The Origin of the Florid Sword part 4

The wind was brisk. The sky, gray. As was the task of the day.

Gammon carried his wife into town. He was weary. She was dead. Several people stared wondering what exactly had happened.

He walked through the the town slowly. His feet felt as if they were rocks instead of flesh. His head was pounding from the blow of the fangs. Several of his friends came out of their shops. He relayed the story to them.

“Oh Gammon!” Was the shared exclamation of the crowd and some of Gammons and Yona’s closest friends mourned greatly aloud and helped Gammon carry Yona to the graveyard.

They had a lovely impromptu service for Yona. As was declared in the funeral, she was an inestimable treasure. Loved by all who knew her. She was a good wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend.

Gammon was asked to speak, but he had not the heart.

The funeral ended, the well wishes made, and the party departed. Leaving Gammon alone in the rain.

A fortnight passed slowly. Gammon lived, but not well. He worked hard, and slept little. And even though his friends came knocking on his door to see how he fared, he did not socialize. He was fast becoming a hermit.

A knock sounded at the door. He decided to answer this one. But not in a friendly manner. He had decided that enough was enough. He swiftly opened the door, ready to pick a fight.

“Hello Gammon. How are you?” It was the Sammer Salween, the farmer from down the road.

“I brought you some fruits and vegetables from the garden.”

Gammons anger swelled up.

“I don’t need any sympathy from you Salween! You just want to rub in you own fortune! You have a family back home, I HAVE NOTHING! Your crops have been the best this year, and mine have died just like my wife and my child!” And with that, he took the basket through it into the road, and slammed the door in Sammer’s face.

Behind the door, Gammon fell on his knees. His sobs shook his body.

This is how he treated all the visitors who came knocking at his door. With anger, insults, and sometimes even blows with his fist.

People in the town had become afraid of him. Children were forbidden to pass his door for fear he would through a pot or a vegetable at them.

One hot day, Gammon’s door was knocked on once again. He did not answer it. He sat quietly in his house hoping whoever it was would go away. They, however, did not. They knocked louder, and when they got tired of knocking, they opened the door.

“GAMMON!” an old but strong voice called. “WHY DID YOU NOT ANSWER THE DOOR?!?! Don’t you know my knock when you hear it?”

It was Rillton. He came in with large strides up to Gammon’s chair. He looked at him a moment.

“You don’t look so good.” He sniffed. “You don’t smell so good.” He smiled gently at Gammon.

“I’ve come to save you.”

“From what?” Gammon snapped.

“Yourself.”