No Place Like Home

by **PeggySnow** Wed 24 Nov 2010, 12:26 pm

Preface

"I see that you felt the need to come back, Willow."
"Tyson," I hissed. I leaped forward ready to tear him to shreds, but he was right in front of me, his silver whip already coiled around my ankle. He stroked my silver curls, then moved onto my pale skin.
"My little star," he murmured, his pine-green eyes softening. "I used to love you." he said softly. His eyes hardened, though his voice was still soft. "Good-bye, love," he whispered, and tugged the whip slightly. I didn't budge.
"You can't hurt me," I snarled, "not again. I won't allow it. I'm staying here." My fingers left my side, and slipped down my back, until I felt my bow. Satisfied, I grabbed it, along with my one last golden arrow.
"You wouldn't," Tyson said, narrowing his eyes.
I pointed the arrow at his heart. "Watch me." I murmured.

I had always been a skilled archer. Mum said it was in my blood, and, I'd believed her. My whole family was skilled at some kind of weaponry or another. And, being poor, this was a great way to earn food. Hunting. Everyday, I'd go out into the woods with my sister Scarlett, my brother Johnathon, and my best friend Tyson. An unlikely bunch we were, all opposites. Me, with my pale blonde hair, and silver eyes, was an archer. Scarlett, with her dark brown hair, and navy blue eyes, was great at navigating. She wasn't skilled per say, but she was absolutely brilliant. And then there were Tyson and Johnathon, looking like twins, with the same messy black hair, and pine-green eyes. Both of them, were skilled with swords. Mum said that we all had "The touch of the Angel". Do I believe it? Yes, yes I do.

Chapter 1
"Great shot!" Tyson's voice rang in my ear, like the startled caw of a blue jay. Nodding a quick thank you, I jogged over to the large, now dead buck. It was, as Tyson had said, a pretty good kill. Quite large, and it would feed my family dinner. I would need Johnathon to me carry it home. Once I'd reached the buck, I tied a red strand of ribbon to one of it's antlers. The ribbon marked that it was my kill, and mine alone.
"All I got was this measly rabbit!" Tyson said, glumly staring down at the bloody remains.
I grimaced. "Well," I began, "what do you expect when you kill a hare with a sword?
It's going to be messy. I told you already, those swords that Johnathon let you borrow are made for deer, and deer alone." I pointed out.
Tyson shrugged. "How much longer do we have before we have to go home? I'd like to try and get at least one more kill." he shrugged. "Sometimes, being poor is fun. At least we have something to do besides, well, nothing."
I frowned. "Hunting isn't exactly fun, Tyson. I personally hate it. You know that the only reason I do this is to put food on the table." It was true. Every time I made a kill, I choked back tears, and said a quick prayer of thanks for its life. Which was the honorable thing to do.
"It's fun."
"No, it isn't. Don't you feel bad when you see the life fade from the game's eyes?" I demanded, thinking back to the first time I'd killed a hare, and how I'd cried over its lifeless snowy-white body, and how Johnathon had had to comfort me, and tell me that, if I said a prayer, everything would be all right.
"I feel a rush," Tyson said, his eyes gleaming. "I feel so proud that I was able to do it- do it myself. Some people can't do this, Willow, they won't."
"Or they can't," I muttered. Tyson may have been my best friend, but there were reasons for that. One, I didn't really know anyone else. Two, I've known the kid since I was born. Three . . . well, there really wasn't a third. I wasn't sure that I liked him though. He was bold, and headstrong. The exact opposite of what I was looking for.
"Can't?" Tyson echoed. "'Can't'? Why, there's no reason why somebody couldn't hunt!"
"Some people are crippled, Tyson. Some people have disabilities!" I shouted. Antsy, I stared up at the bright sun. Nearly noon. "I- we," I corrected myself, "should split up, and try to hunt somewhere else. We may get more game that way. Okay, Tyson?" I asked, looking at his messy hair. When he didn't reply, I repeated, "right, Tyson? We're going to split up."

Before I get too far, there's some things we have to clarify.
The Sight.
We're not sure how many people have it, if anyone at all. Perhaps we're just imagining it? Either way, we all have it- more or less.
It starts off with the laughter. You swear you hear the tinkling laughter of a small child, perhaps behind a tree, or across a river. Following it's pointless, however; you'll never find out where it came from. Scarlett first brought it to my attention after a hunting trip one day. Tyson the week after that, and Johnathon soon after. To me, it'd always happened, but I'd just ignore it, thinking it was just my imagination. It wasn't.