I
They see a mage, a monster, not a boy. Not a twelve year old taken too soon from his home. Scared. He hadn't meant to set the barn on fire. Maybe if he hadn't he'd still be home. His dad wouldn't have called them to take him away. Cuffs on his wrists, almost too big to stay on. They'd chafed as he'd tried to wriggle out of them. Six months later and he still rubs at his wrists.
Six months and he's homesick. Not a single word has come from him – not even a name by which to call him. And he's spent every day of those silent months plotting.
It's been six months, and he's ready to leave.
Red hair, quick feet, he forgets the pillow. It was embroidered by hand and love and care. His mother's. She wasn't scared of him like his father was. Wouldn't have sent him away. It's the only thing left he has left of home. It's not meant for sleeping but he's had it in bed every night with him, as a child might use a plush toy. Too late to go back and get it now, for he's already running. He'll be back soon enough and have home around him again instead.
He's been telling himself that for six months.
He feels the cuffs on his wrists before they've even caught him. Short legs no match for the Templar's long strides. There's shouting behind him and then he can't talk. Can't breath. He's been Silenced. It's heavy on his shoulders and in his lungs.
He doesn't even make it to the water before they're dragging him back inside, the boy gasping his last breaths of fresh air before the tower consumes him again.
There's still shouting. At him no less. He cracks. TheThe first noise that they've heard out of him and it's choke up sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks. His nose stuffs up as he tried to wipe them away. Someone – he doesn't know who – asks why he ran.
"I just want to go home."
Six months, and they're already telling him he never will.
