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#Post#: 553--------------------------------------------------
Short Story
By: Threyan Date: December 31, 2017, 11:31 am
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[center]Grell in the Garden[/center]
Threyan Thistlewind lay in his bed, listening to the sounds of
his parents turning in for the night. He had lived a sheltered
life, never truly knowing the meaning of hardship. Tales of
adventure were only just that: tales.
He wanted more out of life than just stories. He was tired of
being the one that everyone worried about. He certainly felt
ready. He waited for ten minutes after the last sounds. He
slowly pulled back the covers. He hadn't changed out of his
clothes, and so all he needed was his boots and a weapon.
He waited at the entryway to his room for a long time, listening
and trying to calm his own breathing. It'd taken him several
tries just to make it this far. Many time's he'd turned back. He
stepped through the entryway, covered his mouth to muffle the
sound of the air that'd just escaped his lips, and quickly
turned back. He'd forgotten to make a decoy. He grabbed some
clothes and a few blankets, shaping them into the form of a
body, then he pulled another blanket over them. If his father or
mother decided to check on him in the night, this would fool
them into thinking that he was still in bed.
He was now more determined than ever to see this through. He
walked painfully slowly through the dark home, avoiding parts of
the floor that would betray him with a creaking groan. His heart
thumped in his chest, as if trying to wake his parents.
Finally, he reached the foyer. He found his boots, but did not
put them on. Not yet. He inched the door open, as quickly as he
dared, then closed it with the same care. Their home was built
higher up in a tree, and so he walked down the ramp to the
forest floor.
"Threyan, don't stray from my sight." His mothers words chimed
in his head their familiar warning.
He reached the bottom of the ramp and sat down, finally putting
his shoes on. He found his father's walking stick in its usual
place, leaning against the tree in a perfect nook. It was
heavier than anticipated, not like his own, which was lighter
and flimsier.
He gave it a few swings. It would do nicely. He was now ready to
go...but where? Suddenly, the world seemed a lot bigger. He
nearly set his father's walking staff back and gave up on the
mission. That's what he needed. A mission. He thought for a few
moments. Hadn't Old Mother Birchweaver mentioned something about
a Grell getting in her garden?
His mind was set. He turned towards the path that would take him
deeper into the forest up to Old Mother's house. Navigating to
Old Mother's house was a bit terrifying at night. His keen ears
picked up every rustle and amplified them tenfold in his terror.
It took him much longer than it normally took him when he was
with his mother.
At long last, he reached her home. He stopped and listened for a
long time. The surrounding forest was eerily quiet. His grip
tightened on his father's staff. Time seemed to stand still. He
stood, unmoving, as if in a trance. Old Mother's house seemed so
foreign to him. Even the chilly air of the night seemed to
purvey a warning. He was here, though. Turning back now, meant
failing the mission. He set his resolve, taking in a deep
breath. It was at that moment, that he heard it. It sounded like
the laugh of an old woman who'd smoked too much in her life, but
far more sinister. It was coming from the garden.
Threyan ran to the back of the home, where the garden was. The
Grell, stopped its "laughter" and let out a shrill scream.
However, instead of running away, it charged at Threyan. In the
dark. Threyan set his feet, as his father had taught him, and
gripped his father's staff. Wait. Breathe. Now! He swung. . .
and missed. The Grell jumped at him, trying to claw his leg. He
stepped to the side, but the Grell still cut into him. He tried
for a follow up swing, and this time, hit! The Grell screeched.
A second Grell answered the call, and a third.
Threyan's heart jumped into his throat. He'd never done anything
like this, and now he was in over his head. You can do anything
you put your mind to, dear. Old Mother's words embraced him with
the confidence he needed. How often had he "trained" for this in
his front yard? Son, stop swinging your stick around; you're
liable to break it! Not often enough. He took several steps to
the side, trying to get them all in front of him, but they kept
bouncing around him. He swung the staff low, trying to hit one
before it got him. It dodged back.
One came in from behind, and instinctively, he swung the staff
to meet it. There was a crunching sound as the staff connected
with its head. It was down, but the other two came in, using the
opportunity to the fullest.
He stepped to the left, avoiding one Grell, but claws scratched
through the fabric of his trousers, and a startled, pained noise
escaped his lips. He'd not been able to avoid the other. Fear
became the all-driving-factor now. He swung the staff downward,
anticipating the location where one of the Grell would be. He
connected!
The final Grell paused, then began to bound away.
"Oh no you don't!" Threyan took chase. His long strides made it
easy for him to catch up. He swung his staff in an arc. It
connected with the Grell's side, sending it flying through the
air.
"Who's there!?" Old Mother Birchweaver called from her front
door. She prepped the shotgun. Threyan ran. The bullet exploded
from the chamber in a warning shot. "Second one is not going to
miss!" she warned.
Threyan's legs were on auto pilot, now. He ran, but didn't want
to get lost in the woods, so he was veering to the left, trying
to get back to the path that connected his home with Old
Mother's. His foot caught on a root and he pitched forward. The
second shot rang out. He tried to free his foot, but his boot
was stuck.
"Threyan? Oh dear! Did I hit you?" She was surprisingly quick
for her age. "What are you doing out here?" She grabbed the
cloth on his shoulder, firmly, but not roughly. "Why were you in
my garden?"
Threyan's breathing had caught up to him, and it seemed like
that was all he could do at the moment. Finally, he panted out
one word, "Grells."
"Grells!? Are you mad? You're fourteen!"
"Fifteen," he corrected.
"You could have been killed! Fourteen or fifteen is too young to
be playing the hero!" She gasped, "Look at your leg! Oh dear!
You better come inside." She pulled him up to a standing
position and guided him inside. He didn't have much of a
choice."What is your mother going to say? She'll blame me for
putting silly ideas into your head! What am I going to do? You
tell me that, 'ey boy? What am I going to do?"
She sat him down at her dining room table, and continued to
ramble, "Too much like your father, you are. Headstrong.
Willful! Rushing in without your brain! What if it hadn't been
Grells?" She nudged him, " 'Ey? What if it'd been one of the
clan? Ey?"She nudged him again. She let go of his shirt and cut
the pant leg around the injury, peeling the cloth back. He
winced, gripping the seat of the chair to divert the pain.
"Those Greenpaws certainly wouldn't have been so forgiving."
"Please don't tell my parents."
"Don't tell your parents? I can't not tell them! Tell me why I
should hide the truth from them, when it will be so obvious when
they see you." She walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a
mortar and pestle, some herbs, and a glass container of a milky
liquid. She set them down on the table, picking at the herbs and
placing them in the mortar. She began to mash them up with the
pestle. "They are not blind, you know. Perhaps you've forgotten,
but they will see it right away. Even if you hide it, they will
still see it."
"You have to help me. I killed the Grells!"
"Killing Grells doesn't put me in your debt. I did not ask you
to save my garden from a bunch of pesky creatures." She shook
her head. "Why did you do it, anyway?" She grabbed him by his
biceps. "What were you thinking?"
Threyan lowered his head in shame, his face hot from the
embarrassment of being caught. He didn't know how to answer the
question.
She sighed, letting his arms go. "Of all the children..." She
sighed again, "I suppose you're not a child anymore."I hardly
expected it to be you." She sighed again, "How many did you
kill?"
He mumbled, "Three."
"Three Grells." Her tone was softer now. She finished mixing the
herbal mixture and spread it on the wounds on his leg.
His body tensed as the cool herbal mixture hit the wound.
"Tell you what. I will not go over to your house and tell your
parents what you did tonight, but if either one comes over
asking me if I know anything about why you've got clawed up
pants and leg, then I will have to tell them the truth." She
wrapped some cloth around the injury.
He reached forward and hugged her. "Thank you, Old Mother."
She scoffed at that. "You best get back, before your parents
notice you've been gone."
He got up, feeling the bandages.
"Make sure you keep to your daily routine. No falling asleep. No
pampering yourself."
He was at the door.
"Already you've forgotten something. What will your father say
when his staff is gone? Hm?" She handed it to him. "I'll leave
it to you to clean the Grell guts off of it. Disgusting
creatures. I should make you bury the bodies, but alas, it's
getting late. It will be dawn soon."
He hugged her again.
"Get out of here you, tramp. Clean your boots and clothes in the
stream." She continued to give him advice as he walked down the
path.
He hurried as much as his leg would allow him. He stopped by
the stream, doing as she said, before returning back to his
home. He set the staff where it was, removed his boots and
returned up the ramp to the front door. He quietly turned the
door handle, opened it just enough to slip in. He eased it
closed. He crept back to his room and removed his ruined pants.
He slid his tunic off and crawled into his bed, shoving the
clothes and blankets off. He was so tired.
He dreamed of fighting a horde of Grell. No matter how many he
killed, they kept coming at him. In his dreams, he was a
successful warrior bearing twin axes of the strongest steel. The
Grell started shifting, though, turning into creatures that were
much more sinister. These creatures fired balls of green fire at
him. He couldn't dodge fast enough. He screamed as it hit him--
He sat up with a start. His bedding was wet from his sweat. His
mother rushed in. "Threy, are you --" She was at his side in no
time, feeling his forehead, "You're burning up!" Her hands
guided him back to a prone position, as she said softly, "Lie
down, my love."
She began to sing softly, and he felt himself drift back to a
peaceful, dreamless sleep.
The warmth of mid-day was in the air when he awoke. His mother
was quick to be at his side. All felt right , peaceful, calm.
His eyes opened and he inhaled.
His hand immediately went to the injury on his leg, but the
bandages were gone. The injury was gone! No...not gone. There
were three jagged scars from the claws of the Grell.
"Easy now, my darling. I know all about it."
"H-how?"
"You had a fever. I sensed something was wrong, so I found the
source of the infection. Old Mother's poultice had stopped the
bleeding, but your body reacted to the injury poorly. I had your
father retrace your steps. Old Mother told him what you did."
"You're not mad?"
She sighed, "I am relieved you are not dead. You are old enough
to make your own decisions, but I wish you'd be smart about it.
Learn how to fight before you go jumping into a pit of Murlocs."
She sighed again, "It's about time you learned how to defend
yourself."
"But..."
"That didn't stop you last night," she said, knowingly.
His father's voice reached him from the doorway. Threyan hadn't
even realized he was there, "Son, your mother and I have
discussed this in quite length. We understand that this is
something that you want to pursue. I've watched you many a time
in the yard, fighting off trees and bushes. I've talked to some
of the trainers in town, and they've agreed to take you on as a
pupil."
Threyan started to protest again.
His mother brushed the hair out of his eyes. "My darling, isn't
this what you wanted?"
"More than anything."
"What you did, last night, was very brave, but also reckless.
You were lucky you didn't get killed. However, if your actions
and the consequences haven't deterred you from pursuing
this...path, then I will not hold you back."
"How will I manage?"
"Do not let your eyes chain you down. You haven't let them hold
you back, yet."
He reached for her, holding her tight. It was then that the
worry and fear escaped him. He smiled as it all dawned on him.
And even though he'd never realized it in the past, he now knew
that his mother and father were never going to let themselves
chain him to a life he didn't want to live. Tears escaped his
sightless eyes, as his mother's loving arms held him close.
#Post#: 554--------------------------------------------------
Re: Short Story
By: Sila Date: January 1, 2018, 2:01 am
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Great job Threyan!!!
#Post#: 555--------------------------------------------------
Re: Short Story
By: Tericcar Date: January 1, 2018, 9:28 am
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Awesome Story! Kid!Threyan is adorable!
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