Chapter 679: A Better Life (Part One)
Eamon shifted uncomfortably when Ashlynn asked the question but this time, the source of his discomfort was the man standing next to him. For several quiet moments, Eamon stared at the bound and gagged Darragh, watching the soaking wet man shake and shiver in the chill autumn air and wondering if he’d ever really understood the young man he took under his wing.
The cold autumn air and wet clothing only accounted for half of Darragh’s trembling. The rest flowed from a deep, seething hatred that burned in his eyes as he glared at the two men who had betrayed their very humanity to become the puppets of a witch and demons. But as much as he hated them at this moment, he hated himself even more for thinking he could deliver a warning to the knights who now sat in judgement above him.
He’d tried. He’d done everything he could in the hopes that he could stop them from falling for Lady Ashlynn and her bewitching ways. He tried to warn them. Certainly he hoped they’d be grateful enough for his warning that they would reward them for it.
He never really expected to receive the title and knighthood that Eamon had once suggested they might earn if they could escape the demon fortress and bring back Lady Ashlynn but he would have been content with a small bag of gold sovereigns and the chance to buy some land of his own somewhere in the domains of the eastern barons who were farther away from the demon menace. But now, none of that would ever happen and he hated everyone who had snatched that hope away from him.
"When the refugees started trickling in," Eamon said without taking his eyes off the kneeling figure of Darragh as the younger man stewed in his own rage. "Sir Ollie needed our help keeping everyone fed. We’d been kept under guard but since he needed our help, we took it as an opportunity. I, I never expected to make that much of a difference in people’s lives," Eamon said as memories flickered behind his eyes.
Looking back, it had been the children who affected him the most. It didn’t matter if they were from the Heartwood Clan, the Horned Clan, the Nightweavers or anyone else... Children were children and nothing was worse to a growing child than the pain of an empty belly. An empty belly meant their parents couldn’t provide for them and worse, couldn’t protect them from the dangers of the world.
An empty belly was pain that gnawed at children, keeping them awake at night when they should be dreaming of better days. It was there when they woke, tearing away any pleasant dreams they had with an immediate reminder of everything they’d lost and how much they were suffering.
Children could make games out of rocks and sticks. They would play in trees or bare dirt and laugh and dance with nothing but hands slapping knees to give them music. They could find joy in anything, even when they had nothing, but they couldn’t do any of that if an empty belly drained them of the strength to move or gnawed away at their hopes for a better day.