A Day in the life of the Brother III

Scotland took England with him to the big rock. Scotland already had his long bow and arrows and the Irish brothers were already waiting with their own bows. The bows were smaller, simpler and weaker than Scotland's proper one but it could still help in a hunt.

Scotland made sure that England would remain quiet while the others spread out and began their way into the forest. England had to walk, so Scotland could carry his bow in his hands and have his arrows on his back in the quiver.

He was careful though, to go slow enough for the toddler to keep up. He used his bow to lift up branches and part bushes so England could move easier too.

The four quietly crept through the undergrowth, sniffing the air like wolves, trying to track down an animal. Scotland saw the fresh tracks of a doe and a foal and the brothers grinned as they closed in on the clueless animals.

They crawled forward, silently and slowly. They came to a small clearing where the two deer stood grazing. Scotland doubted he could kill the doe with their level of hunting but he was sure about the foal, if they got a good first couple of shots. He silently commanded England to sit still in a bush.

The two auburns wiggled forward a little more, spreading out along the edges of the clearing, until they were in spaces where they could move their arms freely and had a clear shot to the deer. Scotland remained near England.

Scotland armed the bow carefully and pulled the arrow back. He glanced to either side to check the Irish boys were ready too. Ireland was 20 or so metres away while North Ireland was only 12.

The edges of his mouth tilted down in concentration. England stared in admiration; he had never seen Scotland so focused. He noticed that Scotland was holding his breath as he took aim. He released the string and it twanged, startling the deer and sending the arrow on its way.

The other two took this signal and fired their arrows. They sailed cleanly through the air bit only two arrows hit their mark. One to the neck and the other to the rump. The foal tried to run. The three children screamed and ran forward.

It ran around the meadow panicked as the boys surrounded it and surged around it wildly.

Scotland rushed forward, jumping on top of it, to secure it. It was still alive and struggled against the weight of the child. Ireland and North Ireland soon joined in. They wrestled with the animal, trying to still it and silence its cries.

They growled and snarled as the foal screamed in fear. England watched in amazement from the bushes. They were ferocious in their brutal attack, clawing and tearing at the animal with teeth, hands and nails. It was like watching wolves, the way they senselessly scrambled over the moving beast, trying to strangle out its remaining life.

However monstrous or animal-like this seemed, it was like life or death to them. They needed to eat and they could only hunt as small barbaric children can; with unruly aggression and barking and roars as they violently tried to kill the animal. It was beautiful savagery in a way.

Scotland reached into his boot and pulled out his knife, running it across the jugular messily. England stared enviously at Scotland's leather boots. England and Wales both wore little cloth booties but was promised real shoes when they turned 5. North Ireland was currently bragging about his shoes as he had only just recently received his. He was also complaining though because his feet were not used to them and he kept getting blisters.

The animal fell still. Scotland stood. The other two crawled off the mangled animal as well. The doe was long gone. He looked over to the bush where England was hiding and called out to him.

"Iggy! Ye canne come oot now!" England ran out and up to Scotland, hugging Scotland's leg. He ignored the tiny splats of deep red blood that covered him and his other brothers. Ireland scowled at England again.

North Ireland smiled. "Máthair will be proud! We managed ta hunt all by oorselves!"

Scotland grinned and patted the warm, messy side of the animal. It had bald patches from its fur being ripped out and tiny teeth and nail marks from frantic attacks. It had one main open cut on its throat from Scotland's knife.

North Ireland touched the blood gingerly with his finger tips. He smeared two thick lines above his already thick eye brows, making him look angry. He put on a fake glare and crossed his arms. He pretended to talk deeply and angrily.

"Oi ye! I'm really, really angry! Whit are ye gonnae dee aboot tha?"

"Pfft!" Scotland tried to suppress a giggle as North Ireland did a bad mimic of Ireland. Ireland punched him in the arm.

"Oi hey! I'm Paddy! I make moss look smart! I cannae close meh mooth fer tha life of meh!" He returned with a mimic of North Ireland. England burst into peals of laughter and Scotland laughed as well.

Sudden both Irish brothers dipped their hands in the blood and ruffled their hair, putting red streaks through it.

"Och. I'm Alba!"

"And I'm dandy!"

They both acted like Scotland who laughed in return. They began to joke around and fool about in the clearing, beside the carcass, pretending to be each other and other people and animals they knew.

They used some of the blood to draw little stick figures on rocks and other childish things that young, ignorant children would do with a dead deer. They didn't know what they were doing was considered savage or beastly; they had little boundaries from lack of restrictions and the wild surroundings while growing up. They were separate from other humans and spent their life, learning from animals and fairies.

They re-enacted the hunt a couple of times, pretending to hunt down North Ireland who had the unfortunate duty of being the baby deer.

After an hour, they began to drag the dead foal from the clearing. Despite all four boys pulling and working on moving the animal, it was very difficult to manoeuvre the dead meat through the forest. It got caught on low trees, ferns, thorn bushes and tall grass patches.

The boys grunted as Ireland and Scotland pulled and North Ireland pushed. England was pretty useless and only toddled behind them, trying to help.

They eventually returned to where the brothers sleep. It was a shaded clearing in the forest at the foot of a cliff, near the field that the sheep slept in. Unlike everywhere else, the grass was short and only came up to the knees at the highest points and most only came up to their ankles. There were no ferns, blocking the way or making obstacles and there were hundreds of tiny flowers in patches.

Usually they slept in the open, under the stars in the soft grassy moss or on pelts of animals. It also had a small cave where the brothers stored things and slept during winter, rain or bad storms.

"Alba. Tha' was quick! We expected it ta take loonger!"

"Aye." He dropped the animal and stretched in relief with a deep sigh.

"We git lucky. I wouldnae have git it done without ye." The boys cheered and whooped over their victory and successful hunt. They ran around the meadow that was their home like they were kings or wild savages. They jumped and rolled about on the grass as the deer laid torn and battered in celebration.

Wales was back at the clearing too and he joined in when he saw the kill. They all loved it when they could eat meat, rather than just berries and whets.

"Albwa. I want two hwunt!" England called out during the crazed playing that was basically just acting like little animal cubs, buzzing around a kill. Scotland blinked in surprise before stopping and ruffling the blonde's hair gently.

"Aye. I'll teach ye meself but only when yer aulder…" England giggled under the affectionate pat.

Ireland looked very annoyed with England suddenly. He was being taught to hunt by a trusted wizard friend. He knew Scotland was taught personally by their mother because it was necessary for his survival and theirs.

North Ireland had just started his lessons with using a bow and arrow a couple of weeks ago and by the same wizard that was teaching Ireland.

He knew that Wales was probably going to be taught by a different wizard though as wizards only lived as long as humans. By the time Wales is old enough to hold a bow and arrow, the wizard teaching Ireland would be long dead.

He felt jealous that England was going to be taught by Scotland. He stamped his foot annoyed. Being a six year old, with a even worst temper than his 26 year old future self (This is a great achievement btw) and little self control, he stomp over to England and gave him a hard push.

England fell over easily into some mud and began crying. (England is a big crybaby) Scotland turned red in the face with anger. Play fighting was one thing but randomly attacking like that was a taboo amongst the feral children.

"Ireland!" he jumped on the surprised Irish boy, pinning him to the ground. Meanwhile fairies flew to the aid of the crying blonde.

"Ye cannae knock over Iggy fer no reason!" He yelled angrily. Ireland screamed back too.

"But it's unfair!"

"Whit is?"

"It's unfair! It's unfair! IT'S UNFAIR!" Scotland released his grip so Ireland could stand up. "Why Alba? Ye love us all right? Ye play with us, sleep with us, hunt and eat with us! You hug us and kiss us and fight with us! We share blood!" Scotland stared at Ireland with a deep glare ash he threw the tantrum. Ireland continued screaming but tears were beginning to form and roll down his round cheeks.

"But then He came along!" He stabbed a small finger angrily in the direction of the crying blonde country.

"Ever since He came, you are always with Him! You're nicer to Him and give Him more food! You help Him more and teach Him! He always comes first! I want ta come first! I'm aulder! I want ye to teach me ta hunt too! Not Him! It's not fair!" He was now angrily trying to wipe away the heavy flow of tears with balled fists.

"It's not fair! Ye-Ye-Ye l-l-ove Him m-more! D-d-don't ye?" He gave up trying to stop his tears and began wailing at the top of his voice. Wales had stopped running. North Ireland stared at his older brother.

Scotland rushed forward suddenly and pulled Ireland into a tight hug. Ireland struggled and tried to move away at first but then settle and hugged back, crying into his brother's shoulder.

"Hush… Hush…" He had seen his mother do this before. Scotland bent his head and leaned on Ireland. "It's barry…" Ireland sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Is it t-true?" Scotland held Ireland at arm's length.

"Nae! I nae love Iggy moore! I love ye all tha same." He said in a strong voice. Ireland wiped his nose again.

"But ye give him moore food! And are always with him!"

"Aye! That cause Iggy is wee! He and Wales are only 6 mooths apart but look at the difference of strength! There is a smaller difference between us and we are years apart!" Ireland looked at England was had only just started to calm down. Scotland's voice softened a little so England couldn't hear.

"He's weaker and slower. He needs to eat moore. Màthair told me to protect Iggy and I will…." Ireland had stopped sniffing.

"Really?"

"Aye and I'll prove it." He reached into his boot, pulling out his dagger. Ireland stared at it confused. The red head held it low for Ireland to examine before resting the blade on his palm.

"Whit are ye d~" Scotland suddenly ran the blade across his up turned hand, making a thin, deep cut on his palm. Ireland gasped and North Ireland gasped too but not quite as audible.

"Alba?" Scotland sniffed a little as a tear came to his eye from the pain which he wiped away.

"Yer me Deartháireacha!" Ireland nodded staring at the open wound. The fairies were still busy with England but a couple of them saw Scotland's cut. They left England to go and to tend to his wound but he just ignored them, staring intently at Ireland.

"I wanne ye ta be me Bráithre Fola as weel!" He held the bloody dagger for Ireland to take. Ireland grabbed the knife handle.

"Aye, Alba… I'll be ye Bráithre Fola…" He sliced his hand with the knife but the cut was a lot shallower than Scotland's. His hand began flowing with crimson blood as well. They gripped each other's hand and pulled each other's hand to their chest so they were nose to nose with their hand trapped between their bloods. Scotland spoke first.

"Is tu fuil 'o mo chuislean, is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh.

Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn 'n ar n-aon.

Is leatsa m'anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal.

Me Bráithre Fola…"

Ireland repeated the vow.

"Is tu fuil 'o mo chuislean, is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh.

Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn 'n ar n-aon.

Is leatsa m'anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal.

Me Bráithre Fola…"

"Do ye believe me now?"

"Aye Alba." The red head grinned before planting a kiss on Ireland's forehead. Ireland blushed. The Scot suddenly felt a tug on his cloak. He stepped away from the Irish country and released his hand. He looked around and stare an almost teary North Ireland looking up at him.

"Lemme guess, ye want ta dee a blood vow too?"

"Aye. I wannae be Alba's and brother's Bráithre Fola too!"

"Aye. Of coorse." North Ireland smiled widely and held out his hand for the dagger. Ireland gave it to him with a small scowl. North Ireland held it above his hand nervously.

"Uh…. Alba can ye cut me hand fer me?..." He asked quietly. Scotland smiled at his nervousness at cutting his hand.

Ireland giggled a little. "Chicken. I was brave enuff."

Scotland took the knife and held North Ireland's hand gently but strong enough that it was still. He laid the point of the dagger in the middle of his palm.

"Ready?" The Irish boy nodded stiffly. Scotland put on a little bit of pressure and the knife penetrated the skin. He flicked it quickly so it was as painless as possible. North Ireland teared up like Scotland. He used his free hand to wipe away the tears and held his cut hand to Scotland. Scotland took it and they pulled each other together. The vow was passed between them and Scotland kissed him on the forehead too.

He stepped aside for Ireland who held out his bloody hand with a small scowl. North Ireland was grinning brightly as their hands met and the vow was exchanged. Wales stood up and walked over to them.

"What was thwat, bwothers?" Scotland smiled before petting him with his clean hand.

"It's a Blood Vow." Wales looked a little confused so Scotland tried explaining it. "We were Deartháireacha, which is brothers who share blood through oor Màthair, like ye and me. But now we're Bráithre Fola as weel, which is… It's kinda hard ta explain but… It means we're bonded by moore than our màthair's blood but by oor blood too. It's a really special bond tha's unbreakable… Ye canne do it with other people but ye can only do it with very special and important people. Understand?"

"Aye… Cwan I dwo it too?"

"Aye but only when yer auld enuff ta understand."

"Undwerstand?"

"Aye. A Blood Vow isnnae ta be taken lightly." He nodded, not really understanding but hoping that he would soon.

(A/N – I found this vow online. It's mainly used for wedding and people who wish to be blood brothers. Blood brothers are two people who are not related but are close like brothers and exchange a vow to stay that way.

The translation for the vow is this:

You are blood of my veins, you are bone of my bone.

Yours is my body, that we may be one.

Yours is my soul until our worlds end

Other translations are:

Bráithre Fola – Blood Brothers (Two unrelated people who have exchanged a vow)

Deartháireacha – Brothers by blood (like they are actually related)

The hunting scene was inspired partially by Lord of the Flies.

Review please)