Damiynn
Fantasy Author
Chapter 9
Deaths memories
Like an ugly blanket being unrolled in front of his eyes, Logan’s hidden memories returned, unfurling into the darkness of the underground.
The remaining two bandits hadn’t known about the hiding place his father had put him when they had swept out of the woods. They had remained unaware until after they had overpowered his lovely mother and were beating and raping her.
Quietly, like only a child knows how to do, he had crept out of his hiding place under the wagon seat. Like a stalking Marcat hunter who kept unwanted strangers off their lands, he moved like he had been taught by his mother’s teachers. Though he had been certain the pair couldn’t have heard his footfalls over his mother’s faltering screams and desperate wails for help.
In one balled white knuckled fist he had clenched the hilt of his brother’s Elvynn short sword, pried out of his bloody fingers. In his other, the dagger his father had given him for his naming day.
Fighting back tears of pain and rage, he had attacked his mother’s assailants from behind, using stealth and surprise in the same manner as all Elvynn throughout history.
Without warning, he had drove the point of his brother’s razor sharp short sword into the backside of the vile man leering over his mother’s prostrate naked body as he was jeering on his friend and telling his mother in extremely descriptive comments about what he was going to do to her next.
The razor sharp blade had went thought the bandit’s body like a knife through cold butter, its edged tip coming out through his stomach. A gurgled, frothy scream ended the jeering man’s vile statements. Logan hadn’t watched as he crumpled to the earth, clutching at the bloody blade.
The second bandit, on top of his mother with his pants down around his ankles forcing himself into her, heard his dying companion. He had tried turning to see what was happening but was a hair to late. With fury filling his green eyes the angry child had scrambled up onto his back, holding on with his legs as if he were riding a bucking horse. Before the other bandit could brush him off with his large arms, Logan had raised his trembling white knuckled hands high over his head. With all of the strength in his young arms and snarling like an angry animal from between clenched teeth he remembered driving his naming day’s blade deep into the second bandit’s skull, sinking it in all the way up to the hilt.
Logan had watched as the life died in the bandit’s shocked eyes slowly faded. Below, he also saw it die in his mother’s eyes as well. But as it faded in her pale green beautiful eyes he thought he saw her flash him a small satisfied smile, grateful he had avenged her.
For untold hours he had lain in the road's dirt, curled up next to his mother's mutilated dead body, cradled in her unmoving shoulder, crying until he could cry no more. He had only been seven years old according to human standards.
Finally something in his overwhelmed mind turned off, possibly in order to save his sanity.
Using one of the bandits rusty helmets and his naming day dagger, retrieved from the dead bandit’s skull, he had dug graves for both his parents and his brother Larynn. Lying them beside one another under the branches of the largest pin oak that he could find, knowing that this was his mother’s and his brother’s favorite tree. The large yellow leaves of the giant half grown tree would offer protection and shade over the freshly dug graves for years until their bodies broke down in the soil and they became a part of it.
The bandits bodies received no ceremony, other than the dirt he put on their eyes so that they couldn’t see their way to Morid’s doors and would have to wander eternity searching. He also spat on their faces in for their deeds. He left them laid out in the road out for the vultures and the insects to devour, feeling in his heart they deserved far worse.
Deaths memories
Like an ugly blanket being unrolled in front of his eyes, Logan’s hidden memories returned, unfurling into the darkness of the underground.
The remaining two bandits hadn’t known about the hiding place his father had put him when they had swept out of the woods. They had remained unaware until after they had overpowered his lovely mother and were beating and raping her.
Quietly, like only a child knows how to do, he had crept out of his hiding place under the wagon seat. Like a stalking Marcat hunter who kept unwanted strangers off their lands, he moved like he had been taught by his mother’s teachers. Though he had been certain the pair couldn’t have heard his footfalls over his mother’s faltering screams and desperate wails for help.
In one balled white knuckled fist he had clenched the hilt of his brother’s Elvynn short sword, pried out of his bloody fingers. In his other, the dagger his father had given him for his naming day.
Fighting back tears of pain and rage, he had attacked his mother’s assailants from behind, using stealth and surprise in the same manner as all Elvynn throughout history.
Without warning, he had drove the point of his brother’s razor sharp short sword into the backside of the vile man leering over his mother’s prostrate naked body as he was jeering on his friend and telling his mother in extremely descriptive comments about what he was going to do to her next.
The razor sharp blade had went thought the bandit’s body like a knife through cold butter, its edged tip coming out through his stomach. A gurgled, frothy scream ended the jeering man’s vile statements. Logan hadn’t watched as he crumpled to the earth, clutching at the bloody blade.
The second bandit, on top of his mother with his pants down around his ankles forcing himself into her, heard his dying companion. He had tried turning to see what was happening but was a hair to late. With fury filling his green eyes the angry child had scrambled up onto his back, holding on with his legs as if he were riding a bucking horse. Before the other bandit could brush him off with his large arms, Logan had raised his trembling white knuckled hands high over his head. With all of the strength in his young arms and snarling like an angry animal from between clenched teeth he remembered driving his naming day’s blade deep into the second bandit’s skull, sinking it in all the way up to the hilt.
Logan had watched as the life died in the bandit’s shocked eyes slowly faded. Below, he also saw it die in his mother’s eyes as well. But as it faded in her pale green beautiful eyes he thought he saw her flash him a small satisfied smile, grateful he had avenged her.
For untold hours he had lain in the road's dirt, curled up next to his mother's mutilated dead body, cradled in her unmoving shoulder, crying until he could cry no more. He had only been seven years old according to human standards.
Finally something in his overwhelmed mind turned off, possibly in order to save his sanity.
Using one of the bandits rusty helmets and his naming day dagger, retrieved from the dead bandit’s skull, he had dug graves for both his parents and his brother Larynn. Lying them beside one another under the branches of the largest pin oak that he could find, knowing that this was his mother’s and his brother’s favorite tree. The large yellow leaves of the giant half grown tree would offer protection and shade over the freshly dug graves for years until their bodies broke down in the soil and they became a part of it.
The bandits bodies received no ceremony, other than the dirt he put on their eyes so that they couldn’t see their way to Morid’s doors and would have to wander eternity searching. He also spat on their faces in for their deeds. He left them laid out in the road out for the vultures and the insects to devour, feeling in his heart they deserved far worse.
