His breath puffed out in a cloud in the cold air of early Spring. Hefting the axe once more he swung at the tree he had nearly cut down. With a groan of protest the branches above crashing through their neighbors the tree crashed to the ground.
In spite of the cold he wiped his brow clearing the sweat for a moment. Arching his back he looked up at the cloud covered sky and grimaced. It looked like it just might snow one last time before the new season took hold. His draft horse nickered nearby waiting patiently with the sledge to bring back wood to the family farm.
He bent back toward his task when he heard a scream in the distance. He stiffened in surprise as he recognized his mother's voice raised high in terror. It was a sound he was wholly unfamiliar with, yet he recognized just the same. He began sprinting back toward the house, uncertain of what was wrong, yet hoping it was nothing serious.
As he neared the cleared land his home stood on he topped a small rise overlooking the farm. A group of horsemen surrounded the farmhouse. Their rough clothing and mismatched armor and weapons showed them to be brigands. Or perhaps mercenaries down on their luck. He skidded to a stop and hung onto the bole of a small tree.
There was no way he could fight them by himself. He saw his mother sobbing over the still body of his father. His father, the strong capable man who had taught him everything he knew of farming and the land. He lay unmoving in the dirt in front of the house. Two men roughly grabbed his mother's arms and dragged her away toward the interior of the house.
He stood there a moment unsure of what to do. His eyes were drawn to the scene below in horrified fascination. Johanna! He turned and ran back the way he had come and flew past the draft horse. His fiancee's father would know what to do. He had three strong sons and nearby neighbors who could help his family.
His feet charged over the land, unerringly avoiding roots and holes in the forest he knew like the back of his hand. He ran as fast as he could, hoping that he could return in time to help his family. A sharp coldness stung his cheek. Another his eyelid. He glanced up to see that it was starting to snow.
He put his head down and ran faster. His nostrils became aware of burning wood, yet he didn't make the connection until he reached the outskirts of the farm and saw the house and barn fully engulfed in flames. There was three bodies lying in front of the house, blood pooling around them. He gasped in horror as he realized there would be no help coming from his fiancee's family. He looked toward the town along the narrow trade road.
More smoke billowed into the sky from other farms, it seemed. A huge cloud of smoke rose in the distance in the direction of town. A sob escaped his throat as he realized that there would be no help forthcoming from anyone. His eyes took in the burning buildings once more.
Tears flowed from his eyes freely. The snow started to fall faster and thicker as the sky darkened. His knees hit the ground with a thump as he realized his fiancee was likely dead and burning in the house before him. He beat his fists on the ground shouting out with grief when he noticed he still had the axe in his right hand.
Forcing himself back to his feet he turned back to his own home. There would be no help for his family. No one but himself. He began to run back toward his farm. He gasping breath echoed in the stillness of the forest, his steps now crunching through the light covering of snow.
Heedlessly running, he stumbled and clawed his way along, branches slashing at his face as the snow fell even thicker. The horse whinnyed as he thrashed past.
Upon reaching the rise once more he looked down to see the horsemen gone. His father still lay upon the ground, snow beginning to cover his motionless body. With a cry of dispair he rushed down the slope, dropping to his knees at the man's side.
With trembling fingers he touched the wound to his father's chest. It has stopped weeping blood. His workshirt saturated in blood the older man's face showed the shock, pain, and horror that preceeded his death. Kissing his forehead Wilhelm turned to the house.
The door was partially open. He pushed it fully open and screamed as he saw his mother naked and dead upon their table. He turned away and saw blood and grey matter on the stone of the fireplace. He looked down at the hearth to see his infant sister lying there, he head smashed in.
Rushing to her tiny form he reached down and cradled her in his arms. Tears streaming down his face he looked for his other sisters. They weren't in sight. Calling out their names he awkwardly clambered to the loft, only to discover they weren't there.
Returning to the main room he snatched the comforter from the bed and draped it over his mother's body. Blood had slithered off the table and onto the floor. Ignoring all this he set his baby sister down carefully on the bed and started a fire in the fireplace.
He stepped outside and grabbed his father's arms. Dragging him into the house he lay his father next to his mother before covering him as well. Closing the door in the teeth of the rising wind and thickly flying snow he picked up the baby to sit down in the rocking chair his father had made for his mother in front of the fireplace.
Cradling the baby he stroked her face and the side of her head that had not been crushed. His fingers barely felt the silky strands of her blond hair as he stared blankly into the fire.
) I almost felt like I was there. Are we looking at a quest for vengeance?
