Screams. Blood. Rain.
Limbs and mouths where throats should have been.
How...
How am I back here again?
Anrick's eyes snapped open.
The breathing was still there. Short, rasping gasps. His heart caught in his chest. It took several seconds for Anrick to calm down.
It's just your own, you foolish old man... Anrick mocked his panic with familial bitterness.
That hellish landscape again...
Looking up at the low thatch roof of his home, Anrick let his mind wander for a while before rolling on his side and fixing his gaze at the empty straw-filled sack adjacent to his.
He sat up slowly, back drenched in sweat, his sole linen sheet kicked off the bed.
I was through with these nightmares ... wasn't I?
Getting out of bed, he shakily walked over to his small pine wardrobe in the corner of the room, and pulled open the delicate doors.
Three tunics.
A luxury this far away from 'true civilization,' a phrase coined in the halls of the highborn. He selected the short, plain tunic he wore most days, pulling it over his head before lacing his coarse woolen trousers and slipping on thick leather boots.
It was still dark outside, and bitterly cold. I must make sure to leave the fire on for little Lurick before I head to the fields with Alberick.
With those thoughts in mind, Anrick left his room. No doors barred his way as he moved through the cramped, short hallway towards the hearth at the center of the house.
As he passed the shared room of his two youngest sons, Lurick and Ferick, he paused, silently gazing inside at their sleeping forms. Both lay on one small straw mattress in an otherwise empty, dark room where only the moon light seeping through the thatch illuminated anything.
It isn't right that I leave them alone. I need Ferick in the fields withme again. And Lurick needs proper care.
A familiar thought surfaced, unwelcome but persistent.
Perhaps Mother Erika is right. Perhaps it is time I remarried, for their sake if not my own.
Only a few steps further down from the children's room, Anrick heard movement. Alberick was already awake, preparing for the harsh day ahead.
So early? Alberick was usually harder to rouse.
"We'll leave once I've packed my tools," Anrick whispered from the doorless entry. "Make sure you eat the bread on the table."
A curt grunt of acknowledgement was enough for Anrick to know he'd been heard.
At the hearth, Anrick started the simple routine he'd only had to learn in the last few months. He gathered the bundles of wood he'd chopped the night before, then tossed them in a heap. He struck flint against steel and small sparks flew as the fire began life.
I'll need to cut more logs again tonight...
A pang of regret surfaced at the thought of the unfinished pile waiting for him. Between cooking dinner for his children and putting Lurick to bed, his energy had been sapped from his body after a grueling day of work.
At least I can have a fire. I should be grateful for what I have ... or something like that ... that's what she would've said.
His heart clenched in agony.
It wasn't until a deep voice from behind pulled him out of his thoughts that Anrick noticed he was still gazing at the now full flames. He rubbed his irritated eyes before turning to the voice.
Near the doorway stood Alberick, a towering figure of a boy with broad-shoulders and dark brown straw-like hair which was kept short. His expression was marred with confusion.
"Father?"
What kind of man am I sitting here crying like this? In front of my son! Disgust gnawed at his very being.
"It's nothing, let's go."
Shaking himself free from whatever had come over him this morning, Anrick set the flint and steel back onto the 3 tiered hand-made pine shelf back amongst an assortment of oddities. He crossed to the table and tossed half a loaf towards his son.
"Eat," he said. "You'll need your strength today boy. The cows are ready for milking."
A sly grin crept onto his face as Alberick's eyes widened in quiet horror.