The Raid
I gripped the spear in my sweaty hands. The object of years of practice, it was smooth and sturdy, and my hands held it comfortably. The village patrol had ridden in earlier that morning, yelling at the top of their lungs that a raiding party had been spotted. I didn�t know how they knew, but then, they had been around 50 years longer than my twelve.
I was proud, though. I would get to fight alongside the men, and would get to protect my village from these would-be conquerors. A shout sounded through the village square. I hurried out with my father. He held the sword he had used when he was a soldier before I was born. All of us met at the wooden bridge by the forest.
I saw, very far away through the woods, a speck of red, and then a dab of blue, as if a painter had so delicately placed it there. The raiders were on horses, big, galloping horses, with saliva speckling their faces, and the breath coming heavy out of their noses.
There were several rows of men and boys my age in front of me. The horses knocked into them as if bursting through a wall made of grass. I saw one of my friends, a farmer�s son by the name of Alexander Selby, fell towards nearest horse. It kicked at him and reared. The rider slashed at Alexander and then went on, Alexander easily forgotten; he lay on the wooden bridge, his blood matching the sky above.
I think my father followed my line of sight. �Go!� he urged me, giving me a shove towards the flowing river. I dropped my spear and jumped into its almost pinkish depths. The surging water threatened to engulf me, but I swam like my life depended on it, for it surely did. The sounds of the hopeless battle trailed after me, but was soon lost amongst the sound of the rushing river as it carried me downstream. I swam past the fields and into the dark forest. I lay down on the shore, too tired to move, and shut my eyes. The scenes of the battle replayed themselves in front of me. I still couldn�t believe how lucky I was.
When I awoke, a figure dressed in brown � as I was � lay beside me, staring blankly up to the trees. I yelped and scrambled backwards, though I saw in the next moment I was in no danger. It was Patrick Hardren, the carpenter�s son.
�Thomas!
�We were lucky, Thomas,� Patrick whispered hoarsely. �We were very lucky. The raiders left me for dead when they were done killing everybody. I saw them find the women and children. I don�t want to think what they did or will do with them. Yes, you and I, we are very lucky.�
I clasped Patrick�s hand and helped him to his feet, and we walked along the river, away from the village, away from everything we had ever known. �Where are we going?� he asked me.
�I don�t know, Patrick. I really don�t know.�