Cycles of Vengeance: Chapter III
Apologies for the narrative game of ping pong. It will continue.
Both moons were dark that night, as if their faces were shrouded in mourning.
Mourning for the manor house, now fully engulfed in flames,
Mourning for the stables and barns, whose livestock were being looted by hooting and hollering ruffians.
Mourning for the Lord and Lady of the house, last of a long line of proud nobility, and now most likely dead.
But, even the darkest moon has a sliver of light.
Because in the moonless darkness, on a hill overlooking the inferno, two figures huddled under the trees, paying their respects to the dead.
One of them sobbed, and her cry would have been heard, if not for the feasting and revelry of the looters down below.
"Quiet!" The other one hissed, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword at his hip, constantly scanning the darkness for pursuers.
"Have you no decency, ser?" The woman hissed back, "The Lord and Lady are dead! Should we not mourn them!?"
"This is not the place nor the time for lamentation. They may be celebrating now, but it won't be long before they'll start searching for survivors." He did a quick check of his possessions. His sword of course, a gift from his Lord. Several daggers stashed away. A bundle of supplies his new companion, a little elf servant, had managed to grab before they fled. If I had my way, we'd continue without stopping, only resting come dawn. But… " he looked down at his companion, partially in irritation, partially in concern, "I am not a fool to know you are not a soldier, and need rest, even while our enemies are at our heels. Now, hurry up, we cannot tarry long here."
He watched as she shifted slightly, her golden bangles making an uncomfortable amount of noise, and pulled out a small bundle. A squeak, a muffled cry, but this time it wasn't the woman, but the child she carried. He turned his head away as she brought the child to her breast, ostensibly to scan for danger.
"Hurry it up, elf." He spoke curtly. Every moment wasted here increased the chances they'd be found.
"Excuse me! I am her Lady's wet nurse. ''Tis a duty one cannot just 'hurry it up'" she looked down at the child suckling, cooing to comfort her. He felt her glare boring holes in him. "You may forsake your oaths to your Lord and Lady, but I do not! Not while their child still lives!"
