"I'm no saint," Brian wiped sweat from his brow, "but I'm no Rebel scum."

"Once, a few years ago, Gage had asked why they tried to relive the war. Brian answered with his fists, so his son had learned tact, when it came to the Sons of the Confederacy. "Why are those," he searched the ice covered grass for the words vile enough, "Those Rebs bothering you?"

Brian stopped. The silence drew out, and Gage felt his guts churn. His father stepped out, closed the door, "We won the war; that is why they never let it go."

"They're rich," Gage shook his head.

"The one thing we have in common with them," Brian nodded, "is we're both hold to the Blood, through and through. We hurt them, after the Civil War, and we should have hanged them! But, we failed, and the only ones to survive was the La Voison woman." He still had the journal from his ancestor, which had tears stains on the pages. They had hung their slaves, so to never let them go. "They wouldn't dare hurt those ladies, even then."

Gage blinked, "The Hill Witches."

"Hush that tongue, BOY!" he snapped. "The youngest is gone, but I think she'll be back, too much Blood of hers here. Miss La Voison, she dabbles in things no man should, but Rutger the Sheriff respects her."

"Sorry," he blushed.

"Don't tell me you're sorry," Brian shook his head, "I know you are." He withdrew the paper, move absent.

Gage searched about desperate for any subject besides his failing. "What does that mean?" he pointed at the paper. Words are representations of things, thoughts and feelings," he tried to smile, "so, what is that supposed to represent?"

A tremor raced through his arm, and Brian squeezed his elbow. In a wave of bruised purple flame, the world was a desert. The eldritch utterance formed as a whisper, like the death exhalation of the cosmos. A finger jerked, and redlines, thin as razors, raced over the skin. Corporal Farley shook out a cigarette, and his face became a death's head; the eldritch flame burned in his lack luster gaze. Kayden had that spark in his pupils, his battered mind offered. "I killed and I killed," he whispered to that distance horizon, as it was torn open. He looked at the paper, which stared back. Even incomplete, it savaged any who looked upon it. His buddy grinned at him, world dream-like.

"Do you want me to look at it?" Gage raised his hand.

Brian turned his head, bruised purple sparked deep in his eyes. "He's coming," he gazed upon the poor rendering on the paper, and then to his son. "Just like him," he accused. Cheri had dated Kayden, before they got together. She had gotten pregnant soon after they started dating. Brian pointed at him, "You are too smart, and it'll get you into trouble, one day."

Gage lowered his hand, "I know, Dad."

"Do you think anyone cares you're smart?" he asked, nasty laugh jumped out. "No one cares," Brian shook his head, "even if you're better than everyone else, it'll get you nowhere. Truth be told, they'll hate you more."

"Yeah," he looked away. The teachers favored the kids from good homes, he already knew. They punished me because of you, Gage thought and felt tears sting.

"You have to have money or connections," he shook his head. "Why can't you be like Moxie?"! Brian stepped closer, a bloody musk hung over him.

"I'm sorry," he looked down. At least Moxie and Cheri were safe, Gage thought, and his hand rose to the scar.

"Stop that," he barked, and jerked his son's hand away from his face. "I would never hurt Moxie!" Brian turned with a curse, "GO, write your silly stories, or better yet, play with that stick." He walked back into the house. Brian listened to the memory of Farley. "He's coming, the Gallows King," he whispered in a lost tone of the damned and forgotten.

Gage frowned, but closed his mouth, before he could ask Brian what he had said. He watched him stagger back into the house. "Gallows King," he said, thought of the symbol Brian had drawn. A word that cannot be expressed in two dimensions, and even three was insufficient. Gage had read that certain drugs could cause users to show mental illness like symptoms. "Dad has been taking a lot of that junk," he muttered with a shiver.

"Who're you talking to, Sir Gage the Brave?" Moxie asked, and kicked one of the rogue creek stones.

Gage jumped, "Moe, you gave me a fright."

"Sorry, I was working on my ninja skills," she put her fingers together and bowed. "I have your sword, good knight," she presented a cured piece of pine, which was hand carved.

He looked at the house, "I better not."

"I want to play," Moxie frowned, but slid the wooden sword into her belt.

"We will, but," he looked back at the house, "Dad is behaving strangely."

Her pout turned to a smile, "What about a story?" She jittered, tutu flopped. "They're always so good!"

"I read you the last one," Gage shivered, "I haven't even started on another, since all of this happened." Her face fell. "Sorry, Moe," he smiled, "I'll try to start another one soon."

"Will it have a samurai princess, who has a pet dragon and an unbreakable shield?"! Moxie put her hands together; big boots of an absurd pink crushed the ice smothered grass.

"Sure," Gage laughed. "It'll be a challenge."

She threw her arms around him, "I love you." Moxie held him, but pulled back, eyes widened. "Did Daddy do something bad?"

Gage's eyes moved from hers, for the hope there was unbearable. He wished he could lie. "Yeah, he did something bad, Moe," he patted her head.

"It hurt Mommy, didn't it, Sir Gage?" her eyes filled.

"Yes," he blushed, felt his eyes sting.

"Daddy didn't just cheat on Mommy," Moxie held her chin up, defiant but tears fell, "he cheated on us!"