• Warning: some graphic parts, I suppose... not for me but may disturb some people. This particular story is not true, not even based on anything really. And no, this part does not have anything to do with a Nightstone; I'm getting to that.

    Now, ON WITH THE STORY:

    "Gallaway! Get down from there!" Warren yelled up into the tree where a young woman was perched. The breeze pulled lightly at her long brown curls and short blue dress, framing the playful expression on her face.

    "But you can see the mountains so clearly from up here!" She called back, flashing a smile before stepping barefooted onto the next branch.

    "Gallaway, you can't be serious. Dinner is almost ready." Warren crossed his arms and stared at the sunset that sparkled in the dew on the tall trees that surrounded them.

    "I am serious! Come on up; I'll prove it." She was suddenly leaning forward on the lowest branch, a few feet from Warren's head.

    "I don't have time, Gallaway." Warren argued, looking nervously to the small cottage. "Father's going to get cross if we don't hurry back."

    "It'll only be a moment." Gallaway smiled encouragingly and grasped his wrist.

    Warren glanced back to the home where the thick smoke billowed from the chimney, the stones glistening from a fresh summer's rain.

    "Only a moment." He finally sighed and grabbed the branch under Gallaway. She happily danced to the next branch as Warren swung eaisly onto the first.

    "Now there, see? Straight through the two peaks." Gallaway leaned close once they made it about ten limbs upward. She pointed with a steady hand, gesturing to the bright light that was quickly disappearing from the sky. The shadows made figures in the sky and made the two mountains stand out against the darkening blue and frequent white of clouds.

    "It's amazing." Warren agreed, tilting his head to get a better view.

    "And to think someone didn't believe me." Gallaway laughed and crouched, clasping her hands around the bough under her bare feet. She swung gently to the last branch and landed softly on the wet grass at the foot of the tall tree, Warren following close behind.

    "Now seriously, Father is going to be irritated now." Warren groaned and dashed to the wooden door. Gallaway chased him inside and shoved the thick door shut behind her.

    On the hearth in the far corner, an aged man crouched with a stick, prodding the logs that sat on the bottom of the fireplace. His broad face was outlined in the light from the yellow fire, an aggrivated look was created by the light.

    "Warren." He said in a gruff voice. Warren smirked grimly at Gallaway and rushed to the man's side.

    "Yes, Father?" He said quietly, standing erect like Father had commanded a million times.

    "You're late."

    "Only by thirty secon--"

    "Thirty seconds after dark." The man stood up to look down his long nose at Warren, who cowarded against the wall.

    "Better stand up straight boy." The man warned and smacked Warren upside the head with the hot stick. Warren yelped in pain and grabbed the side where hot ashes landed on his skin.

    Gallaway lurched forward to help, but stopped immediately when the man turned to her with a crazed look in his eye. Gallaway lowered her head in submission, and when he turned away, she looked up helplessly at her big brother.

    Another strike in the side, the branch breaking as it hit Warren's thin shirt. Warren whimpered and straightened as far as he could with the burn on his side and head.

    "Father." Gallaway's voice cracked with emotion, and the man swivelled to her angrily.

    "It was my fault for making him late. Please don't punish him for that." Gallaway fell to her knees and bowed her head. Tears fell in her lap, and the man stiffened.

    "Fine. Get out of my sight, boy." The man warned, throwing the stick in the fire. Warren bounded away into the next room, hesitating in the doorway to see what would happen to his sister.

    The man grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her up until she was standing, then slapped her across the face. The sound was repugnant and echoed in the small room. Gallaway half-closed her eyes as her head fell limply to her chest, a red mark already spreading across the side of her face.

    "To bed with you." The man turned sharply and sat once more on the hearth. Only then did Warren notice the bottles that were spread unevenly across the floor, some empty and some not quite, some tipped over and some still spinning slowly.

    So that's what made him so angry. He was drunk. Warren thought and watched with worry as Gallaway uneasily made her way across the wooden floor, a dead look in her blue eyes. Warren winced as he straightened to let her pass in the doorway, then pulled the blanket shut over the opening.

    "Gallaway, I--"

    "Warren, how's your head?" She asked, eyes still red and tearstains still displayed across her red face.

    "Um... it hurts a little, but not much now." He responded, but winced when she lightly probed the open wound.

    "You're lying." Gallaway whispered and ripped a long piece from her already short blanket, then wrapped it delicately around his bleeding head.

    Warren sighed sadly as she examined his side; it was bleeding as well but not as badly. She tiptoed to their water bucket and dunked the washcloth in the liquid. Upon returning, she dabbed at the injury against Warren's oppositions.

    "Gallaway, you didn't have to do that." Warren murmered in her ear, and she stood up with narrowed eyes.

    "If I didn't, you probably wouldn't have gotten away with what you did. He might've killed you! You know how he gets when he's drunk." She said and continued dressing the wound.

    "So you saw the bottles too?"

    "No, I could smell his breath from across the room." She scrunched her nose at the thought and finished dabbing the wound clean.

    "I guess I'm just used to it." Warren muttered and frowned.

    "I don't know why he only does this to you." Gallaway shook her head and bit her lip, fixing the bandage that wound around his head.

    "It isn't obvious?" Warren asked unbelievingly. Gallaway paused to look him in the eye. "You're his favorite. He adores you."

    "Apparently not." She uttered under her breath and stroked her bruised cheek before turning away to the bunk-beds. She climbed onto the top bunk like she had for years and years and sat in silence on the frayed blanket. Warren carefully laid on his thin pillow on the undamaged side, then took a deep breath to relax himself.

    "Warren?" Gallaway whispered. Warren turned his head slightly as she hung her head over the edge. Her hair tumbled like a brown waterfall, barely damaged from their father wrenching on it.

    "Do you think we'll ever get away?" She asked quietly, staring intently into his grey eyes. "Will we ever find a place away from here?"

    "I don't know." Warren admitted just as silently, averting his eyes from the enormous bruise that was still spreading across the half of her face. Gallaway nodded in understanding, then half-smiled.

    "I love you." She said and disappeared over the edge once more.

    "Love you too." Warren sighed and closed his eyes, drifting slowly into the dreamworld full of monsters with red-hot claws and beady eyes.