𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢

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‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾  ☽༓・*˚⁺‧͙

‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾  ☽༓・*˚⁺‧͙

age 8

"Rhysie!" I shouted as I ran to my brother's side. 

     I hadn't seen him all day, ever since he left for lessons this morning. My mother had gone to work, and I had been left alone to do my lessons. 

      Rhys was sitting on the windowsill, my mother having pulled up a chair behind him as she patched up his bleeding back, I froze, my eyes widening.

"What happened?" I demanded, staring at my mother.

"Rhysand got into a fight and received three lashings," Mother replied, irritation very evident in her voice. 

     I just knew he had gotten quite the scolding for it. I would've teased him were it not for the lashes on his back. 

"Are you okay?" I wondered, turning my attention back to Rhys.

"I'm fine, Eve," he promised, reaching out to pat me on the head. I scoffed and ducked away from his hand.

      He chuckled and continued to toy with me until something caught his attention. His eyebrows knit together, his eyes narrowing as he stared out the window.

     I hopped up on the windowsill, pressing my face against the glass to see what he was so intently staring at. 

     All I could see was a little boy limping toward the tents, shivering and all alone. He couldn't have been much older than us. 

"Where is he going, Mama?" Rhys wondered, glancing back at her.

"He's a bastard," she replied. "Bastards get nothing. They are to find their own food and shelter. If they survive and are picked to be in a war band, they'll be bottom rank forever, but they will receive their own tents and supplies. Until then, they stay out in the cold."

"But he's just a kid," I pointed out, eyes wide with concern.

"I know," she sighed. "It's terrible." She finished up with Rhys's wounds and stood up, brushing her hands off on her skirt. "I'm going to bed. I want you both asleep in an hour."

"Yes, ma'am," we both said in unison.

     She went up the stairs, and when I heard the door to her room shut, I pressed my face against the window again. I could barely see him now, he was so far away. 

"We have to help him," I told Rhys, the words a hushed whisper.

"I know," Rhys nodded. He pulled his shirt back on, wincing a bit as he did so. "Get your coat."

     We both put on our coats, gloves, and hats before stalking out into the snow. I jumped onto Rhys's back, wrapping my arms around his neck as he held under my knees.

     I pressed my face against his back, protecting it from the bitter cold as he walked towards the tents. 

     It took us a while to find the one the boy was in, but when we did, Rhys lowered me to the ground.

      We both stared at the dilapidated tent before we crawled inside. He was already asleep on his side, soft snores filling the tent. 

     Rhys shook him awake. He groaned and turned to face us. His brows knit together as he took us in. 

"What the--"

"Just shut up and come with us," Rhys cut him off.

     The boy stared at the both of us for a few seconds before carefully sitting up. His shoulder-length hair was a tangled, dirty mess. His face was smeared with dirt and dried blood. Though, he was wearing Rhys's new training clothes, which looked fine.

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