Okay, here’s the prologue for my new fanfic, the ending is a little rushed, but oh well, I tried. I hope y’all like it, I worked hard on it. Feedback welcome!

Jaidie

Fire smoldering hot. Fire burning everything. The acrid smell of smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes. He put an arm over his face but it didn’t help, the smoke was already in his lungs causing them to burn. His vision began to blur and he felt like he was going to pass out from all the smoke he had inhaled. He looked around the burning room, straining his watery eyes.

He took a shaky step. “Pa? Ma?” He called his voice nothing more than a raspy whisper, opening his mouth only allowed more smoke to enter his lungs and he coughed. A raspy painful cough that was followed by a fit of more painful coughs.

“Peter?” Came a faint strained reply.

He cocked his ears. “Pa?” He wiped an arm across his watery, burning eyes.

“Peter? Peter son, is that you?”

“Pa!” he called as he began to make his way through the smoldering house to where he’s Pa’s strained voice was coming from. “Pa, Pa where are you?” He yelled through a fit of burning coughs.

“Peter, Peter son, I’m over here son. I’m over here,” his Pa’s voice was tight.

He made is way towards it. “Pa,” he called as he crawled over a charred piece of wood. Then he froze, his breath coming in short shallow gasps. His Ma lay on the ash-covered floor; blood trickled down her brow. She wasn’t moving, her head was laying on Pa’s left leg. He looked at his Pa, his face was twisted in pain. It didn’t take Peter long to figure out why as his eyes rested on his Pa’s right leg. His stomach flipped at the sight. Pa’s leg was burned badly, there was no longer any fur on his leg, just burnt skin.

Peter looked away feeling dizzy and sick. He felt something warm rise in his throat. He swallowed it down. It was quiet for a moment, the only sound that of the crackling fire as it licked the charred remains of the house.

He felt something touch his arm and looked toward Pa.

“Pa,” he said softly.

His Pa smiled weakly at him, then said, his voice laced with pain, “Peter, you need to get out of here. They’re coming.”

He shook his head. “No, Pa. I can’t leave you here, they’ll kill you. Why can’t you come?”

“Peter, you must leave. Save yourself, son. I can’t come, Peter, my leg…I can’t stand, let alone run. You must go, here.” His Pa grimaced as he untied the scabbard that hung at his side. He held it out to Peter.

It was a beautiful, curved sword, the hilt was golden with sparkling red and green jewels embedded in it. The orange firelight reflected on the jewels making it look like they were moving, dancing even. Peter shook his head.

“No Pa, I don’t want the sword. I want you!”

His Pa opened his mouth to speak but he was cut off by distant shouts. “Get them, all of them!”

His Pa shoved the sword into his arms and pushed him away. “Go Peter, go now while you still can!”

He didn’t want to leave his Pa. Love and fear battled inside him and sadly, much as he hated to admit it, fear won. He tied the scabbard around his waist and ran. He ran like he had never run before pushing his tired self to go faster. He heard shouting behind him.

“Get the lad, don’t let him get away!”

He took a risky glance back and saw four bucks dashing toward him. He pushed himself harder though he felt like he was running faster than he ever had. It still didn’t seem fast enough. He glanced back again and his foot hit a root. He fell forward his left hand was palm up and the weight of his body landed on it. He hit the ground and heard and felt something in his wrist snap.

A cry of agony escaped his lips as a wave of pain crashed over him like a flood. He clutched his arm as tears streaked down his face. The bucks caught up to him, all holding weapons. One of the bucks grabbed his left arm. He screamed as pain shot through his wrist.

The buck smiled and looked down at him with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. “Ha, we have you now little boy, did you really think you could get away from us?” The buck sneered.

Peter acted without thinking. Fear controlled his every move. He drew his Pa’s magnificent sword with his right hand and swung it at the buck’s face. The buck cried out and dropped him, clutching his face. The buck cursed as blood ran through his fingers.

Peter ignored the pain in his wrist as he scrambled to his feet and ran, clenching his teeth to block out the pain. He heard the buck yelling in rage.

“Get him! Get him you fools! I will not be bested by a nine-year-old! Go get him! Kill him if you have to just get him!”

Peter ran faster. He ran till his lungs burned and his legs protested. He strained his eyes and spotted a hole not too far away. He ran toward it. Once he reached it, he dropped into it, breathing hard and biting his tongue to keep from screaming.

He heard the bucks run toward him and leaned against the wall, holding his breath. They passed him and he sighed. His wrist throbbed with a sharp pain that caused him to feel sick. But soon he fell into a fitful sleep.

Peter stayed there in the hole for days, not daring to show himself to the world. He was hungry and thirsty, but fear overcame all of that. He sobbed and wept for his family, he felt so alone, so afraid.

The sun shined down on him as he wept one day, but then a shadow crossed over him. He looked up to see a buck looking down at him. He was about his own age with black fur, except for an orange spot on his nose, his blue eyes seemed to dance.

“Hey there,” the buck said.

Peter forced himself into a ball, clutching his wrist. The buck cocked his head. “Are you hurt?”

He nodded and sniffled. The buck turned around. “Father, come over here. Father, I found someone and he’s hurt awfully bad.”

He heard the sound of footsteps. “What is it, Rexly?”