Green grass sprinkled with wildflowers and the remnants of the morning dew swayed under the midday sun. Small crystalline streams ran through the tall grass, glittering brightly, while white bundles of wool frolicked and grazed merrily nearby. Under the shade of an old tree, a pair of watchful eyes stood guard.
Yet, in the midst of this wonder, on the far side of both hill and plain, there things burned. To the east, the bright blue sky was clouded with pillars of smoke. A lone pair of eyes turned homeward and gazed upon the signs of destruction. Time passed with an agonizing slowness as these eyes sought rod and staff. They looked eastward as they began to run.
- - - -
The keeper of the flock ran swiftly over the crest of the grassy knoll, stopping short at the sight of the burning village. Scourging the village were the armor-clad monstrous figures that this brave soul had seen many times before in defending the flock. They were the Maseriff, those who haunted the woods. They would come, ransacking, burning and slaughtering all in sight, their attacks coming at random and unpredictable intervals throughout the seasons.
Never before had they attacked so soon to the fall harvest. Harvest-time was a most vital one, and if the Maseriff were ever to destroy the whole of the year�s harvest, everyone would starve, even outside of the village of Arimythia. Now, the villagers were running about screaming in fright or voicing their desperate pleas for mercy. Men trying to defend their families were stuck down, mothers had their offspring ripped from their arms, and frightened children were smote where they stood.
Filled with a great rage, the shepherdess clutched her staff in her hand and ran towards her home. Of the foul beasts, she saw one that stood with a great axe raised, ready to split a small child in twain. Letting out a cry she charged forward, ramming the end of her staff into the base of the creature�s spine. The gigantic axe fell to the ground with a thud, and the Maseriff turned with a furious and pained howl. A clawed hand was extended forward, cutting through the soft flesh of her cheek as it slashed forward.
As she backed away, she saw, through the corner of her eye, the mighty axe lying there on the ground. Charging at the monster, and then making a frantic roll to the right, she grabbed hold of the crude, heavy weapon. The Maseriff were anything but agile, and this particular one had just but turned around when the blade of the axe pierced through the hairy scalp and split the through the thick skull with a crack. Dark blood spurted from the monster�s carcass, staining the shepherdess�s clothing. Wrenching the axe from the fell beast�s head using all her might, she charged onward, striking down those of the enemy that dared to tread within her field of vision.
Soon enough the Maseriff came to realize that a fair number of their comrades were beginning to fall. Not a single one among them feared the villagers, but they were not ignorant of the carnal rage that came with revenge. Feeling satiated with the bloodshed they had wrought, and not caring overmuch to dwell long enough for the villagers to organize an offensive and risk injury to themselves, they fled to the forest. Tired, bloodied, and slightly relieved, the shepherdess threw the axe down beside the corpse of a now beheaded Maseriff, and went about searching for survivors.
There were more wounded lying about the village than there were dead, these mainly being the village�s men, who had received some bumps, bruises, and a plethora of painful gashes for their efforts on the behalf of personal defense. Those who were found to be alive were moved away from the village�s buildings. Those who were well enough began putting out the fires that were burning in their homes or, more importantly, at barn that held what was left of the last year�s food stores. Others ran quickly to see what damage had been done to the fields, where the crops were clearly burning.
Once the shepherdess saw that the fires were dying down, she made her way through the debris and utter ruin of the village and headed onward towards her family�s home, which looked to be still intact. Running in through the cabin-like structure�s open door, she saw no one in the small house. She headed into the back rooms, heart pounding, only to find that the back room was occupied by a small figure huddled under blankets beneath a cot.
�Keihl, come hither, little brother,� said the shepherdess softly. The figure peeped cautiously out from under the pile of woolen blankets. Upon affirming the identity of the room�s other occupant, the aforementioned blankets were thrown away and the small dark haired figure jumped up.
�Sister, sister, it is you!� exclaimed the boy excitedly, lunging forward and wrapping his small arms around his sister�s legs.
�Keihl, I am filthy, do not cling to me so!� she said, nudging the boy away from her. He frowned and looked up at her.
�You have a cut on your face, sister. Did the monsters do that? Are you well? Where are mother and father? And what of Wyllim?� queried the child. The shepherdess laughed. Keihl had not quite seen his fifth winter and he was always seemed to be filled with bubbling curiosity. She knelt down beside him, to his height, so that she might look at him face to face.
�Aye, little brother, I received this one from one of the monsters. I am as well as can be expected, as are you, I see. I have not yet seen our mother and father, though I know they are about here somewhere, nor have I seen wee little Wyllim. I think I shall seek them out,� she said, kissing him atop his head and rising to her feet. �Stay here, where it is yet safe, I shall return to you with the utmost haste.�
�Will you come back for me?� asked the small, green-eyed boy.
�I will always return for you,� she promised. She turned and started out the door.
�Akorsa?�
�Yes, brother?�
�Can you find Doyle while you are out, as well?� asked Keihl. Akorsa nodded and walked out the door.
