The boy ran. His legs leapt over old mossy logs, over small creeks of
water that wound their bodies around the forest. Voices behind him
hammered him on, away from the fear, anger and hate that chased him. He
ran on, stumbling as he took a glance over his shoulder.
They snarled at him, like beasts that walked upon two limbs, their eyes over-bright with the chase. They were one entity, their individual personalities merged into one fearsome creature that surged on. Torches gleamed in hands, flames leaping high into the darkness of the night.
'The WITCH! Kill the WITCH!'
The words pounded at the ears of the boy as he concentrated on running. They taunted him, their fear-laced sneers slowing him down. Or was he simply tired. Tired of running everywhere he went. Tired of being chased. Slowly they gained on him.
Ahead, the boy looked and far off were the edges of Faerie, the dark forest where no man dared to tread. There he would be safe.
Still they gained on him. Even with his renewed strength and vigour with the sight of safety so close, they edged even closer.
The boy imagined the hot breath of the village blacksmith breathing down his neck. He imagined the village woodchopper fingering his axe with maniacal delight. His throat felt tight. Would they chop off his head? Or simply hang him. His breath came in sharp pants as the imaginary noose tightened.
Then suddenly, he stumbled and fell into the forest. He could still see them outside the forest, but none dared to step within. An arrow whistled past his ear. Then another. The boy fell flat onto the ground and edged deeper into the trees. Soon their cries disappeared into the background of forest noises. The boy felt brave enough to stand up.
Now that his safety from them was assured, the boy felt a new terror envelop him. They said that werewolves, goblins and vampires lived in this forest and that they would devour all that passed their way. There was a soft footfall behind him and a shrill cry escaped his mouth.
'What is this? A man?' The soft, almost musical tone did nothing to quash the boy's fear.
The boy felt a hand tip his chin up and then felt himself staring into deep grey eyes, dark, mysterious, yet he suddenly felt safe within their probing gaze.
'A mere boy. And what may you be doing within these borders?'
The boy stared up at the woman who asked him the questions. There was no question of her beauty, nor of her grace, yet the boy knew that this was one who wielded great power.
'A mute? I do not think so,' her lips curved into a smile that could almost have been mocking, 'I will tell you what you do here. You come here away from them who bear the flaming sticks and who chase you and call you witch. Am I correct?'
The boy nodded.
'Come,' she beckoned the boy to follow her. The boy hesitated then felt a cool hand grab hold of his own sweaty one. He was led off.
How much time passed until the boy heard excited footsteps on the path ahead, nobody knows.
'Mama! Mama! You're back!'
A small boy ran up and hugged the woman.
'Yes my dear, Salazar,' the woman smiled. 'And I have brought you a playmate. I believe that he too has the gift of magic.' She felt the hand of the boy's stiffen within her own. She knelt down and looked at him. 'Poor child,' she whispered, looking at him. 'Brought up to hate the most precious gift that could be given to him. What is your name, child?'
'Godric Gryffindor,' the boy whispered, mesmerised by her eyes.
'Salazar, my child, look after little Godric for me. I must see to something.' The woman let go of Godric's hand and left.
Salazar inspected the newcomer suspiciously, carefully looking at him up and down, from the dirty matted hair, to the tattered, falling apart boots. 'Welcome to the Tal-y-Rhys lands, muggle.' Now that he looked carefully at the boy, he realised that his first impressions were faulty. This Godric, he wasn't around Salazar's own age after all, he was at least seven years older, possibly around fourteen years of age.
Godric was mutinously silent.
His mother's silvery voice floated out of the castle to Salazar. 'Come inside, boys, we must introduce Godric to everybody and test his ability.'
'Follow me,' Salazar said abruptly and spun around on his heels, stalking off as a seven year old best knows how.
After a pause, Godric followed him. He had the feeling that this was to be one of the most important moments of his life.
They snarled at him, like beasts that walked upon two limbs, their eyes over-bright with the chase. They were one entity, their individual personalities merged into one fearsome creature that surged on. Torches gleamed in hands, flames leaping high into the darkness of the night.
'The WITCH! Kill the WITCH!'
The words pounded at the ears of the boy as he concentrated on running. They taunted him, their fear-laced sneers slowing him down. Or was he simply tired. Tired of running everywhere he went. Tired of being chased. Slowly they gained on him.
Ahead, the boy looked and far off were the edges of Faerie, the dark forest where no man dared to tread. There he would be safe.
Still they gained on him. Even with his renewed strength and vigour with the sight of safety so close, they edged even closer.
The boy imagined the hot breath of the village blacksmith breathing down his neck. He imagined the village woodchopper fingering his axe with maniacal delight. His throat felt tight. Would they chop off his head? Or simply hang him. His breath came in sharp pants as the imaginary noose tightened.
Then suddenly, he stumbled and fell into the forest. He could still see them outside the forest, but none dared to step within. An arrow whistled past his ear. Then another. The boy fell flat onto the ground and edged deeper into the trees. Soon their cries disappeared into the background of forest noises. The boy felt brave enough to stand up.
Now that his safety from them was assured, the boy felt a new terror envelop him. They said that werewolves, goblins and vampires lived in this forest and that they would devour all that passed their way. There was a soft footfall behind him and a shrill cry escaped his mouth.
'What is this? A man?' The soft, almost musical tone did nothing to quash the boy's fear.
The boy felt a hand tip his chin up and then felt himself staring into deep grey eyes, dark, mysterious, yet he suddenly felt safe within their probing gaze.
'A mere boy. And what may you be doing within these borders?'
The boy stared up at the woman who asked him the questions. There was no question of her beauty, nor of her grace, yet the boy knew that this was one who wielded great power.
'A mute? I do not think so,' her lips curved into a smile that could almost have been mocking, 'I will tell you what you do here. You come here away from them who bear the flaming sticks and who chase you and call you witch. Am I correct?'
The boy nodded.
'Come,' she beckoned the boy to follow her. The boy hesitated then felt a cool hand grab hold of his own sweaty one. He was led off.
How much time passed until the boy heard excited footsteps on the path ahead, nobody knows.
'Mama! Mama! You're back!'
A small boy ran up and hugged the woman.
'Yes my dear, Salazar,' the woman smiled. 'And I have brought you a playmate. I believe that he too has the gift of magic.' She felt the hand of the boy's stiffen within her own. She knelt down and looked at him. 'Poor child,' she whispered, looking at him. 'Brought up to hate the most precious gift that could be given to him. What is your name, child?'
'Godric Gryffindor,' the boy whispered, mesmerised by her eyes.
'Salazar, my child, look after little Godric for me. I must see to something.' The woman let go of Godric's hand and left.
Salazar inspected the newcomer suspiciously, carefully looking at him up and down, from the dirty matted hair, to the tattered, falling apart boots. 'Welcome to the Tal-y-Rhys lands, muggle.' Now that he looked carefully at the boy, he realised that his first impressions were faulty. This Godric, he wasn't around Salazar's own age after all, he was at least seven years older, possibly around fourteen years of age.
Godric was mutinously silent.
His mother's silvery voice floated out of the castle to Salazar. 'Come inside, boys, we must introduce Godric to everybody and test his ability.'
'Follow me,' Salazar said abruptly and spun around on his heels, stalking off as a seven year old best knows how.
After a pause, Godric followed him. He had the feeling that this was to be one of the most important moments of his life.