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Description
Recollections

            I closed my eyes and pressed a hand against the wound on my forehead, feeling too weak to get up. My head was spinning and I felt dizzy, but I could remember everything. It was etched in my memory and it would be there forever, I couldn’t believe what had happened.

            I knew that morning when I opened my eyes, today would be different from any other I had yet experienced. Little did I know the extent of that feeling. How could I know what my future held?

            I went about my morning chores, whistling a lively tune, I had overheard a traveling minstrel playing some months earlier. There was an unusual spring in my step, that even I was aware of. Not to say that I suffer from a surly disposition, I would rather call it being practical. I received many looks from my family and the few ranch-hands that labored on my father’s land, tending to the fine horses my Father took such pride in.

            With my morning chores finished and my midday meal a memory, I pleaded to my mother to allow my siblings and me to go wading in the shallow creek that cut our land in two. Reluctantly she agreed. It was very unusual for me to want to join in any activity with my two brothers-one older and one younger-and my younger sister. I still believe this was the sole reason my Mother agreed. I was the loner in the family, and I’m certain it worried my parents, that were both very friendly and out going, the same as the rest of our family.

            I was literally the black sheep, for my long ebony hair shone like polished onyx, and all other family members were adorned with hair the color of autumn wheat. I believe my Father thought me sired by another, even amidst my Mother’s protests to the contrary. Perhaps her protests were just that-hollow protests, or perchance I was just meant to be different. I will never know the answer to that now.

            The four of us arrived at the slow-moving water shortly after Mother had given her consent. It was a rare occurrence indeed when we were allowed to venture about without supervision of any kind. It only took a few minutes for my older brother and I to remove our footwear and him to roll up his trousers and me to tuck the hem of my thin cotton skirt into my waistband. My younger siblings were already frolicking in the cooling water, not wearing any shoes during the hot summer months and not caring about the state their clothing would be in on our trek home.

            To this day, I cannot tell you what made me look in the direction that our home lay in. I do remember the confusion I felt, seeing that thick tongue of smoke curling up into the clear blue sky. I called to my siblings and started running toward that ominous spiral. I didn’t even stop to retrieve my boots.

            I could hear my Father’s thick northern accent in my ear remarking if I moved at this pace doing my chores he would not have to waste wages on the workers he employed. My Father was forever remarking on what he called wasted gold and wasted time, to him they were both and the same. I suppose it stemmed from his childhood of poverty, but those imaginary words spurred me onto even greater speed.

            I wasn’t aware of it as I ran, but the soles of my feet were being shredded with each and every quick step I took. I could have cared less even if I had known. All I could think about was getting back to my parents and my Father’s precious horses.

            I leapt fences in the same manner as I had seen our horses do, I didn’t even slow, but kept up my breakneck speed right into the barn and out the other side, coming into what I can only describe as mayhem.

            Our house was on fire, I could hear someone screaming from inside, I assumed then, and still believe it was my aunt, my Mother’s sister that had come to visit before her wedding that was to take place in less than a ten-day. Torn and bloody bodies were strewn about the yard. Some I recognized some I didn’t.

            That’s when my older brother rounded the side of the barn with an old rusty long sword in hand. I don’t know where he got it, I know if Father had found out he had a sword a good tail lashing would have been the least of my brother’s worries.

            I stood there feeling as if I wasn’t really there at all, but that I was someone looking at the scene from some far off land. I watched in a state of detachment, as my flaxen haired brother let loose an earsplitting war cry and charged one of the black armored men, that seemed to be looting our canning house. For a split second I saw my laughing, practical joker brother, not the way I usually saw him, flirting with all the farmers’ daughters during Harvest Festival, but as a man. It lasted only the split second it took the armored intruder to turn and bring his shining short sword across my brother’s abdomen. He stopped as if he had hit a rock wall, his intestines piled atop his bare feet, that only minutes before had been dancing through water with my little sister in tow.

            That is when I heard my Father’s voice. At first I didn’t recognize it, not from the sound but from the words. He was pleading with someone. My Father never pleaded with anyone. For as long as I could remember everyone listened to what he said even if grudgingly. My father had a way with words was what my mother said, she claimed he could have been one of the finest bards in all the lands if he hadn’t been completely tone deaf.

            I slowly moved to the northern side of the barn, where I had heard the voices. I thought perhaps I might be hallucinating, the most domineering and strongest man I had ever known in my fifteen years, was on his knees begging one of the black clad men to spare him his horses.

            The sounds of my aunt’s screaming had ceased, my brother’s body wasn’t even cold yet, I had no hopes for anyone else that had been in the house, and here my Father knelt, begging for his horses. Now I think I should have just turned around and walked away, while all the soldiers were busy looting and pillaging, but the site of my father begging for animals made something snap inside of me.

            I strode toward the gathering of four armored men and my crying father. He was crying for horses as my entire life fell apart, he blubbered over HORSES! It only furthered my anger. I can imagine a similar coil of black smoke coming from me as it did my home at my back.

            If my shock at my father’s behavior had thus far been stumping what came next was completely otherworldly. As his streaming eyes looked up to see me, my two remaining siblings came to stand behind me. He began to offer the three of us to the men for the lives of his animals. He had always been jolly and even tender at some points even though he was a very stern task-master. I had always thought he had cared for all his children, even me.

            The men looked us over, and began to laugh. If it was directed at us, my despicable father, or just at the general situation, I still do not know. My anger flared anew as one of the men came over to me and pulled a strand of my black hair over my shoulder, looking at me like the men did that came to buy my father’s horses.

            I punched out with everything my slight frame had. I heard masculine laughter, and my father admonishing me to just be still and let the men do what they wanted to, it wouldn’t last long. All I could think at that moment was he dared to speak to me, after all he had done today.

            I kicked, clawed, and bit anything that came within reach as two of the soldiers bound me and tossed me inside of our very own wagon that was laden down with items stolen from our own house before it had burn. My brother and sister were similarly treated and tossed in on top of me.

            The impact of my siblings must have been what caused my head injury, when I came to I was sick and dizzy with a long cut on my forehead. I faintly remember hearing my father bartering as only a horse trader can, if my memory serves me, he ended up with only a stud for his three remaining children.

            My brother was gone when I came to awareness this evening. My sister didn’t look well, as we were both tied to a lead attached to one of the wagons, but the leader of the caravan got a few pretty coins for her at a brothel we passed later that night.

            My shredded feet pained me greatly as I was forced to march or be dragged behind the wagon. After several days of similar travel, I was crammed on a boat along with other trade items and was forced to occupy an area not much larger than a shipping crate, for how many months of sea travel I couldn’t say.

            Now I stand and watch the sun start to sink below the horizon. How different my life is now. The ranch and the sullen farm girl are fifteen years in the past. Now all that remains are the filthy dessert city below and the assassin ready to begin her nights work.

Description
Recollections

            I closed my eyes and pressed a hand against the wound on my forehead, feeling too weak to get up. My head was spinning and I felt dizzy, but I could remember everything. It was etched in my memory and it would be there forever, I couldn’t believe what had happened.

            I knew that morning when I opened my eyes, today would be different from any other I had yet experienced. Little did I know the extent of that feeling. How could I know what my future held?

            I went about my morning chores, whistling a lively tune, I had overheard a traveling minstrel playing some months earlier. There was an unusual spring in my step, that even I was aware of. Not to say that I suffer from a surly disposition, I would rather call it being practical. I received many looks from my family and the few ranch-hands that labored on my father’s land, tending to the fine horses my Father took such pride in.

            With my morning chores finished and my midday meal a memory, I pleaded to my mother to allow my siblings and me to go wading in the shallow creek that cut our land in two. Reluctantly she agreed. It was very unusual for me to want to join in any activity with my two brothers-one older and one younger-and my younger sister. I still believe this was the sole reason my Mother agreed. I was the loner in the family, and I’m certain it worried my parents, that were both very friendly and out going, the same as the rest of our family.

            I was literally the black sheep, for my long ebony hair shone like polished onyx, and all other family members were adorned with hair the color of autumn wheat. I believe my Father thought me sired by another, even amidst my Mother’s protests to the contrary. Perhaps her protests were just that-hollow protests, or perchance I was just meant to be different. I will never know the answer to that now.

            The four of us arrived at the slow-moving water shortly after Mother had given her consent. It was a rare occurrence indeed when we were allowed to venture about without supervision of any kind. It only took a few minutes for my older brother and I to remove our footwear and him to roll up his trousers and me to tuck the hem of my thin cotton skirt into my waistband. My younger siblings were already frolicking in the cooling water, not wearing any shoes during the hot summer months and not caring about the state their clothing would be in on our trek home.

            To this day, I cannot tell you what made me look in the direction that our home lay in. I do remember the confusion I felt, seeing that thick tongue of smoke curling up into the clear blue sky. I called to my siblings and started running toward that ominous spiral. I didn’t even stop to retrieve my boots.

            I could hear my Father’s thick northern accent in my ear remarking if I moved at this pace doing my chores he would not have to waste wages on the workers he employed. My Father was forever remarking on what he called wasted gold and wasted time, to him they were both and the same. I suppose it stemmed from his childhood of poverty, but those imaginary words spurred me onto even greater speed.

            I wasn’t aware of it as I ran, but the soles of my feet were being shredded with each and every quick step I took. I could have cared less even if I had known. All I could think about was getting back to my parents and my Father’s precious horses.

            I leapt fences in the same manner as I had seen our horses do, I didn’t even slow, but kept up my breakneck speed right into the barn and out the other side, coming into what I can only describe as mayhem.

            Our house was on fire, I could hear someone screaming from inside, I assumed then, and still believe it was my aunt, my Mother’s sister that had come to visit before her wedding that was to take place in less than a ten-day. Torn and bloody bodies were strewn about the yard. Some I recognized some I didn’t.

            That’s when my older brother rounded the side of the barn with an old rusty long sword in hand. I don’t know where he got it, I know if Father had found out he had a sword a good tail lashing would have been the least of my brother’s worries.

            I stood there feeling as if I wasn’t really there at all, but that I was someone looking at the scene from some far off land. I watched in a state of detachment, as my flaxen haired brother let loose an earsplitting war cry and charged one of the black armored men, that seemed to be looting our canning house. For a split second I saw my laughing, practical joker brother, not the way I usually saw him, flirting with all the farmers’ daughters during Harvest Festival, but as a man. It lasted only the split second it took the armored intruder to turn and bring his shining short sword across my brother’s abdomen. He stopped as if he had hit a rock wall, his intestines piled atop his bare feet, that only minutes before had been dancing through water with my little sister in tow.

            That is when I heard my Father’s voice. At first I didn’t recognize it, not from the sound but from the words. He was pleading with someone. My Father never pleaded with anyone. For as long as I could remember everyone listened to what he said even if grudgingly. My father had a way with words was what my mother said, she claimed he could have been one of the finest bards in all the lands if he hadn’t been completely tone deaf.

            I slowly moved to the northern side of the barn, where I had heard the voices. I thought perhaps I might be hallucinating, the most domineering and strongest man I had ever known in my fifteen years, was on his knees begging one of the black clad men to spare him his horses.

            The sounds of my aunt’s screaming had ceased, my brother’s body wasn’t even cold yet, I had no hopes for anyone else that had been in the house, and here my Father knelt, begging for his horses. Now I think I should have just turned around and walked away, while all the soldiers were busy looting and pillaging, but the site of my father begging for animals made something snap inside of me.

            I strode toward the gathering of four armored men and my crying father. He was crying for horses as my entire life fell apart, he blubbered over HORSES! It only furthered my anger. I can imagine a similar coil of black smoke coming from me as it did my home at my back.

            If my shock at my father’s behavior had thus far been stumping what came next was completely otherworldly. As his streaming eyes looked up to see me, my two remaining siblings came to stand behind me. He began to offer the three of us to the men for the lives of his animals. He had always been jolly and even tender at some points even though he was a very stern task-master. I had always thought he had cared for all his children, even me.

            The men looked us over, and began to laugh. If it was directed at us, my despicable father, or just at the general situation, I still do not know. My anger flared anew as one of the men came over to me and pulled a strand of my black hair over my shoulder, looking at me like the men did that came to buy my father’s horses.

            I punched out with everything my slight frame had. I heard masculine laughter, and my father admonishing me to just be still and let the men do what they wanted to, it wouldn’t last long. All I could think at that moment was he dared to speak to me, after all he had done today.

            I kicked, clawed, and bit anything that came within reach as two of the soldiers bound me and tossed me inside of our very own wagon that was laden down with items stolen from our own house before it had burn. My brother and sister were similarly treated and tossed in on top of me.

            The impact of my siblings must have been what caused my head injury, when I came to I was sick and dizzy with a long cut on my forehead. I faintly remember hearing my father bartering as only a horse trader can, if my memory serves me, he ended up with only a stud for his three remaining children.

            My brother was gone when I came to awareness this evening. My sister didn’t look well, as we were both tied to a lead attached to one of the wagons, but the leader of the caravan got a few pretty coins for her at a brothel we passed later that night.

            My shredded feet pained me greatly as I was forced to march or be dragged behind the wagon. After several days of similar travel, I was crammed on a boat along with other trade items and was forced to occupy an area not much larger than a shipping crate, for how many months of sea travel I couldn’t say.

            Now I stand and watch the sun start to sink below the horizon. How different my life is now. The ranch and the sullen farm girl are fifteen years in the past. Now all that remains are the filthy dessert city below and the assassin ready to begin her nights work.