‘It isn’t right that we should be burying him at this age. No, it’s not right, nothing is right in this world anymore,’ the farmer said, bitterly. He looked down at the dirty mound that enclosed his son, a boy of so much promise, only to be brutally murdered by the very people that were to govern Pravum.
‘There was nothing you could have done. They would have killed both of you, and where would that have left us?’ His wife said. She tried to be strong, but failed to hold back the tears that filled her eyes.
‘He should have lived. He shouldn’t be in this position. I will never forgive those that murdered him. I will never support the king.’
‘What shall we do now, papa?’ The farmer’s daughter asked. Too innocent to contribute to the disparagement.
The farmer looked away to the distance. ‘They want us to farm for them, but we won’t. Pack your things, we’re going to the Southern Reaches. We’ll be safe there.’