, the earth kept him warm at night. By day the colors sang and the wind thrilled him. When the rain came, the songs became a symphony, soothing his body with its cool tears. When the sun went down, the stars would come alive, telling him stories only seen by those undying eyes.
“Oye…swine!” It was the deep voice of the guard in his pale armor, his muddy brown eyes mocking Sol, “Left you the finest meat. Even the dogs wouldn’t touch it.” His smile broadened into cracked black and yellow. The guard slid the grime under the rot-wood door. Still cackling, he turned his back. NOW! With a deft thwack, Sol kicked out the door. Deep grooves on the hinges had weakened it. It toppled on top of the guard.
“Swine you say?” spat Sol. Working like a shadow he dragged the guard into the dungeon and began removing the arctic sheets of armor. Strapping the armor on himself he found a dagger embedded with a fleur de lis. “A French pig,” with that Sol slid the blade into the guards heart. He’d never killed a man before. An occasional bear if it threatened him and deer if he got hungry. Now Sol found himself wearing the pale armor of a man doomed to rot. Let him rot! He replaced the door that kept him company all those long nights. But he had only seen this side once and seeing it again he had to hold down what little he had eaten. Voices of the past echoed as his mind closed upon the past horror.
“But I’m innocent!” Sol’s protest was as condemned as he.
“Shut up, peasant!” the lord’s words sent a rank mist into Sol’s face, choking him. For a deathly instant the lord’s eyes bore through Sol’s. “He has no gold for the deer; let him rot!” the lord’s cloak bid Sol farewell like Lucifer’s wing.
“Kind sir, please…”
“Save it thief!” The door struck like a gavel. Judgment had been passed.
Sol’s pulse drew him out of the nightmare. He heard more voices. This time they were real.
“You ‘ear somethin’?” the syllables came distant and broken.
“I dunno,” this time the words made Sol shiver, “that did not sound like ol’ Ed.”
“C’mon, let’s see if ‘e needs our ‘elp,”
“You go ahead, I’ll keep watch,” after the chill had subsided Sol prepared for the arrival of the man with the broken voice. Footfalls echoed from the stairs below. With every approaching step Sol’s own feet urged one word. “Ed?” The broken voice stood

Rounding the corner, Michael saw Edward standing, one hand resting on the door. “Ed?”
“Huh?” grunted Edward.
Michael blinked; somethin’ ain’t righ’. “Y’all done?” he inquired in his usual broken English.
Ed’s helm tipped in a nod.
“Then le’s git outa ‘ear, dis place gives me de shivers.” Turning, Edward passed him without making eye contact.
“Mike?” the name petrified them both. It was Edward’s voice but it came from behind the door. Realization slowly dawning on him; dis khan’ be ol’ Ed. Michael glanced at Edward’s voice then back at Edward’s pale armor. He glimpsed moss green from beneath the pallid helm as a steel fist collided with his face. He tasted blood as lights popped in his view.

“Mike!? Ed!?” Julius had heard another clatter. Now footsteps followed by Edward’s pale armor that darted around the corner, “What the...ED!” He was running from something, but what? Julius drew his blade and proceeded. “MIKE!” His face was crimson and distorted, but he was breathing. Julius peered through the grate in the door. The man lay, turning pale, with a handle protruding from his breast, which wept blood.
“Jake,” hissed Edward once Julius reached him. Stripped of his armor, Edward now lay pale as his stolen wares. Edward choked on his last red cough. Julius’s hand fell upon a cold handle. Pulling it out, he noticed writing. Upon the blood stained note was written “I shall not pay for the deer, nor shall I pay for this swine,”
“MURDERER” The word shot from Julius’s lips like cannon fire.

Hearing the watchman call after Ed, Sol darted into the nearest room. She was like a caretaker, organized and untainted by dust. She offered all he needed without him even asking. Blades of every shape, axes of every metal, and bows made from every wood. One bow caught his eye in particular. It was his child, his family. He touched the very wood his hands had carved. The caretaker had preserved it from the time he had been sentenced. Curling his fingers around the grip his closed around that night, so long ago.
He had been traveling like he always had and grew hungry. Reflexively he stopped and drew an arrow. Nose to the wind he caught the scent of a meal. Darting several paces up wind he stopped. His eyes caught sight of the deer. Steadying his breath he drew back. Like a monument he waited. The pray looked up.
“MURDERER!” Thwok! In the memory he had drawn an arrow. When the accusation brought him back he sank it into the nearest cabinet. Bewildered he looked around and remembered to thank the caretaker. He removed Edward’s cold armor and prepared for the watchman. Once in the corridor, Sol reflexively stopped and drew an arrow. Now Sol heard footsteps. His eyes caught sight of the kill. Steadying his breath he drew back. Like a monument he stood. He had not forgotten his child’s talents. “YOU! I’ll kill you for-” were the words that the watchman gagged on. Like an ancient statue the watchman crumbled. Feathers danced on the wall behind him. Let them all rot!
Like the night upon the sun’s first rays, Sol had vanished. He was free. Sol was home.

Description
Sol’s moss green eyes gazed unmoved between the bars of cold steel, unblinking towards the distant shore. His hands longed for warmth; warmth these dark stone walls could not offer. His feet urged one word: escape. His nose tasted salt creeping up from the ice blue water fifty feet below. The lord of this forsaken land had captured a free spirit. Sol’s mind closed in on itself, evoking memories.
With each breath, life seemed eternal. His moccasins accepted the gravel like wool, and like wool, the earth kept him warm at night. By day the colors sang and the wind thrilled him. When the rain came, the songs became a symphony, soothing his body with its cool tears. When the sun went down, the stars would come alive, telling him stories only seen by those undying eyes.
“Oye…swine!” It was the deep voice of the guard in his pale armor, his muddy brown eyes mocking Sol, “Left you the finest meat. Even the dogs wouldn’t touch it.” His smile broadened into cracked black and yellow. The guard slid the grime under the rot-wood door. Still cackling, he turned his back. NOW! With a deft thwack, Sol kicked out the door. Deep grooves on the hinges had weakened it. It toppled on top of the guard.
“Swine you say?” spat Sol. Working like a shadow he dragged the guard into the dungeon and began removing the arctic sheets of armor. Strapping the armor on himself he found a dagger embedded with a fleur de lis. “A French pig,” with that Sol slid the blade into the guards heart. He’d never killed a man before. An occasional bear if it threatened him and deer if he got hungry. Now Sol found himself wearing the pale armor of a man doomed to rot. Let him rot! He replaced the door that kept him company all those long nights. But he had only seen this side once and seeing it again he had to hold down what little he had eaten. Voices of the past echoed as his mind closed upon the past horror.
“But I’m innocent!” Sol’s protest was as condemned as he.
“Shut up, peasant!” the lord’s words sent a rank mist into Sol’s face, choking him. For a deathly instant the lord’s eyes bore through Sol’s. “He has no gold for the deer; let him rot!” the lord’s cloak bid Sol farewell like Lucifer’s wing.
“Kind sir, please…”
“Save it thief!” The door struck like a gavel. Judgment had been passed.
Sol’s pulse drew him out of the nightmare. He heard more voices. This time they were real.
“You ‘ear somethin’?” the syllables came distant and broken.
“I dunno,” this time the words made Sol shiver, “that did not sound like ol’ Ed.”
“C’mon, let’s see if ‘e needs our ‘elp,”
“You go ahead, I’ll keep watch,” after the chill had subsided Sol prepared for the arrival of the man with the broken voice. Footfalls echoed from the stairs below. With every approaching step Sol’s own feet urged one word. “Ed?” The broken voice stood

Rounding the corner, Michael saw Edward standing, one hand resting on the door. “Ed?”
“Huh?” grunted Edward.
Michael blinked; somethin’ ain’t righ’. “Y’all done?” he inquired in his usual broken English.
Ed’s helm tipped in a nod.
“Then le’s git outa ‘ear, dis place gives me de shivers.” Turning, Edward passed him without making eye contact.
“Mike?” the name petrified them both. It was Edward’s voice but it came from behind the door. Realization slowly dawning on him; dis khan’ be ol’ Ed. Michael glanced at Edward’s voice then back at Edward’s pale armor. He glimpsed moss green from beneath the pallid helm as a steel fist collided with his face. He tasted blood as lights popped in his view.

“Mike!? Ed!?” Julius had heard another clatter. Now footsteps followed by Edward’s pale armor that darted around the corner, “What the...ED!” He was running from something, but what? Julius drew his blade and proceeded. “MIKE!” His face was crimson and distorted, but he was breathing. Julius peered through the grate in the door. The man lay, turning pale, with a handle protruding from his breast, which wept blood.
“Jake,” hissed Edward once Julius reached him. Stripped of his armor, Edward now lay pale as his stolen wares. Edward choked on his last red cough. Julius’s hand fell upon a cold handle. Pulling it out, he noticed writing. Upon the blood stained note was written “I shall not pay for the deer, nor shall I pay for this swine,”
“MURDERER” The word shot from Julius’s lips like cannon fire.

Hearing the watchman call after Ed, Sol darted into the nearest room. She was like a caretaker, organized and untainted by dust. She offered all he needed without him even asking. Blades of every shape, axes of every metal, and bows made from every wood. One bow caught his eye in particular. It was his child, his family. He touched the very wood his hands had carved. The caretaker had preserved it from the time he had been sentenced. Curling his fingers around the grip his closed around that night, so long ago.
He had been traveling like he always had and grew hungry. Reflexively he stopped and drew an arrow. Nose to the wind he caught the scent of a meal. Darting several paces up wind he stopped. His eyes caught sight of the deer. Steadying his breath he drew back. Like a monument he waited. The pray looked up.
“MURDERER!” Thwok! In the memory he had drawn an arrow. When the accusation brought him back he sank it into the nearest cabinet. Bewildered he looked around and remembered to thank the caretaker. He removed Edward’s cold armor and prepared for the watchman. Once in the corridor, Sol reflexively stopped and drew an arrow. Now Sol heard footsteps. His eyes caught sight of the kill. Steadying his breath he drew back. Like a monument he stood. He had not forgotten his child’s talents. “YOU! I’ll kill you for-” were the words that the watchman gagged on. Like an ancient statue the watchman crumbled. Feathers danced on the wall behind him. Let them all rot!
Like the night upon the sun’s first rays, Sol had vanished. He was free. Sol was home.