The Lonely Road To Vengeance - Chapter 5 - (20 years ago)

• Posted by Minophis September 16, 2016 - Filed in TSC: Long Story - #TSC:Skyrim  #TSC:Long  #TSC:T.L.R.T.V  - 1,365 views

  The rabbit moved gently through the grass, nibbling at the occasional wildflower, without warning the arrow came out of the sky and, landed several feet away from it. The rabbit looked at the arrow, nibbled another wild flower and then slowly hopped away.

   

  Brynjar watched the rabbit disappearing into the long grass and gripping his bow went to retrieve the arrow. As he returned he saw the expression on his father’s face, Balgruuf was not happy.   This was the fourth time they had been hunting since moving into the new home and if he didn’t kill something it would be the third day he would go without any supper.  His father had made things very clear to him, if you want to eat you kill, skin and cook your food yourself. The first night when Brynjar came back from hunting empty handed he had watched his father skin the rabbit he had shot and then cook it on spit over the fire. Brynjar had believed his father would share with until the very last mouthful was gone. Balgruuf had looked at his son while knwing on the leftover rabbit bones.
  

   

   

  “We go hunting again tomorrow boy, maybe hunger will sharpen your instincts”.

   

   

  When the second day of hunting was no more successful than the first Brynjar walked home in tears. He knew that the evening would be a repeat of the last only this time he felt starving. His father had made a rabbit stew this time using wild herbs and the smell of it cooking was torture. His father forbade him from fishing, he was learning to hunt with a bow and he would not eat until he shot dinner himself.

   

  The next day they went hunting again and this time things had been different. Brynjar had spotted a rabbit and had carefully taken aim with his bow. He had been weak from hunger and had tried desperately to keep the bow steady. As the arrow struck its target skewering the rabbit to the ground Brynjar had been on his feet in a moment running to the target with his knife drawn. The rabbit was still alive when Brynjar reached it and quickly cut its throat.  Brynjar held the warm bloody body of the rabbit tightly and thanked any gods that might be listening. That night he made a stew so he could easily save some food for the next day. Waiting for the food to cook and setting half aside was torture. After almost three days without food he was ravenous.
  

   

   

  This had been the way of things since Balgruuf and Brynjar had moved into their new home in the woods. Although to Brynjar’s mind a small single room shack with a bed at each end, a firepit in the middle and a latrine pit dug in the woods some distance away hardly felt like home. Not that he would dare to say as much to his father. The last time he had spoken back in frustration he had found himself lying in the ground with a bleeding lip moments later while his father looked down at him sternly and rubbed the feeling back into his hand. Their evenings were spent in silence except when Balgruuf was teaching his son some new skills, right now it was bow hunting which would teach not only skill and precision with a bow but also stealth. When Brynjar could go into the woods and be certain of bringing home food he would learn snares and traps letting him catch food while he did other things.  Balgruuf made it clear if he needed something he would provide it himself, if he was thirsty he would fetch his own water, if he was hungry he would catch his own food, if his clothes were dirty he would go to the river and wash them himself.

   

   

  The time they didn’t spend at the shack or hunting was spent at the forge. While Balgruuf saw to the customers, Brynjar would make the same weapon over and over again until he father was satisfied it could be done no better. Brynjar could now make a knife that was perfectly balanced with an edge like a razor and the strength to pierce plate armour. He had now moved onto swords and as with the knives when he was done his father would explain why it was wrong throw the rejected blade on pile to be smelted back to ingots and make him start again from scratch. When he could make what his father felt was a perfect a sword he would learn to make the perfect axe then the perfect bow, breastplate, helm, shield and so on. Brynjar saw months and years of this stretching out before him.

   

   

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