A cord of copper that’s weaved into pale and bloody flesh is hidden by the wrapping of cloth. A bloody stump drops is dropped over the side of the scare that was made by the flame. Cauterised yet deep. The girl looks back away as she walks and thinks. Thinks of his wounds. A missing arm and a deep cut on the same side. Burns all down his left hip up to his chest. A thin line marking a close call on that chest shown by a cut in his rags. Dirt present on his entire body and a thick smell unpleasant that reminds her of home.

She would often stitch up her mother who would have her face beaten in by father a rotten man. In her opinion for a rotten woman. The mother knew she couldn’t beat her husband so she attacked her children. The mother of the girl didn’t leave as many marks as her brothers did but the mother definitely gave more pain. She would gather the family while father was away and pig out on all the food nearby. She would bring men over to have their way his her daughters when the father was away.

The father wasn’t a good man. But the girl knew that he hit her to stop her. The mother of the girl was sick. It wasn’t a sickness of the body but one of the mind. The mother would scream at walls and floors. Desperately she danced at night to temp the sun into returning. Apparently father took her in off the street. He pitied her but one day that pity run out.

The girl remembers more the times that her father cried, or rocked her to sleep. She remembers the times that her father gave he food so she wouldn’t stave. But she also remembers sticking up her broken mothers face.

But the girl remembers that it was her father who riped the man mother brought from on top of her. She remembers her father’s anger and he left and came back with an axe. She remembers the fear in the man's eyes as he was dragged throughout the dirt in the backyard. And she remembers that her father was taken away for that as well.

She remembered that for all her mother's actions no one was as hurt as her. As he allowed himself to be taken away it was her mother to blocked the front door so they couldn’t take him. The girl remembers how broken her mother was when father was hung for his crimes.

He was her family's final rope pulled everything together while he was tearing everything apart as well. But the girl remembers that she love her father the most. The girl remembers carry chopped wood in the dead of night with her father and brothers to start a fire to keep her mother warm when she was sick. She remembers that time he took her into the backyard and offered her two things. A chocolate and a marshmallow.

She remembers that she took the marshmallow first and when she tried to take the chocolate her father stopped her and said that often she would only get one. She remembers that he said that she needed to cherish every thing she had because there would be times were things looked bad but she needed to remember that was life.

Weather she cherishes it or not was the deciding factor between happiness and sorrow.

The girl believes this. That you need to cherish everything you have.

You need to fight the sorrows of the world.

*******

To make a woman clean your wounds. How shameful. I am Troy Garna of the Garna tribe to the far west.

I watch the setting sun as I reaffirm my mission. I must return to my people lands and fix anything that I can. I fear they my home has become the battle grounds of this honorless barbarism of a people. They don’t even have a name. All I now is the name of their leader, a supposedly a red person

Respect, honour, dignity. Something these red people no nothing of. They take away what makes a man amen, pride. They break you and chain you for mistakes of your past. They believe not in redemption or even a soldier's death deny that to me then I rebelled against the chain holds called slavers. They deny it to me on the basis of value.

The value of my labor combined with the confidence to break my pride and will is the basic of slavery.

But it is impossible to truly break someone like nature can. Truth and honor. The power to die with a straight back is the only way man can face their deaths with glee. The something one can laugh at is something one has overcome. Anger is a sign of weakness. It's a sign of something you have failed to overcome. It a sign of life.

So I know that my anger will guide me right. Its by angry that man can comprehend injustice… and grow blind to justice as well. People often mistake justice for something noble and proud like a shield or a sword. They are wrong. Justice is like angry it burn all away until only the ashes are left. From those ashes grow the steam of life. But as the roots go deeper and the tree of life grow taller it gets sick and corrupted. One by one the beautiful leaves will fall until only the rotten bark remains until that too burn away with the flame of justice.

These people who chain others and break the hearts of their own people are like the fallen of the leaves. Eventually there will be nothing left to break and soon after the fires will come and wash this land clean of their sins. Nothing and no one will remain and that is as it should be. My elders said that only those who burn like the flame and with the flame of justice can withstand the flame.

But one should always be weary for once the fire has started it will never stop until all is burned away.

I sit and watch the two before me. The girl smell of smothered flame. She is angry yet has no target of mean to unleash the fire inside. If we were in my peoples lands I would take her hunting so that she maid gain solidarity in the pure beauty and cruelty of nature where he flame may be unleashed in a natural way.

The man with marks in his skin walks over to a pile of weapons. He rummages through them thirst picking up a greatsword with much effort. He swings but let's go in mid air and it lost in the rocks near the entrenched near were I will have the girl hide. Then he pull a short sword. Smaller than most swords but far larger than a common knife. He gives it a few light swings. His side is stitched and his stump is wrapped he then makes his way over to a corner. He calls the girl, to him.

He pulls out a canister to which he feeds her. He claims it’s because of the sticks. Are these people so far gone they must lie in their kindness. This place will burn under the weight of its own sin eventually.