It was like any other day. I was walking through the forest, carrying a bag full of scrap parts that my brother had thought were important. The rest of the day was routine at that point. Every Saturday, I walked from our house to the market, tried to sell the junk, and when no one bought it, I returned, with a full bag and empty pockets. I dreaded the disappointed look on my brother's face, but he never gave up, and I couldn't tell him no.
Suddenly, I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of horses trotting nearby. I froze in place, unable to move as terror and excitement befuddled my brain. I had heard the noise of clattering hooves but once in my life, it was a rare event as only royalty and nobles were able to own horses. This is not because of any laws, but because the mere price of maintaining such a creature would be astronomically high for any person from the social class I associated with. I lived in a village far off from any path a person of royalty or high social standing would ever wish to visit.
~*Flashback*~
I was but six when the horses came through my lowly, ill kept village. My people ran and cowered in any shelter they could find. My father did his best to keep us hidden under a heap of tapestry he had been working on. But for a brief while before he covered us up in the cloth, I was able to sneak a glimpse out of the window, and what I saw was wondrous. Upon the horses, which I had only ever heard stories about until that point, sat eight magnificently dressed individuals. With vividly colored clothing, both bright and clean. And upon two of their heads was a shiny and grandiose hat, covered in what appeared to be rare gems, similar to the type I was not allowed near in the market place. Both of these individuals appeared to be male, a father and a son. The last thing I was able to observe before I was pulled away from the window was their dark curly hair. As my brother and I sat, bewildered by what we had just witnessed, under the tapestry, we heard a gentle knock on our door. If it had not seemed like such a serious situation I may have laughed, as our flimsy door required but the lightest of pushes to be flung open. I heard my father greet the foreigners, but they seemed to have no time for pleasantries as they proceeded to question him. "Who is the best potion crafter in your town?" the man in shiny silver demanded. "Well there is a good medicine-man down the street," my father spoke with hesitance. "I think you are aware of what we are asking for Weaver," the man's voice sounded dark and menacing. My father's tone grew hushed, and the rest of the conversation was lost in the space between us. Next thing I remember there was a clamoring and a metallic crash. My brother leaped out of the swathe, and started shouting for help. I stayed curled up, too overwhelmed with the noises around me. The metallic man shouted, "it looks like he has had an able bodied child old enough for the practice after all, I guess we'll have to change that," a gruff snort followed. I quickly covered my ears, not wanting to hear what might come next. I simply stared at the cloth my father had been working on mere days ago; at some point my sight became blurred with tears, as what felt like hours passed by. Abruptly the tapestry was hoisted from me, and the dull light from the setting sun lit what I realized was my brothers bloodied face.