I was walking home after practicing in the woods, and I still smelled like pine needles. When I got close to the village, I saw a group of boys picking on Kate Bennet. Kate was kind of quiet and always had her nose in one of her mother's books, so people said she was weird. The boys were being mean, calling her names like "witch, darkie, muddy" and other names like that that I didn't like. I thought it was pretty ironic that even in Viking times, people could be racist. I recognized Kate's frightened face and didn't hesitate. Grabbing a stone from the ground, I hurled it with practiced precision, striking one of the boys squarely on the head from 15 meters away. The boys yelped in surprise, fear flashing in their eyes as they turned to see me standing tall, my reputation clearly preceding me. Without another word, they scattered, leaving Kate alone. I offered my hand to Kate, helping her to her feet. "Why did you help me?" she asked, her voice uncertain. I shrugged, a faint smirk on my lips. "Because I felt like it," I replied, then turned and continued on my way. As I disappeared down the path, Kate watched me, puzzled by the strange Milkelson boy who had saved her with a stone thrown from fifteen meters away, with pinpoint accuracy. My mind, however, was elsewhere—caught up in worry. What if Kate told her mother? Would Anya think I wasn't Mikel's child
