At the back, there were four kids only. They stood firm with determined faces, making silent promises with themselves that they would not fail in capturing Anon.
And he will forever be ours.
Unconsciously, without knowing, they all huddled a bit closer.
A brave one, a tubby boy of 12 perhaps, stepped forward. For what reason, no one knew. But, alas, he was the first to be taken out.
Quick as a blur, Noamora smacked the boys head into the handle of her axe. Before he had even hit the ground, she was upon the others, too stunned to move. On her heels was Anon.
They all turned to Anon, and in that moment of distraction, she made quick work of them. Without losing a step, she and Anon stepped into the forests that surrounding the back of their house.
By the time the others had reached the back, they were long gone.
Everywhere they went, the scenes were repeated. The crowds, the escapes...Even when she did not enroll him in school, nosy neighbors would inquire about the 'handsome boy' they had seen, once or twice. And they would have that look in their eye. And again, Noamora and Anon were forced to relocate.
Time and time again. The situation was not eased by the fact, that the more Anon grew, the more handsome he became. At 14, he was already 6 feet and 4 inches, and looked like the son of god...And since Noamora had no clue where he had truly came from, he very well could be.
And one night, as they sat in the room they had rented at some inn far out in the woods, there was a knock on the door. Noamora could not help the tightening that tensed her muscles so painfully, the stress that racked her mind at the thought they would have to move again.
She stole a glance at Anon. He had not stopped whittling the wooden spear in his hand, and gave no indication that he had even heard the knock. She almost began to believe that she had imagined it, when there it was again.
It was louder this time, and there was no doubt Anon had heard it, but he still didn't make any move to the door.
Puzzled by his strange behavior, Noamora stood and went to the door, resting her hand on it. After a moment, to regain her strength, she unlocked the door.
It had been raining, and the beautiful woman that stood outside was completely soaked. And beautiful she was. Her golden hair streamed past her shoulders, slicked straight from the rain; her eyes were as blue as the ocean, and just as deep; her beautiful mouth was curved in a gentle smile; and the simple dress she wore, now wet with rain, clung to this woman's every curve. And she had many...
All in all, she made Noamora feel very inferior as a woman at the moment.
"May I come in?" the woman spoke, her voice as beautiful as her looks.
Noamora stared at her suspiciously. "For what business?" she asked, haughtily, very prepared to slam the door on this gorgeous woman.
"I want to see my son." The woman said gently.
Noamora almost snorted. Be reasonable, she told herself.
"And what makes you think he is here?" she pressed the woman, slowly closing the door.
"Ask your son. He will confirm it."
Noamora was prepared to slam the door then and there, but there was something about this woman. She had an aura round her. And she did not have that look in her eyes that Noamora had only come to know too well.
Before she could stop herself, she was saying, "Anon! Come here a minute."
The woman chuckled. Noamora peered at her, and before she could ask the woman what was so funny, Anon stepped behind her.
And then he gasped.
The spear he made, and had brought in anticipation of trouble, clattered to the floor.
"What is wrong Anon? Speak!" Noamora urged, clutching his shirt.
The woman and Anon were locked in deep eye contact. And, finally without breaking eye contact, he addressed Noamora:
"Mother, this is the woman I had seen in my dreams..."