Forgotten Sons (Part I)

Tales of a new forgotten son have kept this small ill-forgotten town from collapsing over on it self ever since the wailing winds came.
From the times of dawn till dusk do the howls and winter war cries run through the streets,
Leaving each child and worker with ears a blistering blue and minds an empty icescape.

It had not been like this before.
The last days of snow had never pumped our blood this cold.

We have not been taught of simple survival nor foraging technique,
For us to survive these painful times.
Have we grown accustomed to the stories of our forefathers that no frost shall wither our forest?
And that no tongues shall freeze as we speak word to our families?
Regardless of the answer,
We have only ourselves to blame for this predicament.
Andreis should have been fed proper attention and love,
As keeping him here in chain and rust within the tower's walls had only done us wrong.

He had decided to leave us through his own bloodied consent.

The Son's of Helios are running low in these lands and we'd have to prepare our tools for another hunting.
They were thought to be the children of those raised in the Southern Lands of a warmer climate,
Who have been abandoned after birth; forgotten.
But the men of the whispers have told of another who is soon to be crossed out off the ancient scrolls.

Their rarity is a shame, but we must make do if we want our crops to grow and this chill to fathom.
We need sunlight to return and the price of one child hunted towards our captivity for the next millennium will have to suffice.

An alternative to this tradition will have to be found after we have our light.

15/01/14
Caroline Schmiermann