Haidley V-VIII

A danger often occurs
whenever an itch arises
or whenever a hellhound
farts among the weeds.


Many years passed by

since that fateful evening.

The assassination ushered little

other than a change

of rulers. Nothing also

changed for the common

peoples. Young Haidley grew

fast in a world

of pickpockets and murderers,

proudly doing well unless

it was to receive

a box around the

ear for not pulling

his weight with the

band of thieves he

now belonged to.



Slender, tall, with a

penchant for sweets, his

bright hazel eyes spelled

a streak of cheekiness

that was a bane

for his masters and

elders but which endeared

him easily to his

friends and peers. His

name became known quickly

among the seventeen clans

of thieves that pocketed

the city therein. Among

his clan, the Ravens,

he became one of

its sub-leaders, an

honour he took lightly

for he soon learned

a title makes someone

a target for others.



And Haidley hated being

a target for anything or

anyone.  But the honour

was his nonetheless because

the leader of their

clan also happened to

be his adopted mother.

Senna glared at her

young rascal. And rascal

he was, for he

was always causing mischief.

But his smile when

it burst forth through

his grime and muck

made her heart melt,

like it did all

those years ago when

she found him and

took him for her

own.  “Come here boy!”

she barked, her croaky

voice adding further authority

to her command. Haidley

trudged forward, half expecting

a thrashing followed by

a pat. “Wha’?” he

said as he approached.



“Wha’ did I hear

about you and Klax?

Seems you two got

into all sorts of

strife with the Rabbits.”

Haidley’s face hid his

sudden embarrassment. He swore

to himself he would

bop Klax one. It

had been a daring

strike into the hated

Bunnies territory. But somehow

it went wrong cos

Klax got cold feet.

The fact that there

was now a dead Rabbit

to explain didn’t exactly

help him as he

faced down his mother.



© 2017 L. Tafa


Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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