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58 Amit Bobrov
Edmund fled this horrid child, in the darkness, taking off
his armor and shirt, to inspect his injury. Beneath his armor

his skin was gray and dead, and yet there was a scorch mark,
where a child’s fist made contact with his armored flesh. As far
as Edmund knew, he was virtually immune to harm. He could
survive cuts and bruises easily, as he has done when attacked
by bandits. His flesh easily knitted together and he did not
bleed. Yet, this child, this skinny, brown child had struck a blow,
and it hurt like an inferno burning his flesh. Edmund reasoned
that perhaps there were limitations to his powers. Perhaps God
or the Devil, for their own reasons had made him vulnerable to

the innocence of children. Though he could probably endure
many such blows from children, Edmund would not take the
chance. He would wait and study. There were questions that
demanded answers. How could the boy have sensed him, when
no-one else could? How could he have been damaged by a
child? Edmund decided to postpone attacking Ivar…for now…
the dead has time.

When Ivar returned the following week he had no idea that
his daughter and I were in love or that we were in any mortal
danger. We kept a façade of ‘business as usual’, up trying to
prevent his knowledge of and subsequent interference in our
romance. I knew that I had gravely wronged him, and the
rational side of me screamed every time my eyes met his. But
that other, irrational side of me believed that love conquers
everything and that Ivar too, once he witnessed the purity of
our love, would come to accept it and approve.

“How fared you handling my shop?” Ivar asked with a raised
brow one day, as I held a slab of iron with his pliers and he
worked his hammer on it.
“I fink I fared well,” I replied between blows.