Clack; the sound resounded through the sparing trees. Clack; it echoed and grew more fervent and confident. Clack; the definitive sound of wood striking together. The sound dripped across the fields, it wavered in strength and tone as it fluttered along the breeze, but clearly the noise was being dampened by something.
There was an outcropping of trees not too far from the house, but fittingly they grew in the shape of a horses hoof; creating a small glade and enclosure. During the warmer seasons, blossoms would flourish on the branches, white petals spurring new growth. The ground was lush; a vibrant green consisting of overgrown grasses. And, it was here this 'clacking' seemed to resonate from.
A tired and weathered Glædwine trod through the pastures. His skin had become more ashen in the past months, drawn tight over cheekbones and hanging loose around jowls and eye sockets. He seemed unwell, or was it just the heavy handed dealing of age which had come upon him? Either way simple tasks drained him. And it was with this heaviness that he plodded through the field, his face stricken with a pang of interest as to the nature of this 'clacking' from yonder. The closer he came toward the enclosure the louder the sound came. Within and dispersed amongst the striking was the sound of a lads voice, commanding. The tone was all too familiar, the sound clearly that of his son, Glædward. He brushed some branches aside, as quietly as able and peered into the glade.
In the centre of the clearing stood both his children, his small and fair daughter, Gleorwyn; and his son, who had recently shot up in height like a flower in spring. In both of their hands were smooth and large branches, brandished in the likeness of a sword. Glaedward stood in a defensive position, calmly issuing instructions toward his sister, to which she followed to the best of her ability. Glaedwine stood there, watching as his children continued their light-hearted yet instructive play; his face softening with an air of pride. Tumbling and laughing, Gleorwyn learned her paces and soon her brother decided they should test what she had learned in a more comparable likeness. And so they both braced in readiness, holding out their wooden swords.
The first clack, and Gleorwyn – nimble-footed and small, managed to strike her brother's sword as he swiftly moved it in defence. They continued as such, Gleorwyn able to swiftly parry and make small precise strikes. It wasn't long however until the brute strength of her brother, his advantage of height, practice and muscle, overwhelmed her. To her brother however, it was a miss-calculated strike – he had till this point made sure no hit would cause pain or hurt, and that he kept direct control – yet a swift burst of energy caused him to strike otherwise and land upon his little sisters right arm and side. She tumbled to the ground with a cry; her brother swiftly casting aside his makeshift weapon to check on her, when out of the tree's came loud rustling and shouting.
“BOY!”
Glaedwine delved into the brush and through the trees, his face heated and now growing to a steady crimson.
“Boy! Get away from her.”
His son stepped back somewhat alarmed as his father strode forward to push him aside. Gleorwyn had sat up, catching the air, when her fathers hand grasped her arm and wrenched her forwards and to her feet,
“He didn't mean to papa, i'm unharmed!”
Glaedwine ushered her forward toward the trees, his hand still clenched around her upper arm; her feet skimming the ground as he trod – like a childs doll. He clicked his tongue and onward followed his son like an obeying hound, skulking at his heel with an expression of anguish and guilt.
* * * *
The door slammed closed, and the ram-shackled house shook; the wood creaking from its disturbance. Gleorwyn who had been placed on her bed, sat with folded arms. Her father and brother were on the other side of the door in the main room; as she sat worrying and fretting over the punishment her brother would endure over an accidental occurrence. She edged her way to the doorway and sat against the wall at its side, her ear pressed gently against the wall. Now, this wasn't so necessary, as the cracks in the wood and it's flimsy nature meant you could have one person stood at the farthest side of the house and drop a pin and it would likely be heard.
It was a force of habit, so to speak, that she sat there in such times. Chairs scraped on the other side of the wall,
“What were you playing at, boy?”
There was no response,
“Didn't you hear? Have you succumbed to deafness as well as stupidity?”
The sound of Glaedwine's voice resounded throughout the abode, everything else remained still as though all living things around had taken their last breath.
“I was onl-...”
“This is why little sisters and daughters don't play rough, boy.”
Glaedwine paced around the table, heavy footed, a frown struck deeply across his forehead.
“Your sister should not be playing such laddish games... she should be here, learning matters of the women-folk.”
He spoke his words with little clarity, aiding to the thought that he was pondering his own sayings. He continued onward until his son finally piped up; scraping back his chair and standing as he did so.
“With ma now gone, and you at her side; I am tending horses, land and home! Gleorwyn is here alone... she need defend herself if something untoward arises. I wish only for her safety!”
With that he left the room, creaking open the door to his shared room. Instinctively knowing that Gleorwyn would be sat in her usual place by the wall - he rested his hand gently upon her her head before firmly shutting the door closed. They sat in silence together for awhile in the dark. The house had become still, the only sound the whistling of the wind and creaking and clacking of wood. Upon the other side of the wall sat Glaedwine, head in hands at length for many hours, ere the break of day.
