Arabella - Never despair, there are those who care.

[Krazy]

I. A trauma in the night, death in sight.

A piercing scream that shook the child to her core, not least because it was her mother's. The woman with a child in her arms, stumbles, manages but one more step and slumps to the ground. "Run Bel," in a faint whisper is all she could manage before blood trickles from her mouth and her eyes close. The child sees the axe lodged in her back.

The child hears the jeers of the warband. The sound of ill-fitting armour and crude weapons banging on shields becomes louder. A small war band of green-skinned creatures approach, large, small, some riding wolves. The child sees her lifeless mother on the floor and tries to rouse her, not understanding and starts to cry.

The band comes closer laughing at the sight of the young infant, when a small creature decides it wants the kill. A viciously sharp dagger in hand, laughing maniacally as it draws closer, savouring the thought of a child for it's next meal it raises its hand to strike. Thwomp.

Perhaps it was a kindness not to understand, perhaps it would have been even kinder had she forgotten completely, but it was not to be. And thus, the young Arabella is roused from her sleep in a state of terror. Drenched in sweat and breathing heavily she tries to control her breathing. After some time she takes a candle from a sconce and seeks Brother Joral.

"It happened again, Brother."

A warm smile, kind and gentle, he places his hand on her shoulder, reaches over to a washbowel, dips a cloth in, wrings the excess water out and mops the girls brow. "There, there, young one, would you like to sleep here tonight and we'll talk about it in the morn." The girl nods slowly.

The man, fetches a small draught, "Here, drink this it will help you sleep," the girl takes the cup from his outstreched hand and she quaffs it down. She settles down, and before long the draught brings a feeling of drowsiness, her eyelids become to heavy to hold up and gently close.