The Tale of Village boy - 3

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the trees, the tide of beasts finally began to ebb. Those that could still move began to retreat, their bestial minds finally grasping that this was a foe they could not overcome.

Ofken stood in the centre of the clearing, his clothing torn and soaked with blood—both his and that of the countless beasts he had slain.

The sword of Xeborh pulsed in his hand; its thirst for battle temporarily sated.

As silence fell over the forest, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind, Ofken turned his gaze back towards the horizon, right in the direction of his village Beymyre.

He had eliminated the threat, as he had set out to do. The village would be safe now, free from the terror of the beasts that had plagued it for so long.

But as he began the walk back, a small voice in the back of his mind—perhaps the last remnant of the boy he had once been—wondered at what cost this victory had come.