By the time we arrived at the farm my father was slumped against the side of our house, covered in blood and even my child’s eyes could not mistake his vacant expression and the empty look in his eyes for anything but the face of death. My mother was struggling to fight of the men who held her. Astur ran straight towards our mother but another rider grabbed her before she could get there. One of the strangers saw me. He was dress in clearly very high quality, black armour with a red dragon emblazoned on the front, he seamed to be the leader of the riders and was wielding a torch that he had been about to throw into our barn. He looked at me and, smiling, started walking towards me. Brandishing my magic sword I charged at him like a hero from legend. In my head I could already see my glorious victory, I would be know throughout the kingdom as the boy who vanquished an army. I swung the stick with all my strength and the man caught it mid-swing with his free hand and tore it from my grasp. He looked down at me with a twisted grin on the face that still haunts my nightmares, lift the burning torch above his head and brought it down with vicious force into the side of my face. I fell and lost consciousness.