Page 48 - full

The Journals of Raymond Brooks 47
her!’ I thought.
“You think I’m beautiful?” She asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “No!”
“Well, how can you tell if you keep looking at the floor?” She
asked, and I raised my eyes to look into hers.
“I fink you’re beautiful, Ingrid, daughter of Ivar,” I replied,
feeling my heart beat too fast and my face grow a shade too
red. I looked away like a frightened mouse cornered by a cat.
“Oh, will you stop pestering the boy!” Ivar called, and I took
my opportunity to get away from her as quickly as possible
while they exchanged loud words in a language I could not

understand. I hated her for sure, and wanted her gone; that’s
why she put a spell on me back then, to force me to love her.
I’ve heard before about the spells women can cast, I was always
certain I could resist, I didn’t even like them. They were loud
and annoying.
Days passed, and my fears came to pass. Ivar spent his free
time with Ingrid, exchanging words in their native language.

Though he kept his word and continued to teach me both his
craft and the sword, his affection shifted to his daughter now.
I felt discarded, and resented them both for it. Silently, my
dissatisfaction grew day by day, and a selfish rage consumed
me. I worked harder every day and tried to excel at everything
I did, yet Ivar’s attention and praise remained focused on his
daughter, and I ... I felt like a strange-ling amongst them, more
now than ever. Is it so surprising that upon feeling discarded,
I thought of my parents once again, and the life I had before

Drentwych? The more I thought, the further away from them I
wanted to be. But I couldn’t leave; there wasn’t a place for me
to go, and the world outside is cruel and harsh.