• Lillian slept almost soundlessly. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. The home was quiet and dark, with only a candle by her side lit the room. She rolled over on the rough bed and took in a deep breath that set off her rhythmic breathing.

    A scream interrupted her dreams. Lillian shot up, ignoring the blood rushing to her head. More screams of terror joined the first the ice cold night air. Lillian threw herself from the comfort of her bed, grabbing the blanket that had been thrown onto the crudely made wood floor. Her shoes were left behind; there was no time to put them on.

    She took a few steps and ran to another room in the home.

    "Lucan!" She shouted, calling her son's name. He was awake. Cowering in a dark corner. His pale face shone in the candlelight, half hidden in the shadows. The young toddler ran to his mother, grasping her arm desperately. Lillian lifted the boy into her arms and fled. Lucan buried his face into her shoulder. His mother’s golden hair drapped over his face and swayed with every step she took as she ran out into the open.

    She was greated by the visions of men on horses, torches held high above their heads. They searched homes and burned them when their efforts were fruitless. The village was bright with the flames and people hurried to the safety of the mountains. Carcasses, freshly killed, had fallen all over the dirt road. The poor souls hadn’t a chance. Lillian held Lucan’s face in her shoulder, denying him the ability to gaze upon the horror.

    She bolted, running faster than she ever had in her life. She felt the pounding of the hooves behind her and pressed her harder. She ran not for her, but for the bundle in her arms that had so much potential in life.

    The hooves got louder, as did the screams. There was no safety; there was no hiding place; only bloodied dirt and screams; only horror and death.

    She stopped. The hooves stopped. There was so much pain. Lillian collapsed onto her knees, still clutching Lucan. The horsemen behind her swung at her head. She toppled to her side, lifeless.

    Lucan felt the weight of his mother on him. Her warmth faded slowly. Her breath no longer existed. The sound of hooves faded away and the screaming dissipeted. Death’s grip lingered around the village; its smell burned Lucan’s nose.

    "Mama...?" He choked out, his throat tight and eyes watering. He clutched her clothes desperatly, trying to shake her awake. She was sleeping; that was all.