A rumour is on the tip of every citizen’s tongue. A whisper of an estate in flames and a murmur of death are now accompanied by frantic looks. Amongst them, unknown and ripped from his life, Connor watches his life change from nobility to a petty thug. In his disgrace, he looks to the high society, and those that cast his family to death and poverty. The city murmurs a rebellion in the rumour mill.
Burned to its foundations, slaughtered ‘til dead, gold gone, the master missing amongst the numbers murdered and his son- what son was the outcry! What son made it? He had had many sons they jeered and shook at her with their fat clenched hands not thinking that her fragile state would shatter or that the flush her cheeks was only make-up and behind it she hid her true face. He smiled at her admiring from his low position, her standing as strong as she could despite the fact she was mauled by greasy hands and teased nearly to tears. So strong that she spoke solidly despite a few stumbles and rushed faster each time to correct herself as if she was trying to memorize something she had heard rather than seen.
She seemed to shine as she shouted louder into the crowd that he was alive- the middle son. Over and over again she cried out her truth. The soldier, the joker and the fool that stood firm but knew to run fast when it was needed was alive. Connor, she cried, he’s alive and well.