Fireheart

The Beginnings.

It had been a sad day since morning. The entire sky was covered with grey clouds and the rain refused to cease. In front of a small stone cottage, the thatched roof of which had been worn down by the continuous attacks of rain and thaw, a young boy of seventeen stood, looking pensively at the grey sky. He was of a middling stature; timid and weakly built. His ragged clothes, face which was lean with hunger and dull hazel eyes that lacked the lustre of youth easily conveyed the evident story of how his life must be. Yet, he beamed when the raindrops fell upon his face, rekindling a glow which was mandatory for a boy of seventeen; a glow of youthfulness and happiness.
"Angus! Angus!," a woman called from within the cottage.

Quickly he drew himself back, wiping his face and brushing his soft bronze curls with his hands as he knew that his mother would surely shout at him if she saw him wet. Angus quietly crept in through the door and sat beside his younger sister. She smirked.
"Children," his mother began, "I have made figs for lunch." Angus frowned in disgust. He disliked figs. His mother knew that. However, figs was all she could get from the woods that morning. She did not have a choice and neither did he. They had their lunch in absolute silence and the only sound was that of the continuous dripping of water from the leaked roof.