"Put it over there, will you?"
Blaecwyn turned her head to see her sister waving a slender hand toward the side of their small house. She nodded once, sighed and turned to carry her burden to that place. Why Amelle insisted on telling her where to put the split logs was beyond her. They had always been stacked next to the house, neatly like pa insisted, for as long as Blaecwyn could remember and she had been carrying them here herself for most of the day.
It was harvest time now. Everyone in the house had to pull their weight, pa always said, lest the many little jobs that needed doing before the beginning of winter go unfinished. Under normal circumstances, this was not a girls job and, at only ten summers old, Blaecwyn certainly should not have been doing it. However, even now Blaecwyn was taller than most of the young lads in the village and, for the past four years, had been slowly developing her strength by helping with chores around the farm and in the forge. Young she was, but able nonetheless. Besides, physical tasks made sense to her. Little else did.
She stopped next to the growing pile of wood and crouched to place her burden on the floor before picking up the split logs one by one to pile them neatly with the rest. Behind her, Amelle called more orders to Leoric and the few locals who had come to assist. It was fewer than usual, but that was to be expected. A pox had descended upon the village this year and most of the people were abed sick. Those few who had remained healthy had been running themselves ragged trying to prepare for the coming season on behalf of everyone in the community.
At seventeen summers of age, Amelle had long since taken over the administration of the household. She cooked for the family, and now for the workers, tallied up the expenditures, did most of the cleaning and wrote the orders necessary for stocks and supplies. Right now, of course, she was being a supervisor to those carrying, cutting and storing things. Unlike her baby sister, she wasn't very strong, but she did have more than her fair share of brains.
Blaecwyn finished her task and, rising, turned around. She paused a moment to study her sister from a distance. Not much taller than Blaecwyn, she was nevertheless pale of skin and fair of hair. Her intelligence shone through eyes of summer skies and her lean frame had blossomed into the soft curves of womanhood. She was beautiful, Blaecwyn considered, more than she herself would ever grow to be.
Beyond Amelle, off in the distance, both her father and brother worked on splitting logs for the pile. Leoric had grown in recent years as well, but he was still a scrawny thing. He ate like a horse but still had the build of young bitch tree. Worse than that, to his mind anyway, was that his youngest sister was taller than he. As she watched, he lay aside his axe and moved away to the brook to cool himself and take a drink.
Blaecwyn wiped her hands on her grubby skirt. It had been clean this morning, but a hard, hot day of toil had made it dusty and her bodice was covered in green smudges from the moss covering the logs. A drink, she condeeded, was a very good idea indeed. She waved to catch Amelle's attention and pointed toward the brook in explanation before walking toward Leoric.
As she reached the half-way mark between the house and her brothers position, she saw the mayors son, Angulf, approach Leoric. Narrowing her eyes, she quickened her pace. The mayors son was an arrogant little twerp and usually the ringleader of the group who picked on Leo'. Blaecwyn detested him which was strange, she thought, because his sister Anoura was her best friend.
Leoric had risen to his feet by now and turned to face the other boy. Words must have been exchanged for the older boy gave Leoric a rough shove in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards a few paces. That was when Blaecwyn balled her fists and broke into a run.
"Blaecwyn!" the voice of Amelle called from behind her, but Blaewcyn did not hear it.
The familiar red cloud of anger had settled across her senses and nothing existed now but she and the object of her ire. As she neared the two boys she lept. Outstretched arms caught Angulf around the midriff and Blaecwyns furious momentum carried them both off the bank and into the shallow waters below.
She was the first to her feet and, growling like an angry cat, she gripped Angulfs shirt in one fist, pulled him up a little from the water, and swung a punch with her other hand. His nose made a satisfying crunch as it spread across his face, hot blood bursting forth to spatter her cheeks and dress as she pulled back her arm for a second blow. Suprised by her attack and stunned from her first hit, Angulf merely stared up at her, his eyes wide and unfocused, his mouth open in a horrified 'O'.
"Never," she shouted, punctuating each growled word with a blow to his face or body. "Never, ever lay your hands on my family!"
She felt strong hands grip her waist and lift her away. At first Angulf came with her, but his weight quickly pulled his shirt from her grasp and he slumped back onto the stony bed of the brook, the waters parting to flow around him and carry his crimson blood downstream in diluted pinkish tendrils.
"Enough!" her father bellowed loudly enough to cut through the haze of her wrath. He set her down, placing one shovel-like hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. "Look at what you've done, daughter."
Blaecwyn looked up at her father. His face was stern and drawn with annoyance as he looked down at her, raising his other arm to point at Angulf. Blaecwyn followed his pointing finger, staring at the prone boy dispassionately. He lay back in the water, staring up at the sky and blinking rapidly as he tried to restore his senses.
"You've hurt him, daughter," Cennulf stated flatly. "You see that, don't you."
"Yes, Pa," she replied with a shrug. "So?"
"So," he explained patiently. "This is where you say you're sorry."
"No, it's not."
"Tell him you're sorry, Blaecwyn," Cennulf frowned.
"But I'm not," she stated stubbornly. "So I won't."
Cennulf took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. He then turned his head aside, looking to where Amelle stood wide-eyed and pale-faced next to a contrite Leoric.
"Amelle, take her inside," he said, gently pushing Blaecwyn toward her older sister. "Clean her up and get her changed. Set her to sweeping, or whetver needs to be done around the house. I don't want her back out here again today."
"Yes, papa," Amelle spoke, hastily moving forward to take Blaecwyn by the arm and lead her toward the house. Behind then, Cennulf asked his son's aid in picking up the boy to take him home to his parents.
"You should just say you're sorry," Amelle said with a soft sigh as they walked.
Blaecwyn just shook her head, remaining silent. She had had many fights with Angulf and the other boys over the years. Each of them had been warned on many occasions, and in many ways, not to pick on her family but they never listened. They never learned. Why should she be sorry when those boys got exactly what they deserved?
