Brulk's fist felt numb. He struck out once more, a jolt of pain running up his arm before the numbness returned. He stumbled back, splotches of blood seeping through the roughened skin across the knuckles of his right fist. His left clutched a glass bottle loosely around then neck. Wine, atleast thats what it looked like. Truth was, it was his fourth bottle and he wasn't all that fussy over the taste. He shook his hand, and laughed. A droplet of blood landed on one of his framed pictures. Some half-way decent looking woman, stooped over a river washing clothes. A different woman came to mind, and his frowned. "Fuck'n Witch.." He muttered impotently. His eye struggled to focus, as was ever more common these days. He winced, his face visible in the lights reflection of the glass. Some ugly fucker, one o' the ugliest he'd seen and he's seen a few. The angry-looking scar running between his empty eye socket and what was once his right eye seemed to shine back at him. Taunting his mind. His eyepatch wasn't on his head, and the dead only know where he'd lost it. Instead, that empty eye socket just stares back at him. Pointlessly. He snarled an ugly smile at himself, and swigged down the remains off his bottle. "Always was a handsome fucker.." He muttered through slurred words. He glanced down at his bottle, then turn to get another. Instead, his foot got caught awkwardly on his bear rug and flung him disappointingly down to the ground. He swore something fierce, or alteast he would've if he hadn't passed out cold.
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The night was cold, and the hill was bare, but Brulk's head was all flooded with sweat. He was stripped to the waist, and his hands bound above his head. Grulf stood ahead of him, his arms crossed around his sinewy body. Hrulf was crouched over a fire a few feet further ahead, tending to the flames. "I don't know anythin'.." Brulk croaked, by the dead did his ear lube burn with a furious itch.
"It's the truth." came a familiar voice, and the soft padding feet of Lesburr. Grulf looked back to Hrulf, who shrugged and continued with his flames. "Wha--.. Lesburr.. Tell 'em.." Brulk's voice was a shadow of it's former self, and was slipping further away with every second. "You still don't see, do you Half-sight." She paused, as though asking a question but she already knew the answer. Brulk didnt, instead only his face twitched nervously. "Do you see what you faithlessness brings, Half-Sight? Do you see why I must test you?" Her voice was calm, like a mother talking to her child as she guided him through baking bread. "Do you have faith, my warrior?"
"I do! I'm Faithfull. I fought for 'em, all of 'em. Fought for you! You, and Dunlang! All o' you!" His jaw jutted out at the trio assembled. "All of 'em too!" And motioned down the hills, to their camps. "All 'cos o' what the Chief asked o' me!" His voice was pitiful, like an animals crys before being sent off for slaughter.
Lesburr smiled, and placed a hand on his cheek. Her skin was soft and cold to the touch, and his leathery and clammy from sweat. "Have faith." She said, removing her hand from his cheek. Hrulf reaches into his fire, and brought forth a long knife. Straight and sharp, fresh forged by most eyes. Still hot too, burning more'n Brulk. He passed the blade to Lesburr. "I do! I have faith!" She only smiled, a soft smile, and knelt down infront of him. "I see, I see now! I see why you bring 'em back! I see!" He struggled to get the words out fast enough, but she just watched him. That passive smile ghosting across her face. "Course you do."
She leant forward and pressed the glowing peice of hot metal into Brulk's face. He erupted with a scream, sharp and painful as the knife itself. He couldn't the blade, atleast it didn't feel like one. More like someone was spreading melted butter across his face. His face sizzled like a slice of bacon in a pan, and smelt of all kinds of burnt things. Herbs, meat and hair. The sound faded as Brulk's screeching grew louder and more desperate. She still had that smile, impassive and almost bored looking. Like she was washing clothes in a stream, or doing a familiar task around the house. Brulk seized up, then thrashed as wild as a fish out of water.
Lesburr turned the hot knife, and arched her hand left and right like one might scoop out the contents of a boiled egg. Her expression was surreal, and Brulk could only stare at her with his left eye as she eased his right from it's broken socket. The sizzling grew quieter, as did Brulk's screaming. His voice begun to turn hoarse, and into more of a whimper than a cry as the remains of his lungs emptied into the cool night air.
She let go, and Brulk simply flopped forward like a freshly gutted fish. His bound hands holding him painfully upright, but he couldn't feel a thing. He could only whimper.
"Do you see now, my warrior?" the words came like those of a lover, whispered into his ear with tenderness soft enough to pass as something out of the wind itself. "Do you understand?" He felt her hand tickle over the boiled skin beneath his eye socket.
