Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own, and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Bennett did not know what to make of the news that the body of Carlos was nowhere to be found when his hesitant men informed him of this later that evening. He had to be dead Bennett convinced himself. No one could survive a snake bite, he had probably crawled off some distance to die that was it. Though he did not reveal to the others the incident with the snake. Not wanting to diminish his prowess in their eyes.
Bennett's fears were not allayed when his men took him to the area just on dark. They lit torches searching thoroughly, still they found no sign. Impossible! Bennett reiterated to himself, just not possible! His frustration growing by the minute. There were no tracks, nothing to be found, and the wind was on the rise, soon there would be no telltale signs in the shifting sands remaining to find at all.
Finally somewhere near midnight the wind now driving the sand stinging into their faces, they abandoned the search. Bennett by this stage close to dangerous fury as he sauntered toward his hut. Even in death Carlos had made a mockery of him, he would have liked that gold trinket at least, a reminder, a trophy, but it seemed he was denied even that. He contented himself thinking in a few days the telltale stink would alert him to where his quarry had crawled off to die.
The wind was lashing fiercely, the night full of hellish sounds, as metal screamed against metal, and the branches of trees scraped and fractured. It was to this demonic music Bennett made his way to the shelter of his meager home. Just missing Frances by inches with his steel shod boots as he entered in the dark. With a black fury seizing him, he undressed and all but threw himself down on his bed. Drawing the tortured Nathan to him, using the defenseless boy as a channel to direct his vitriolic anger.
*****
Sven lay in his bed, comfortable yet not quite asleep on this unsettling night. His arm draped possessively around Raissa, her head pillowed on his barrel chest, his fingers absently toying with her thick golden hair. She was already deep in sleep he noted, her chores tired her more swiftly now, and it seemed at last she had resigned herself to his dominion.
A subtle change had also been wrought on the hard man, despite his earlier indifference to Raissa's condition he found himself caught up also in the wonder of the child she held within. It will be mine he assured himself, and it will be a son. A warm feeling of satisfaction descended upon Sven with this notion. I will teach him well, Aran will have a nephew, and he shall grow to be a warrior equal to none.
Sven enjoyed this thought, finally there was the promise of something worthwhile in all this damnable hell. Noting that as of tomorrow he would lessen Raissa's responsibilities, for he did not want to endanger his new son. Finding contentment in all this he moved closer to the woman, secure in his circle of warmth, untroubled by the moaning wind and driving sand outside. He would he wondered dreamily, leave his other troubles for tomorrow.
*****
The following day was taken up in preparations to move out, there was much to organize and delegate. Bennett finding that he had little time to dwell on dead men. Still the leader's humor was decidedly short this day, despite Nathan's bruises. His men all sensing this, were ever careful around him.
