I lifted my head off my sleeping pallet. There were barely audible hoof beats that lingered in the air, and thundered in my head. They were too many to be a returning merchant, and too few to be a band of our horse men, but they were enough to put fear into my heart. I groped in the dark of my families hut to my brother.
"What is it Olwen?"
I felt my brother's hand touch my shoulder from inside the blackness. He nudged closer to me.
"Do you hear it?"
Gathis assured me that I was either hearing things, or dreaming. I sighed as I laid my head back down to sleep. The thundering beats were still there, and I could not explain to my brother why I could hear horses.
I was seven when my village was attacked.
I was told later that they were a British war band that came on a raid. For I saw nothing when they came; though I heard much. I cannot see. I am blind. The first thing that assaulted my senses that morning was a yell. It was Cavan. Our chieftain. He was relieving himself in the night when he saw a torch. The next thing I heard was his strangled cry as a sword rammed itself through his gullet. Gathis, and my father were up, and rummaging though our home for weapons. I was by the wall, and one of my sisters was crying near me. Everything happened so fast. There were screams of men killed, children murdered, and women ravaged out side my home, and the heavy footsteps of the Britons out side our door. I screamed as I felt something very hot fall on my hand. It was burning thatch. Our house was on fire. I heard my mother scream, and felt myself be picked up. It was my father. I knew for who else could it have been?
He yelled, and I felt the jostling of him running, crouched, out of my birthplace. I should have been scared, but within the arms of my strong father all my fears had been dissolved. I felt the hot aura of our burning dreams on my face and arms, and forgot all my courage be striped from my body as I heard a shout.
It was accented, and Britain. My father halted, and turned. I heard, and felt the whish of a blade inches above my head, and then I was covered in a sickly, warm liquid. My father fell, and I was taken from his arms, and the blood wiped from my face.
I was screaming, and my village was burning. A great tribute to the Gods. I awoke to a foot in my side. I sat up, with my head reeling, then I began to cry. There was a harsh voice above me.
The British accent terrified me, and I began to wail for my father, and mother. He was hitting me when I heard another voice. It was a young boy. Not as old as Gathis, but younger than myself. He stopped the man, and took my hand.
"Can you stand?"
His voice was kind, and it reminded me of my beloved older brother. Though I was wary of him just the same He was still a Briton. The other man, who had hit me grunted in pain as I heard a thump. The boy had hit him.
"Why you little-"
I cringed as I heard him get up. Fearing another blow.
"Korath wants all the children of this village, and if you harm them you will have his rage to contend with."
I should have been elated to find that there were other children of my village alive, but I was too busy crying again to hear. The boy knelt to me again.
"Come with me."
He waited for me to get up of my own will, and then sighed in exasperation. He gathered me in his arms, and began to carry me away. I was screaming again in protest, hitting, and kicking with my small arms and legs. He endured it all patiently, but dropped me when I bit him.
"Look you stubborn brat! Give it up, and come with me!"
"NO! No, no, no, no, no!"
"Rrrgg! Shall I introduce myself?"
He cut in through my yells.
"My name is Werath, and I am under training to be a Druid."
"My- Name is Olwen, and I want my father!"
That was my first encounter with my best friend. Wreth. He was twelve at the time. That was also my first encounter with the Druid Korath. He came with the Britons, and out of all the children of my village, he picked me. I still remember how he lined us up, and examined us. I was still crying when he came to me.
"What is your name?"
"Can you sing Olwen?"
He was looking in my mouth.
"You certainly do seem to have a pure voice."
"How many fingers do I hold up?"
I could tell he had a hand in front of my face. I grabbed it, and began to feel it, then held my hand how his was. With four fingers up.
"No, no! Count! Tell me without touching them!"
He was speaking sternly to me, and my lower lip was trembling. I was blind, I could not count, but it was Amarh, a boy older than even Werath.
"Olwen is blind, can you not see yourself?"
The Druid grabbed my face, and opened my eyes with his fingers.
I was struggling against his strong grip, and at the humiliation of being grabbed so.
"Olwen the white!"
I was picked while all the others were given as slaves to the men who had destroyed my home, and I was taken away by Korath, and Werath. I cried bitterly for my parents, but soon forgot them. It was Gathis that I longed for. My brother had been my best friend, and one of my few protectors. Though I gained new protectors. I found that Korath was only a younger man, 33, and he had adopted Werath into his protection, and training when Werath was four.
A/N: Aroo! This is my new story! I hope we all like it! I'm still debating amongst myself on if I'll make this a long one or not. I don't know. Please review! Mooooo!