Just a bit of fun before I quest for sleep. Goodnight all.
“Barahelm, come here.”
Barahelm quickly rose from his rest and darted through the slit in the fabric that served as the tent’s opening.
“Yes, sir. Coming, sir,” Barahelm answered. He was tall for his twelfth year, but skinny. And his face had yet to sprout even one whisker.
“Quickly, son.” Barahorn was a big man, broad of shoulder and chest. His hair was dark and long. His voice was strong and deep From his chin grew a long, thick beard. Morning sun glinted off the blade of the broadsword he grasped, the sword’s tip pointing toward the forest before him.
“Yes, sir, ” Barahelm gasped. He had be summoned from sleep and hadn’t caught his breath as he bolted toward his father. “I am here.”
“Listen. What do your ears tell you, son?” The big man’s eyes peered not at the trees he faced, but beyond them, through them.
Barahelm listened. All was quiet. Then he heard birds chattering in the forest heights. He heard the river where he and his father had filled their water skins the night before. And the wind – he heard the wind. It was cold and sharp. Still, in his bed clothes, it made him shudder.
“I hear birds sir, and…”
“Birds!!,” Barahorn erupted. “You hear birds? That is all?! Listen, boy. The wind is telling a story. Not far from here, three, maybe four miles, a symphony of war rages. Listen. The clink of swords, brandished swords, red with blood. That’s where we’re going, son. To war…to war!”
Barahorn turned toward the tent and stomped off. He needed a meal and his armor.
Barahelm remained. He listened. He listened for the swords, the screams, the battle. His listened as well as he could, but all he could hear was the birds.