This is just the prologue hope you enjoy!
“Take her, quick” Tathos grabbed his daughter from his wife and thrust her into the arms of a tall youth on horseback. The young man lifted the babe and slid her gently into his saddlebag.
“Goodbye Tathos,” he whispered.
“Go!” The man wheeled his horse around, and set off at gallop, but it was too late. He had got no more than a hundred yards from the house before an arrow pierced his heart and he fell; his horse collapsed beside him as the first shot was rapidly followed up.
The girl’s mother cried out as the young man was killed; only Tathos prevented her from running to the fallen horse.
“Don’t,” he said abruptly, holding tightly onto her arms. “I can’t lose you too.” At this, she collapsed, losing the will to fight. Tathos held her limp form upright and kissed her gently. “She’ll be alright” he murmured, trying to convince himself that what he said was true, willing himself to believe it. It was all he could hope for - he knew the same would not apply to the rest of the tribe.
The women and able-bodied men would be taken prisoner – the women were raped, the men enslaved. The children, the disabled and the elderly would be murdered. The ashes of the village would be left along with the rotting corpses – unburied, abandoned. Then other tribes would hear of the disaster and they would come to cremate the dead and search for survivors. But there were never survivors. No one was left alive if the Rakka decided to attack your town. No one.
* * *
The day after the Rakka left, a young boy – no more than two years old – and his mother came to the village. The child whimpered pitifully as his young eyes took in the surrounding massacre. His mother heard him but ignored it, she hated letting her son experience this but with any luck time would erase these horrific images from his mind. She wanted to comfort her son but first she had to find what she was looking for. She dragged the toddler straight to the house, no, to where the house had been, and looked desperately around. When Jakob hadn’t returned that morning, she had known the reason but seeing his mangled body was still a shock.
She rushed over to him at once, and knelt by his side. Her hand shaking she rested it where his heartbeat should have been. Nothing. In desperation she shook the body, calling his name in despair, but there was no response. She was about to collapse beside him when a small cry punctured her grief. The toddler had recognised his brother, and wanted to know why he was so still. Tearing her eyes from the body and turned to comfort the child. She hushed him, stroking his blonde hair from his eyes, but even after he had cried himself to sleep the sobbing continued. For a moment she was confused as to the source of the misery but when she listened, she realized the cries were coming from the horse her elder son had borrowed and was now lying 20 feet away. To her horror, the sleek stallion was still alive; she slid her hunting knife from her belt and slit its throat – ending its misery. After cleaning her blade, she rifled through the saddlebags. She found only food in one but in the other was the baby.
Any comments on how i could improve would be greatly appreiciated!
“Take her, quick” Tathos grabbed his daughter from his wife and thrust her into the arms of a tall youth on horseback. The young man lifted the babe and slid her gently into his saddlebag.
“Goodbye Tathos,” he whispered.
“Go!” The man wheeled his horse around, and set off at gallop, but it was too late. He had got no more than a hundred yards from the house before an arrow pierced his heart and he fell; his horse collapsed beside him as the first shot was rapidly followed up.
The girl’s mother cried out as the young man was killed; only Tathos prevented her from running to the fallen horse.
“Don’t,” he said abruptly, holding tightly onto her arms. “I can’t lose you too.” At this, she collapsed, losing the will to fight. Tathos held her limp form upright and kissed her gently. “She’ll be alright” he murmured, trying to convince himself that what he said was true, willing himself to believe it. It was all he could hope for - he knew the same would not apply to the rest of the tribe.
The women and able-bodied men would be taken prisoner – the women were raped, the men enslaved. The children, the disabled and the elderly would be murdered. The ashes of the village would be left along with the rotting corpses – unburied, abandoned. Then other tribes would hear of the disaster and they would come to cremate the dead and search for survivors. But there were never survivors. No one was left alive if the Rakka decided to attack your town. No one.
* * *
The day after the Rakka left, a young boy – no more than two years old – and his mother came to the village. The child whimpered pitifully as his young eyes took in the surrounding massacre. His mother heard him but ignored it, she hated letting her son experience this but with any luck time would erase these horrific images from his mind. She wanted to comfort her son but first she had to find what she was looking for. She dragged the toddler straight to the house, no, to where the house had been, and looked desperately around. When Jakob hadn’t returned that morning, she had known the reason but seeing his mangled body was still a shock.
She rushed over to him at once, and knelt by his side. Her hand shaking she rested it where his heartbeat should have been. Nothing. In desperation she shook the body, calling his name in despair, but there was no response. She was about to collapse beside him when a small cry punctured her grief. The toddler had recognised his brother, and wanted to know why he was so still. Tearing her eyes from the body and turned to comfort the child. She hushed him, stroking his blonde hair from his eyes, but even after he had cried himself to sleep the sobbing continued. For a moment she was confused as to the source of the misery but when she listened, she realized the cries were coming from the horse her elder son had borrowed and was now lying 20 feet away. To her horror, the sleek stallion was still alive; she slid her hunting knife from her belt and slit its throat – ending its misery. After cleaning her blade, she rifled through the saddlebags. She found only food in one but in the other was the baby.
Any comments on how i could improve would be greatly appreiciated!
Last edited: