Struck

Chapter 3- Silent promises

Karatook-7 years later

"What the hell do 'ya think you're doing?" A gruff voice calls in the background, the gravelly sound rough against her ears. "I was just, just-"she splutters, lost for words. "Stop your blabbering girl! This is the third time this month." She didn't want to turn around, to face the embarrassment her father had betrothed upon her. No, she couldn't, for her pride was like a lion, high standing and vigilant.

"Now John," the man in front of her speaks, resting both hands on his iron sword and resting it point down into the freshly cut grass. "No Glenn, I expected better of you, especially after the whole business with that slave child," he growls; teeth bared and nose flared like a predator hunting down its prey.

Glenn looked down then, sadness washing over his old and withered features as his convalescence slowly arises once more. It had been cruel; with what Glenn had to endure in the period he had lost Rogan that is. He was like a son to him, and the confrontation he had undergone with Sir Tomnick, Rogans master, made him just steamy. Never had Glenn endeavoured such an evil man, with two whores at his back everywhere he went; he would exploit Rogan verbally, and Glenn new that the contribution of words would soon develop, and turn into physical abuse. That stuff, Glenn wouldn't stand for.

He'd taken out his sword, the one Evelyn and him were just currently duelling with in fact, and demanded for his boys justice. But as always, cruel men don't show mercy. He'd sliced Glenn from the right of his eye to the left his shoulder. No man had ever defeated Glenn, maybe it had to do with the fact that he was younger then twenty summers, or that he struck him of guard. It was a bitter day it was, and repugnant as well. For it had sliced across the blue of his eye, granting him to be blind and disabled. He'd been sick for so many months; the only thing that guided his way through the dark and out of his silent, sorrowful somber, was a little red head who refused to give up on the lonesome dying man.

She'd come every Mornin' til' sun down; delivering fresh cookies that her mother had helped bake, and a fresh smile that had eventually forced him to stop taking to the bottle. She was his warmth when the days were cool, and his light when the nights were dark. She'd changed him, like silent promises were being exchanged. So with the man before him, looking at Evelyn as if she were a worthless creature, he couldn't stand the torment he had placed upon himself. "She's a good girl, don't you go shamin' her like that," he growls, not minding the way his bad eye twitched, when speaking ill of another.

Evelyn felt protective of Glenn, almost responsible like how a mother bird it's nestling. "Please father," she speaks begrudgingly, finally gaining enough courage to turn and face the bearded man; her disgust rising to fill her mind with evil and unheard of thoughts. "You put shame upon our family, what suitor would want to wed a man?" That statement was like a stab in the dark; cowardly and barbarous. She'd never wanted a man by herside, whether it be in her bed or in their kitchen. It made her sick to the stomach, so when her father wanted to pursue her to a man once she turned 13 winters, of course she put up quite a riot. Her mother had helped, shyly of course; like a quiet echo in the room suggesting that she was far too young, and inexperienced.

All the other women Evelyn's age are proposed and are giddy about it. They say they're excited to be wedded and to finally bare a child. That would be sweet of course if it weren't to a thirty, or fifty year old man. It's a crisis in itself; and Evelyn wouldn't stand for it. "Let's be civil about this John," Glenn drawls, watching Johns every move carefully; his eyes snake like from the many years of squinting into a tempered fire. That is like now; John the metal searing over scorching flames, and Glenn its welder. "She's a bright girl ya'll know, don't you think she's smart enough to make her own decisions."

Her father scoffed now, causing a few horses in the stables to glance over at the scene unfolding before them. "A smart girl, is a dead girl." John spits, the venom puncturing into her back and suffocating her. What made it worst though, is the fact that he was piercing his line of sight into her own, the embarrassment he felt drilling into all the bones of her God for saken body. "That is enough!" A voice demands in the background, the authority forceful enough to snap all of their heads into the sources direction.