The night sky was clear, bright and cold as hell. The snow deep on the ground covered everything in a wintery blanket. With the night sky clear the moon bathed everything in its pale glow. Nights were bitterly cold yet, so terribly beautiful, in a stark kind of way. The land covered by its white wintery blanket of snow made everything look pure and clean, untouched.
The lone rider emerged from the tree line, his tired horse plodding along. The only sounds to be heard echoing through the vast forest was the occasional cracking of a branch heavy laden with snow, and every crunch of his horse’s hooves on the fallen snow. The trail he had chosen down the mountains twisted and turned. Now he had reached the bottom only a slight decline to where an iced-over stream lay silently sleeping. A noise as soft as a whisper caught his attention. Stopping he scanned his surroundings, his hand ever-present on the hilt of his sword. An owl swooped down into view, the bird making good use of the light offered by the full moon. Without a sound the owl snatched a careless hare from the far side of the stream and with three flaps of its powerful wings was gone into the darkness, its prize safely secured in its sharp talons.
Sitting there Lefwin watched as the owl flew off into the distance. Sinking low in his saddle he wrapped his cloak ever tighter trying to keep warm. He had been on their trail for two days now. Cold, tired and hungry he pressed on, needing to continue this hunt. “Come on boy” he whispered into his horse’s ear, “just a little further.” He knew that they were up ahead somewhere. He had seen clear signs the whole day. Their footprints became drag marks as they pulled each other along. Somewhere in front of him were the three murderers, the uncaring killers who had massacred a family.
Lefwin may have been young but he was a veteran of many battles. Coming across the farmhouse it had been easy to read the signs of battle. The farmer had put up a brave fight but in the end, he had perished; his wife and teenage daughter brutally attacked, left for dead. The mother had her throat cut while the daughter had a dagger plunged into her chest. The blade had missed her heart. He had tried to save her but she was too far gone. Holding her in his arms he cried as with her last few breaths she managed to say what had happened before she took her last breath. Looking at the now lifeless body, he realised she was his age. He tried to rest after burying the family but could not find the sleep he so badly needed. Setting our at first light, he was in luck as no new snow had fallen during the night. The tracks are still fresh and obvious to the eye. He would have a few hours before the weather would turn and snow would begin to fall. After that the going had been slow, his determination driving him on, he would find them and exact some form of punishment.
