Jack Meyer felt the trembling hand of his brother, Thomas Meyer, on his grey jacket’s sleeve. It took everything he had to not do the same.

“Your boots too.” Said the man robbing them, water floating around the head of his ax. Several other bandits stood around them, some watching, and others going through their saddlebags. Their horse, which Thomas had been bee riding, was now with the horses of the bandits, stripped of everything except its saddle, which served no purpose for them at the moment.

“I’ll give you mine.” Jack said, his voice strained as he kept it from trembling. “Just let him keep his.” He moved an arm to hide more of his brother from the man’s view, but the man sneered.

“We’ll be takin’ both sets if you please.” Jack bit his limp, hoping the man didn’t see.

He kept his eyes forward, and said in a clear voice; “Thomas. Take them off.” He felt his brother shake his head, but the hand he rested on Thomas’s shoulder squeezed slightly, and the protest faded away. Jack quickly untied the laces of his boots and handed them to the man, his socks inside—they would not help him without the shoes. Jack, more clumsily, followed.

“Your jacket too.” A nasally voice said. It was another one of the bandits who was going through the pitifully light purse that the boy’s had been trying to fatten. Jack put it on top of the boots and handed it to them. The man snatched them away, hardly sparing a glance at the brothers, now stripped of everything except their thin clothes—far too thin for the weather that nipped at their fingers and the cold, wet ground, their toes.

The bandits continued their pillaging of the brothers’ belongings until, finally, they found everything of value—and threw away the rest. Jack’s right hand, the one farthest away from his brother, trembled with a mix of fear, anger, and hatred. Though the last was not targeted towards those robbing them.

“We thank ya’ for your helpful donations to our cause.” The man said, bowing mockingly. “We’ll be sure to put them to good use.” And with that, the leader of the group mounted his horse and began to ride off, his men followed quickly. The brothers watched as their horse, Clive, neighed and thrashed against the grip of the man holding him, but the bandit had the rope tied around the horn of his saddle, and so it did little.

Jack could hear a soft sob from Thomas, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at him. He tried not to show it, as he always tried, but the embarrassment he was feeling was growing faster than he could ever hope to calm.

Finally, he turned to Thomas. His brother was only 12. His hands were at his side, obviously trying to seem as if none of the morning's events bothered him. It was too bad that the tear running down his cheek betrayed him. Jack knelt, his arms grasping the boy in a cold hug. He felt horrible. But then, what could he have done? He had no magic, so swords or bows. He was simply a village boy.

Jack broke the embrace, holding his brother by the shoulders. He looked at him assessingly. Thomas was a rather thin boy. In fact, one might mistake him for being ill. But to those who knew him, his seemingly sickly constitution was a lie. So false was most people's perceptions of Thomas that if Jack were to tell them the truth; that he was the most agile person you had ever seen—and if you gave them some examples, they’d probably laugh at you heartily thinking it was a well thought out joke.

Thomas was going to be a fantastic hunter, Jack knew. The boy already spoke of it. When he had killed his first hare, Thomas had harped about to their mother for days after.

Jack on the other hand was much more interested in smithing. He certainly had the build for it. His shoulders were wide, his forearms thick, and his hand’s large and calloused. He had spent many nights hammering away in the shed at the edge of the forest where their lodge sat. He didn’t do it to become better at the art of smithing, per say. He couldn’t, really. He had a forge, although Jack liked to call it something else entirely, but the forge only ever managed to get something hot enough to barely mold with the strikes of his hammer.

But it was enough.

His goal was just to build the muscles that would be required of him when he became of age at 17 to be an apprentice. It was a dream he had long dreamt of, and many day’s he did nothing but daydream of the hot fires and deafening clangs—much to the annoyance of his mother, bless her.

Jack grabbed his brother in another quick hug before turning his back to the boy. He clapped his hands behind his back to make sure he had the boy’s attention. “Up we go.” He said and Thomas backed away.

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“NO!” He yelled. “You don’t have any shoes and it’s cold.” Jack said in the voice of a brother who didn’t want to deal with the antics of their sibling. “Neither do you. I’m 13, Jack. I can take care of myself.” All evidence was pointing to the contrary. His toes were starting to turn blue, and Jack could see shivers shaking the boy’s hands. In truth, Jack’s own feet were no better, but Jack made sure to dig them into the muddy ground, out of sight.

“Please, Tom.” Jack said weakly. Thomas averted his gaze, but eventually was lifted up on his brother's back. Jack grunted quietly at the weight of his brother. It had been quite a long time since he had felt it…maybe he wasn’t as thin as his hands and arms made him out to be.

Jack began walking along the worn mud road that led to his village. They had been at the Shepherd’s empty-handeds that they could find a goat for cheap, but alas, the coins their mother had given them hadn’t been enough, and so they were forced to return empty-handed—and in more ways than one.

It had been a risky decision to leave the village. But the goat would have allowed them to make and sell cheese which could have easily gotten them through the winter. The chance’s of them being caught by bandits was high, but they had all hoped for the best.

As they walked along the road, Jack was becoming dangerously aware of the numbness in his feet, and the distance he still had to go. The Shepherds farm was around five miles from where they were, and ten from the village—the shepherd was a rather reclusive man.

It was a relatively quick ride on horseback, but on foot, on the uneven road, and with the early winds of winter, it was going to be harder than Jack wanted to admit.

Eventually, either because he couldn’t feel his feet or because of exhaustion, Jack tripped. He only barely kept Thomas from falling, face first, into the mud. Jack had to just kneel there, taking in deep, cold breaths. He felt the weight of his brother disappear, and then the not-so-warm embrace of Thomas. Jack leaned his head back, his eyes closed.

Slowly, he stood, keeping his brother's hand in his. HE tried to get Thomas back on his back, but the boy would not be convinced again. Then they heard hooves clopping wetly behind them. Jack grabbed Thomas and dove into the shrubbery on the side of the road. It provided only the barest of cover as the once-green bushes were now greying and becoming rather sad.

Jack kept a hand over Thomas’s mouth as he watched the road intently. The sound grew louder and louder until he could finally see them. A rider and their horse. They got closer and closer, the horse neighing whenever its foot got stuck in ruts. The rider seemed inexperienced as he battled with the reins to keep the horse going forward.

Jack kept his full attention on the rider, making sure he and his brother were still as the forest around them. At the rider's side was a scabbard, the hilt of a sword at it’s end. On his belt were several pouches, some giving Jack an odd feeling. The rider had bright blond hair and vibrant blue eyes that, although he was focused on his horse, seemed to scan his surroundings purposely. And on his face, almost unnaturally, were what looked like burn marks tracing down his cheek from his hair. Then he stopped just before the brothers. His gaze slowly drifted to their hiding spot. He cocked his head as if examining the spot.

“There’s no point in hiding.” The man said. He was obviously speaking to the hiding figures. Jack didn’t move, but he felt his brother break away from his grasp and step out of the vegetation. “What do you want?” Thomas asked, his voice shaking slightly. Jack stepped out after him, his arm around his brother.

The man smiled. He couldn’t have been much older than Jack himself. “I could feel your pain.” he looked both of them over. “Hogwash,” Thomas said. The man shrugged indifferently. “If it makes you feel any better; I saw your hair.” He gestured to their thick black hair. Thomas looked away, embarrassed.

“Why did you really call for us?” The man raised an eyebrow at the older brother. “What if you were bandits out to take my things?” He asked jokingly.

“We would never!” Stated Thomas before Jack could put his hand over his brother’s mouth. The rider chuckled. “Indeed.” Slowly, he dismounted and rubbed his back with his thumbs.

“This is no place to be barefoot. I will take you as far as I can, and all I ask in return is that you guide me in the direction I wish I go afterward.” He said, extending a hand to the brothers. Jack kept a firm grip on Thomas.

“Why should we trust you?” He asked. The man looked down at their feet. “Do you really have a choice? You're not going to be able to walk much more.” Jack gritted his teeth.

Then Thomas moved forward, hitting a sore spot on Jack's hand to release his grip. Jack let out a soft curse at the sudden pain. slamming a hammer into one's hand was not advisable, he thought.

The man lifted him up onto the horse easily, we'll hidden muscles showed beneath his heavy clothes. The man clasped his hands so as to give Jack a foothold, and he reluctantly accepted. The brothers were soon grateful as their feet began to dry. They finished the journey Quickly from there, covering the Last few miles in only a half hour. The town slowly came into view, the water tower signaling its approach.

Jack looked down at the man. He was still keeping his eyes focused, aware.

“What's Your name, Mr?” Asked Thomas. The boy clearly saw the man slightly screwed in the light of his ever more comfortable feet.

The man looked up for a moment before looking down at the road. “Tay Mallor.”