Post by Brokenhearts on Sept 5, 2006 11:52:48 GMT -5
It was many years before, that William came stubbling into their little village. No one knew where he was from, how he got there or why. Or even why he was so brutily ingured. His dirty blonde hair was matted with congeled blood. A cut bled freely from just above his right eye, going into his bright brown eyes. He clutched at his arm, supporting it like it was broken. He limped terribly, and bruises covered him from head to toe. A black bruise rose from his carved cheek bone.
He colapsed into the square, yelling for help. Then passed out from pain. Silence engulfed the whole market place, everyone staring at him. No one moved to even come near him, to see if he was alive.
For five long minutes, they all stared at his lifeless body, wandering if he was still alive.
Then the crowd parted to admit a young boy, about the same age as William came running forewards. His name was James. An orphaned boy, living with his aunt and uncle.
He paused just for a moment, running his sparkling green eyes over the body in front of him. The green caught fire, and he rounded on his feollow villages.
“How could you just leave him!” he demanded, he was ten, and his voice was very high pitched. But the accusation in the little brittle voice put them all to shame. “He’s in pain! He could be dead!”
He rushed to the fallen being’s side, and pulled him over to lie on his back for a moment. He studied the face, fierce curiosity consumed him. He then swollowed hard and tried to put him in the right position for some one who had past out. But he was scared that he had broken himself. Beofre he had died- James’s father had been a surgon of sorts.
He tried to wake him, shaking him very slightly, muttering for him to wake up. The stranger staiied stubbornly alseep.
Tightening his mouth, James put the other boy on his side as gently as he could while the village watched them closely. He tore strips from his shirt, bandaged the boys head as best he could, and tried too secure to arm as well.
By then he was almost crying his anger. Still no one had moved to help. Whisperings went up amoungst them. Yet no one moved.
“For the love of the nine!” he cried out, “help me! I am too little!”
The crowd quietened down, and loooked away. All but a young woman, of about the age of twenty. She walked forewards confidently, soon followed by who looked like her husband.
She bent beside James, and touched his head softly. “I am sorry, little one,” she murmered, “I didn’t not been to be so craven. John, please pick up the little boy.”
Her husband, looked at the blonde figure of who they were soon to find out was William. He sighed heavily, his emotional eyes looking as though they could cry. He bent and picked him up, and gently as possible, not want wanting to hurt the child any more than he need to.
“I am sorry too, James,” the big man told the strong little boy. He walked towards the crowd, glaring at them all, carrying William as carefully as possible. The young woman took James by the hand. She gave him a soft smile, and lead him through the crowds back to James’s aunt’s house.
He colapsed into the square, yelling for help. Then passed out from pain. Silence engulfed the whole market place, everyone staring at him. No one moved to even come near him, to see if he was alive.
For five long minutes, they all stared at his lifeless body, wandering if he was still alive.
Then the crowd parted to admit a young boy, about the same age as William came running forewards. His name was James. An orphaned boy, living with his aunt and uncle.
He paused just for a moment, running his sparkling green eyes over the body in front of him. The green caught fire, and he rounded on his feollow villages.
“How could you just leave him!” he demanded, he was ten, and his voice was very high pitched. But the accusation in the little brittle voice put them all to shame. “He’s in pain! He could be dead!”
He rushed to the fallen being’s side, and pulled him over to lie on his back for a moment. He studied the face, fierce curiosity consumed him. He then swollowed hard and tried to put him in the right position for some one who had past out. But he was scared that he had broken himself. Beofre he had died- James’s father had been a surgon of sorts.
He tried to wake him, shaking him very slightly, muttering for him to wake up. The stranger staiied stubbornly alseep.
Tightening his mouth, James put the other boy on his side as gently as he could while the village watched them closely. He tore strips from his shirt, bandaged the boys head as best he could, and tried too secure to arm as well.
By then he was almost crying his anger. Still no one had moved to help. Whisperings went up amoungst them. Yet no one moved.
“For the love of the nine!” he cried out, “help me! I am too little!”
The crowd quietened down, and loooked away. All but a young woman, of about the age of twenty. She walked forewards confidently, soon followed by who looked like her husband.
She bent beside James, and touched his head softly. “I am sorry, little one,” she murmered, “I didn’t not been to be so craven. John, please pick up the little boy.”
Her husband, looked at the blonde figure of who they were soon to find out was William. He sighed heavily, his emotional eyes looking as though they could cry. He bent and picked him up, and gently as possible, not want wanting to hurt the child any more than he need to.
“I am sorry too, James,” the big man told the strong little boy. He walked towards the crowd, glaring at them all, carrying William as carefully as possible. The young woman took James by the hand. She gave him a soft smile, and lead him through the crowds back to James’s aunt’s house.
