Double-Edged Words

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A boy no older than five picked some wildflowers that grew by the side of the dirt road. "Red, red, red." He sang, plucking the matching blooms. Careful not to crush the stems, he ran back into the small village nestled between the forest and the far hills of Vria.

"Boy, slow down! You're going to trip and fall again!" Shouted the old lady that lived next to the butcher as she swept her porch.

His small feet pounded the ground as he ran past the houses of the twelve families that made up this hamlet. Leaving his thin sole shoes riddled with holes by the back door. The wood creaked under his hasty steps towards the farthest room in the house, announcing his arrival to everyone inside.

"Iskander?" A voice came from the other side of the door.

The boy opened the door and responded, "Morning, Mama."

A woman with auburn hair that cascaded down the side of her pillow halfway to the floor lay with her legs propped up on a small bed. When she set her sight on the timid boy, her brown eyes overflowed with fondness, and with a voice as soft as a petal, she said, "Good morning, my little cuddle bug." With great effort, she pushed herself upright and extended her arms towards him, "Where's my hug?" Iskander pranced to his mother, and she squeezed him in a tight hug. Little hands pushed the blooms in front of his mother's face, and with a gasp, she placed a hand over her heart as if it was the first time the boy had brought her flowers. "Are these for me?"

"Yes."

"They're beautiful, and they're mama's favorite color. Thank you, cuddle bug." Pulling the boy towards her, she said between kisses. "I.Love.You." His giggles were music to her ears while she planted a kiss on his cheek, nose, and forehead.

"I love you too, mama." His responding smile pierced her heart and filled it with endless adoration.

"Now, let's go have some breakfast." She swung her swollen legs to the side of her bed and, with a little help from her son, stood up and walked to the kitchen.

"My love. How many times have I told you to stay in bed?" Said the man standing by an old iron stove. Due to his stature and the low ceiling of the house. The man had to incline his head slightly forward, making him seem like a giant to an already frightened little Iskander. The man's grey eyes locked on the flowers in his mother's hands, and he seethed, "Were you picking flowers again?"

Iskander cowered behind his mother, and she placed a hand on the man's chest. "He just wants to make mommy happy."

"Yes, and he should make dad happy by not being such a girl. No self-respecting boy would go around picking flowers." The spoon in his hand stirred and almost spilled the contents of the pot.

With a sigh, she turned to the boy and said, "Go, join your brothers at the table."

A gang of four teenagers—whose ages ranged from thirteen to seventeen—cheered each other in their makeshift game at the table.

"Hey, booger face." Said one of the boys as he threw a paper ball for another to catch.

Hopping onto one of the chairs, Iskander waited patiently for his meal.

After a while, their mother unsteadily went to sit at the table, prompting the teenagers to greet in unison. "Hi, mama."

"Good morning, my beautiful boys. What today's schedule?'

"I'm going to go logging with dad." The oldest son said.

"We're going hunting with Mr. Craigson." The twins chorused with big smiles on their faces.