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Description
Ingrates
A boy named Cyne sat by the dried oak tree under its shades taking a breath out of the throng of works that had exhausted him. There he sat, tucked in his arms, with constant beating breaths that took his nostrils to pump at due speed, they were haste, but not that of one who was to reach his last. Whilst folding his arms, the sweat was visibly rolling off the clear and sleek corners of a youthful complexion. With nowhere to go, nor the comparable wits of that of a superior genius, the boy had but a mere routine of what he deemed to be his daily dose of works of existence.
By dawn, even before the sun approached the highest clouds to peek at those who were below it from behind the mountains, the youth whose hair was fair would inevitably get on his feet to rise in the somewhat shut atmosphere. Not a single day of sunrise was missed by the fair-haired one. The boy packed with only the tightest of strengths, all worn over his arms and feet, and his figure a lovely, solid look obviously visible. There was an undoubted question as to the firmness of his coarsened hands, which, not only was a catcher of the sunrise, but worked the field every day.
In his field, there lain kine of many kinds, all of which grew at his pace, from of the former days that preceded his present youthful days. The throng of kine had not been unmerciful to him, though they were not of an expectable number. Ever since a child of tiny figure, Cyne had more than affinity for kine, although they bore neither the wits nor the likeness of his in their physical nature.
In these passing days, the boy while younger than one, had gone to see his father work the field that in the future, as is presently true, would be inevitably inherited by him. Since what is perfectly understood is the singularity of this boy being under the hood of the extended arms of a family. Cyne had more than loneliness to bear, yet it was not so, indeed it was not so, for him to the most of the matter. There has not a doubt been in his mind though, that he enjoyed the pastures of the field, and seeing the kine graze off amid the broad expanse in the overview. The green scattered across the horizon and the delectable air that his nostrils had savored, he shared it with those who were by him, those, namely, those grazing off the fresh grass in the delightful morning air. These were his friends, as was called, as much he could affirm, and they, being in a significant size like his, stayed by his supervision.
Some days, the clouds would shut its gates forbidding the passage of lights, and the firmament would frown with utter gloom, that much is visible of the stark difference of a fine day and its direct disfavor. As much the blanketing clouds had not merciful been, it would dissipate, yet not for the worthwhile, indeed it was quite a stretch, that the gates of the heavens would be opened again. In these times, rather, ahead of them, the restless fair-haired one would foot along the grazing, and his knees would bend, clutching his hands over them, pull them over and hang them upon his back. He would so take careful steps and lift them over to safety. Some would be obstinate as to refusing his touches, and regardless of the time it took, the waiting was done, until they came to grips with him. He would, as one lesser than a child, carry them over to safety. Until the time came for the firmament to lament tearfully, the droplets have not gotten, even a single one, atop the grazing flock.
As the days went by, a storm came by and time had brutally snatched the breaths of both his beloved who fathered and nursed him from the womb, Cyne, though upset, had left more than tears for himself. His friends however, had not been driven away by the dreadful, they dwelled in his presence, and kept him up every day. Cyne had been taming the kine for his life and they grew in number, and they went freely all over the place. Every day, he fed them and kept them safe, and as was before, not a single droplet would be spotted among his flock. Often in the seasons ahead of the rain, Cyne was well-prepared and well aware, getting himself ready, and carrying each member of the flock. None of his members had a hair fallen off their physique, all were left but a perfect structure. They grew up in such a manner, in optimal care, all by his arms.
Later on, as his routine of lifting kine were true of his life, his arms extended and so did his body, with the height of that of a man, and arms longer than could be thought of. His buffed arms were true all the more, all adhered to a perfect, fine structure, most manly of a man’s physique. The years made his figure clearer than his former days.
The latter days had outgrown the past with spikes, and for clearer than crystal reasons, they spiked the life of Cyne. The area in which Cyne had lived was laid within a belt, and its proximity, surrounded by some truly eager people, and their number, some hundreds. The day then came when the enemies had come by for an unexpected visit towards his village, rather than a visitation, clung along them were some horrors of buffed men with thick arms. The definition that stuck all over their bodies were clear, their figures were packed with only the deepest and tightest of figures.
“Our armies have achieved much in the recent days, our armies have been trained to squash even the greatest of the great.” so the leader of the eager men implied, and indeed had they gotten them in the recent days, within a few months. Cyne had rushed to the middle of the village to watch the crowd and get to grips with what took place. The nervousness of the entire village skyrocketed as the enemies readied themselves to charge forward.
‘We demand that you bring forth your greatest men!’ the leader shouted, and it was heard all throughout in the great distance. The villagers then looked around to see, and found that none of the men had been prepared for war, they had feeble arms and untenable figures. They peered again, looking back and forth, taking glances against one another, and then…
‘We have got one strong man here.’ They all looked at Cyne with the keenest eyes, and some looked intently at his physique. There stood Cyne, and the crowd made way, with some forcefully pushing him forward. He was not so much of a soldier, nor was he that of a warrior, and he had neither fame nor any close friends in the village. He lived with kine all the days of his life, and his closest friend was one not of his own kind, yet of a tie greater than affinity. His closest relatives had left him alone with kine to be taken care of.
Cyne was faced with the enemies upfront, as he stood at the forefront looking at the enemies right in the face. He did not stutter, nor did his gaze turn weak, rather, he looked intently at those who sought to destroy his village. Some of the kine from Cyne’s residence wandered in the area, and the enemies took notice of the wandering kine. One of them drew out his sword and stuck it right in one of the wandering kine, and the rest, they drew out their weapons and crushed each of them, the entire long past that Cyne had shared with them, had all dispersed on this very hour, and each of them fell in pools of blood atop the freezing ground. Their eyes were shut tight, and their moans filled the open air, and shattered in the distance in a great discord, as the horror bringers stood right in front of every eye in great laughter.
‘Just look at how powerful our men are, their arms are strong that they could slash cows right down into a perfect half with just one strike.’ They mentioned in their arrogance.
Cyne looked at them all the more at this point.
‘I’m not much of a warrior, I wouldn’t like to fight.’ Cyne remarked.
The enemies then began to grab Cyne, with two of them rushing at him grabbing him on his arms. He then lifted all of them with both his hands in a swing, although they weighed quite a bit, each on one side, and he held them high up.
‘Leave.’ He uttered lowly, then he let the both of them down.
The enemies looked at him and began to tremble, some of them fell on their feet and others on their heads. Their face faced down, and their knees bent. The leader of them gave him a hateful glance, looking at his youthful yet rough face with due caution, and the leader commanded his armies to leave the place. They fled, running away into the distance, from the way they came boldly, they returned, with some trampling on each other. The people that watched Cyne began to question among themselves, and one approached Cyne to ask him about himself, while the others applauded him in great voice and claps.
‘How did you gain such strength?’ Cyne was asked by a curious villager.
‘Does it matter? Does my strength matter that much?’ he solemnly responded.
‘You saved the village… You’re our hero!’ the whole village was indeed in salutations and bent backs to pay respect to the man. After a few days, the village resettled and took no notice of Cyne, and the village remained in peace.
He then walked away without a word, and he walked into the distance. He walked to some point, further, knowing that his friends were no longer with him, through the darkness and the days, he walked on in the same way. He then sat by a tree, and there was no one in the nearby proximity, for a few days he had walked, and the snow had begun to shower in the area. The flaky snow went down sluggishly, and they gradually covered the entire ground. He sat by a dried oak tree, under its shades bathed in a gloomy sun, taking a breath out of the throng of events that had exhausted him. There he spent his days, tucked in his arms, with constant beating breaths that took his nostrils to pump at due speed, they were haste, and it came as that of one who was to reach his last.
Soon after, the village was dominated by the invaders who had previously come, and when the villagers inquired of the whereabouts of Cyne, no one knew. The only news that came by the village was about a mysterious corpse lying by a dried oak tree. Nothing was heard of Cyne ever again.

Description
Ingrates
A boy named Cyne sat by the dried oak tree under its shades taking a breath out of the throng of works that had exhausted him. There he sat, tucked in his arms, with constant beating breaths that took his nostrils to pump at due speed, they were haste, but not that of one who was to reach his last. Whilst folding his arms, the sweat was visibly rolling off the clear and sleek corners of a youthful complexion. With nowhere to go, nor the comparable wits of that of a superior genius, the boy had but a mere routine of what he deemed to be his daily dose of works of existence.
By dawn, even before the sun approached the highest clouds to peek at those who were below it from behind the mountains, the youth whose hair was fair would inevitably get on his feet to rise in the somewhat shut atmosphere. Not a single day of sunrise was missed by the fair-haired one. The boy packed with only the tightest of strengths, all worn over his arms and feet, and his figure a lovely, solid look obviously visible. There was an undoubted question as to the firmness of his coarsened hands, which, not only was a catcher of the sunrise, but worked the field every day.
In his field, there lain kine of many kinds, all of which grew at his pace, from of the former days that preceded his present youthful days. The throng of kine had not been unmerciful to him, though they were not of an expectable number. Ever since a child of tiny figure, Cyne had more than affinity for kine, although they bore neither the wits nor the likeness of his in their physical nature.
In these passing days, the boy while younger than one, had gone to see his father work the field that in the future, as is presently true, would be inevitably inherited by him. Since what is perfectly understood is the singularity of this boy being under the hood of the extended arms of a family. Cyne had more than loneliness to bear, yet it was not so, indeed it was not so, for him to the most of the matter. There has not a doubt been in his mind though, that he enjoyed the pastures of the field, and seeing the kine graze off amid the broad expanse in the overview. The green scattered across the horizon and the delectable air that his nostrils had savored, he shared it with those who were by him, those, namely, those grazing off the fresh grass in the delightful morning air. These were his friends, as was called, as much he could affirm, and they, being in a significant size like his, stayed by his supervision.
Some days, the clouds would shut its gates forbidding the passage of lights, and the firmament would frown with utter gloom, that much is visible of the stark difference of a fine day and its direct disfavor. As much the blanketing clouds had not merciful been, it would dissipate, yet not for the worthwhile, indeed it was quite a stretch, that the gates of the heavens would be opened again. In these times, rather, ahead of them, the restless fair-haired one would foot along the grazing, and his knees would bend, clutching his hands over them, pull them over and hang them upon his back. He would so take careful steps and lift them over to safety. Some would be obstinate as to refusing his touches, and regardless of the time it took, the waiting was done, until they came to grips with him. He would, as one lesser than a child, carry them over to safety. Until the time came for the firmament to lament tearfully, the droplets have not gotten, even a single one, atop the grazing flock.
As the days went by, a storm came by and time had brutally snatched the breaths of both his beloved who fathered and nursed him from the womb, Cyne, though upset, had left more than tears for himself. His friends however, had not been driven away by the dreadful, they dwelled in his presence, and kept him up every day. Cyne had been taming the kine for his life and they grew in number, and they went freely all over the place. Every day, he fed them and kept them safe, and as was before, not a single droplet would be spotted among his flock. Often in the seasons ahead of the rain, Cyne was well-prepared and well aware, getting himself ready, and carrying each member of the flock. None of his members had a hair fallen off their physique, all were left but a perfect structure. They grew up in such a manner, in optimal care, all by his arms.
Later on, as his routine of lifting kine were true of his life, his arms extended and so did his body, with the height of that of a man, and arms longer than could be thought of. His buffed arms were true all the more, all adhered to a perfect, fine structure, most manly of a man’s physique. The years made his figure clearer than his former days.
The latter days had outgrown the past with spikes, and for clearer than crystal reasons, they spiked the life of Cyne. The area in which Cyne had lived was laid within a belt, and its proximity, surrounded by some truly eager people, and their number, some hundreds. The day then came when the enemies had come by for an unexpected visit towards his village, rather than a visitation, clung along them were some horrors of buffed men with thick arms. The definition that stuck all over their bodies were clear, their figures were packed with only the deepest and tightest of figures.
“Our armies have achieved much in the recent days, our armies have been trained to squash even the greatest of the great.” so the leader of the eager men implied, and indeed had they gotten them in the recent days, within a few months. Cyne had rushed to the middle of the village to watch the crowd and get to grips with what took place. The nervousness of the entire village skyrocketed as the enemies readied themselves to charge forward.
‘We demand that you bring forth your greatest men!’ the leader shouted, and it was heard all throughout in the great distance. The villagers then looked around to see, and found that none of the men had been prepared for war, they had feeble arms and untenable figures. They peered again, looking back and forth, taking glances against one another, and then…
‘We have got one strong man here.’ They all looked at Cyne with the keenest eyes, and some looked intently at his physique. There stood Cyne, and the crowd made way, with some forcefully pushing him forward. He was not so much of a soldier, nor was he that of a warrior, and he had neither fame nor any close friends in the village. He lived with kine all the days of his life, and his closest friend was one not of his own kind, yet of a tie greater than affinity. His closest relatives had left him alone with kine to be taken care of.
Cyne was faced with the enemies upfront, as he stood at the forefront looking at the enemies right in the face. He did not stutter, nor did his gaze turn weak, rather, he looked intently at those who sought to destroy his village. Some of the kine from Cyne’s residence wandered in the area, and the enemies took notice of the wandering kine. One of them drew out his sword and stuck it right in one of the wandering kine, and the rest, they drew out their weapons and crushed each of them, the entire long past that Cyne had shared with them, had all dispersed on this very hour, and each of them fell in pools of blood atop the freezing ground. Their eyes were shut tight, and their moans filled the open air, and shattered in the distance in a great discord, as the horror bringers stood right in front of every eye in great laughter.
‘Just look at how powerful our men are, their arms are strong that they could slash cows right down into a perfect half with just one strike.’ They mentioned in their arrogance.
Cyne looked at them all the more at this point.
‘I’m not much of a warrior, I wouldn’t like to fight.’ Cyne remarked.
The enemies then began to grab Cyne, with two of them rushing at him grabbing him on his arms. He then lifted all of them with both his hands in a swing, although they weighed quite a bit, each on one side, and he held them high up.
‘Leave.’ He uttered lowly, then he let the both of them down.
The enemies looked at him and began to tremble, some of them fell on their feet and others on their heads. Their face faced down, and their knees bent. The leader of them gave him a hateful glance, looking at his youthful yet rough face with due caution, and the leader commanded his armies to leave the place. They fled, running away into the distance, from the way they came boldly, they returned, with some trampling on each other. The people that watched Cyne began to question among themselves, and one approached Cyne to ask him about himself, while the others applauded him in great voice and claps.
‘How did you gain such strength?’ Cyne was asked by a curious villager.
‘Does it matter? Does my strength matter that much?’ he solemnly responded.
‘You saved the village… You’re our hero!’ the whole village was indeed in salutations and bent backs to pay respect to the man. After a few days, the village resettled and took no notice of Cyne, and the village remained in peace.
He then walked away without a word, and he walked into the distance. He walked to some point, further, knowing that his friends were no longer with him, through the darkness and the days, he walked on in the same way. He then sat by a tree, and there was no one in the nearby proximity, for a few days he had walked, and the snow had begun to shower in the area. The flaky snow went down sluggishly, and they gradually covered the entire ground. He sat by a dried oak tree, under its shades bathed in a gloomy sun, taking a breath out of the throng of events that had exhausted him. There he spent his days, tucked in his arms, with constant beating breaths that took his nostrils to pump at due speed, they were haste, and it came as that of one who was to reach his last.
Soon after, the village was dominated by the invaders who had previously come, and when the villagers inquired of the whereabouts of Cyne, no one knew. The only news that came by the village was about a mysterious corpse lying by a dried oak tree. Nothing was heard of Cyne ever again.