archimedes
They roamed free for as long as my family could remember. The paint horses on the far side of the mountain reach. Every so often we would see them. They would not be afraid, but rather look back defiantly; they knew we could not tame them and we knew they could not be broken.
He had heard all his life that he had to find a "real" calling. An actual career, something to be proud of. As far as he was concerned, though, the life of a bard was the only one that called his name.
He was my cousin. We talked seldom, but he was still family. He was still blood. But, I guess he didn't see it the same way. Or maybe he thought it had been too long for our blood to count. Either way, it obviously didn't matter - I'd never understand the betrayal.