I awoke from my deep slumber, and rolled over to look out the window at the rising sun over our rolling fields of crops. I grinned as I took in the smell of my mother cooking breakfast downstairs. Meat, biscuits and gravy. We had a long, hard day of work ahead of us if she was making that. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair with a yawn. After a moment, I got up and started putting on my linens I had laid out last night.
As I was sliding my arm through the sleeve, I heard a loud banging on my door, and I jumped out of my skin and screamed. I heard my brother's loud laugh as he ran down the stairs. "Martin, you scared the life out of me! Damn you!" I had the shirt on in an instant and was running down the stairs after him. He was halfway down, and I took a leap after him and tackled him to the ground at the bottom of the stairs, both of us landing with a huge thud.
"Ah-ha-haow…" He groan-laughed. I squeezed at his side as he squirmed and giggled. "Scare me out of my wits, will you?!" He scrambled away from me and we both stood up. Mother shook her head and said "Twenty-three years old, and you two still act like children. Little sister can still put the moves on you, eh Martin?" He laughed and scratched at his ear as he responded to her statement. "Should we stop, then?" She smiled and said "No, of course not. What would entertain me, then? I need my little twins to keep everything interesting." Martin wrapped an arm around my neck, and I punched him in the side, making him release me with a cringe.
Mother smiled and shook her head. "If you're finished rough-housing, I could use your help setting the table and fixing breakfast." We smiled, blue eyes shining back at her innocently. "Yes ma'am." We said as we went into the kitchen behind her. Martin grabbed the plates and silverware, and I helped her prepare what she wasn't finished with. When we finished, I grabbed the biscuits and meat, and she carried a big bowl of gravy in.
When we got in, the table was already perfectly set, and my father was standing in the hearth room looking out the window. We set it all up, and he came in and adjusted everything with us. He was a man of few words, and I always appreciated that. I preferred silence myself. But don't let that constitute your image of my father. He is very quiet, but what little he does say is funny and witty enough to leave a grown man weak. I was a lot like that, too. If you remain silent, then what you do say seems to have a more substantial effect on people.
We got everything situated, then sat down and prayed. As we all held hands and my father led us in our prayer to the Nine, I heard that dark laugh I always heard during prayer. It was always in the back of mind when I prayed… like it was mocking me. Like it was saying, "Nonsense. All of this. And you know it." I could never focus, and thus I had little to no faith in the Nine. It made me slightly upset that I didn't share my family's unwavering pursuit and faith in the Nine. But I felt there was something else… Something darker, yet wondrous and infinite.
When my father finished, we all started eating in silence. I always took in this silence, savored it. There was an infinite beauty in silence that I adored and clung to. When we finished, we got up and kissed mother on the cheek as we left to tend the fields. For three hours we toiled over scythes, rakes, hoes, whatever else we had to do. From about thirty feet away I heard my brother's excruciated yell. "Damn it all to Oblivion!"
I looked over, and the scythe he was using to trim our apple tree had broken at the neck. That was the last scythe father had available. I sighed and started over towards him. He ran his hand through his hair, and looked very upset. I hated it when my brother got upset, merely because his big sad eyes broke my heart (same way with him to me). He was too sweet to be so upset. I had to say something to get him smiling, to take the weight off of him. "Martin, you're the reason why we can't have anything of significant value."
He tried to fight it, but he smiled and looked away from me. "Oh, come now, don't be such a sod." I said as I pushed him lightly. He chuckled and turned to look me in the eye. When he genuinely smiles, it goes all the way to his eyes. His blue eyes shine, and it seems like everything is right with the world. More than anything we want each other to be happy. We can't stand to see each other upset, because we know each other so well.
He messed my hair up and said "Father will not appreciate this at all. He hates going into town before the first of the month." I shrugged and said "Well, what can be done? There are some things that cannot be helped. He knows that much, at least." Martin nodded, and we started our long traipse across our fields to get to him. We got to the barn where he was fixing up the door one of our horses had kicked in whilst trying to get to our newest horse, a thoroughbred Black from Cheydinhal. I'd named her Nightingale.
He was fiddling with countless tools, and looked up when he heard us walk in. Martin held up the broken scythe, and my father nodded with a look of frustration. He put the finishing touches on the door, and we all walked back in to find our mother and tell her we were going into Anvil.
"I need to go with you so I can get some more alchemical ingredients." She said after she heard the news.
My father groaned and said "Why can't we just take Lucinda? She's an alchemist…" My mother laughed chidingly, and said "And leave me here alone? Ha! If bandits were to take a notion, they could ransack our entire farm, and hold me for ransom to boot. You know I have no battle prowess. Lucinda, on the other hand, could hold this place against an army." My father put his hand up and said "Alright, you stubborn woman. You've made it clear you aren't going to budge."
He walked over to me, and looked down into my eyes, calling upon that means of silent communication that the three of us shared. With that one look, he said: "Alright, go get your leather armor, bow, and swords. Be ready for anything, at any time." I shot him back a look that said "Don't worry, I will not let our home fall. If all else fails, I can always incinerate them." (Martin and I had always had a natural aptitude for magick, and had honed our skills to a sharp point in most schools of magick).
He nodded, and we went our separate ways. I to go downstairs to my secret room, and he to get changed to go into town. I never had a good relationship with my father. I lit a candle as I went down the stairs, then into the basement. I looked around to make sure I wasn't followed, then slid the wardrobe out so I could get into my secret chamber. I looked at my weapon rack that contained an ebony bow that I'd named Shadowstrike, and my ebony dagger named Nightpale. I put the dagger at my side, and the bow at my back.
I turned to my midnight black armor and smiled. How I love the color black. But I couldn't wear it until after my family left, hence they discover I might not be the perfect little girl they believe me to be. There was a reason the townsfolk called me The Black Arrow. When I hunted, I was never heard nor seen, and never, ever, missed. I put the armor in my pack and walked out, pushing the wardrobe in front of the entrance.