I said, We'd better ride!

The persons are riding hard and fast. We want to avoid being caught by the town's people.

“I said, Ride for the hills!”
We rode at breakneck speed to escape the town that had turned against me and my family. Thanks to me slaying my father. They all want me dead. How they had come to realize that I had done this, perhaps it was thanks to mecarrying it with me, his sword. Dead or alive — that was the bounty on my head. Fifteen gold pieces to bring my carcass in. This is a large amount of money for most people. Believe you me! People do not need to feed me. If I am dead, they should have the sheriff see me. They do not have to feed me or let me sleep. You see, I could kick up a fuse being taken there. Who wouldn’t do this? You or I. I suspect that we both wish to be alive. Don’t we? You see, I do not wish to be facing the executioner’s axe falling upon my neck. Do you understand my perspective on this matter before I meet him? Do you understand that I am pointing my finger at the person I am addressing to have him or her realize that I have raised this question to him or her? Believe me, being alive was my preference.

But I knew better. The folks around here did not care much for the fine print. I value my hide, which is intact. My partners know this, but they like me, maybe not as much as they would like gold. However, they have not attempted to kill me yet. The keyword might be yet. I am still alive; Thallin and Shallynne did not attempt to kill me. I was fortunate that this did not occur.

Regarding my father, he was angry. He gambled with his money and his house when he put up his house to gamble with, and my mother had been sold to a slave to keep us alive. The slaver was willing to buy everything that he needed to pay off the debt my father incurred. His wife vanished one night,

I charged toward him. He threw a net at me, and I became entangled in it. The other people with him grabbed me and forced me to my knees. As the others in his group grabbed my mother, she screamed as she was dragged out of the house.

I saw the slave owner walk into the house and take her away. He placed a bag containing coins and gems on the table.
The slaver was a big man, and he brought five other people to the house to take her with him. He arrived late at night, and my mother was asleep when he arrived. My father had left for the evening. I did not know where he went. I still do not know where he is.

The other people there held me captive. When my father arrived, I demanded to know what was happening. Pa said,”It is good that she is gone,

I continued to question their activities. Approximately ten years later, my father told me. He has gambled me away.
When he said this. I drew up the dagger. He stood there, looking at me. He smiled and said,”I would like for you to accept the where I have sent you too.”

I glared at him, “What have you done?”

“Nothing much, But you are going to be going to the circus!”

The circus I imagined that I would die there as a gladiator. I had not seen any of these people fight in the circus. However, I knew what they would do. From the stories I had heard, that was the case. I was frightened to hear that I would be sent to the circus.

My father laughed when he said this. I drew my dagger and threw it at him, and he did not see it until it struck him in the chest. He lost his balance and began to fall from his feet to the table. I leapt at him. I hit the dagger pommel with my hand. Driving the dagger into his chest,

Ahead of us was a huge blanket of fog rising from the riverbank; there was a chill to it on our flesh. We were galloping as fast as we could ride them. The blanket covered the horizon, grasping everything there. There was a cold that swarmed over us as it seeped deep within our flesh. We could feel it gnawing at our nerves. It held us like a garter on a woman's leg to keep her stockings up. I could see my breath coming out of my mouth, easing from my lips. On my back lay a dual-handed sword in its scabbard; I could feel its weight pulling across my shoulders to make me sit upright, and I was proficient in using it when called for.

Night was falling, the moon was full, but there were dense clouds covering the skyline, so there was no moon in the sky, but I knew it was there above us. I saw it rise on the horizon as I entered the tavern to partake of some good ale, talk with the patron, and have a good time there. They may also play a few hands of cards. I was not very good at that; Thallin was better than I. Perhaps I could listen to bards as they sang their songs or danced to be paid for their show.

Shallynne urged her mustang ahead of mine, her pale hair streaming like a banner from its sigil. Thallin had a thick brown beard and was muscular. Bless his soul, he clung to his horse as if he were a barnacle and it was the bottom of a ship. He held his reins and prayed as if prayer alone could keep him in the saddle. He had not fallen off yet. His fingers felt the chill of the wind howling around us. The wind tried to make him let go of the reins. He would die. If he did this, he would know this. He did not release the reins. Even if the Grim Reaper appeared before him on his steed.

I dug my heels in harder to urge my steed to gallop further and harder. Behind us, the glow of the torches flickered in the dark like embers in a forge. I swore I could hear them chanting for me to fall into their hands. Their hides did not matter as much as mine; it was worth something, that was certain. A prize worthy of falling into their hands. They imagined what they could buy with it. That was the prize they sought.

But I needed my hide— that is the point of having skin; it keeps a body in one piece. It prevents the soul from leaking out.

The night was colder than my old Pa's stare. Fog, thick as wool and twice as heavy, crept over the road from the water's edge. Its chilling touch felt like the hand of death on my skin. The horses faltered, their ears pitched, and their hooves moved in a restless, frantic bustle.

It was a cursed night; I could feel it in my bones. The kind that makes children whisper of phantoms and grown men swear they have seen things best left unspoken. Balderdash. No spooks will get in my way. Still, I grasped the sword over my shoulder a little more tightly. When I would draw it out.

Something was etched into the blade that glowed with an unholy fire. Smoke rises from it and climbs into the sky. There was a scent of decay that one would smell. This did not occur when Pa drew the sword. It was a regular sword in his hands, not mine. I did not know why it happened when it was in my hands, but it did indeed happen.

I would be dead if I went to the circus. Just another a body. No longer breathing. A body, that is all I would be. That was why he lay dead while I was alive. Damn him!

Some people said that the sword was cursed. If it was to fall into anyone's hands— aside of from my father that is. In my hands, it glowed with hellfire.