He stared dreamily at the water lapping gently against the smooth time-worn stones.
The sounds were peaceful, occasionally being broken by the calls of two ravens up above; When they would move there would be a small avalanche of snow falling from the branches. He did not mind the cold flakes dusting his shoulders.
The young man knew this was the only place on the farm that he could pretend to be free; there was no threat of someone finding him here.
The short break he was stealing should have been done long ago, but as he looked out at the lake and the small waves, he could not help to stay longer.
He dreaded going back to the house. His mother would surely be bitter and galled at his failure to fulfill his duties.
But alas, he stood up and walked back towards the settlement with a tired sigh. His mother was going to have his hide for disappearing, might as well get it over with.
As soon as he stepped into the home and closed the door behind himself, there were words being spat out towards him.
"You are as worthless as your father. Where were you, boy? Were you at the lake again?" His mother spat, pausing from her task of grinding rye at a table. "Answer me!"
"Yes, mother. I am sorry, I lost track of time." He responded, pulling his arms to his front in defense.
"I am sure you did, Eldhustfifl. Kneel. Apologize for your stupid behavior."
She backed away from the table in favor of pointing to the ground with a scowl.
The young man did just that, not wanting to cause any hardship for his wrongdoings.
"I am sorry, Mother; for my stupid behavior, it will not happen again."
He barely had time to react when his mothers booted foot came quickly forward and embedded itself into his side.
There was a sickening crack when the blow landed, the young man screaming out in pain sharply.
"You are right. It will not happen again. Now, we require more firewood; I am sure you can manage to chop a few logs before your mind is completely useless." His mother sneered harshly and turned from her wounded son, the sound of the grindstone continuing without another word.
The young man gasped and reached a hand to his ribs, whimpering quietly at the pain that bloomed at the touch.
He stood up from the ground slowly, feeling tears prick his eyes as he stumbled out of the house. The tears would do nothing but make his mother angrier or confirm the other villagers notions that he was weak.
Walking out into the forest calmed the pain; he did not have to worry about another person seeing him in such agony. Not to mention he would need to chop the firewood so his mother did not react poorly.
The area of which the wood was stationed was a fair distance away from the main area of the farm, and by the end he was a nearly gasping for air. Perhaps the wound was worse than he had originally thought.
When he lifted the axe sitting patiently against the chopping block, his side bitterly disagreed with the movement and he dropped to his knees, his knees no doubt becoming muddied from the wet semi frozen snow.
"Hello?"
The young man lifted his head harshly, spotting a larger man coming from the woods cautiously. The axe in his hand seemed more useful now, and he groaned as he lifted it up.
"Who are you?" The young man rasped out, panting lowly and pointing the axe towards the strange man.
"My name is Hemming. You are hurt badly; I can help."
YOU ARE READING
Skuldalið (BoyxBoy)
Historical FictionCalder did not feel that this was to be his future, but then again, the Norns do what they must for everyone's destiny. He was saved from his mother, who had kicked him and cracked one of his ribs. The man had allowed him to travel with his group w...
