GENRE: YA - High Fantasy
The lazy afternoon sun shone down on Munjin as he watched the slow approach of three boys with hate caked under their fingernails. The soft breeze, full of the fine autumn aromas of pine and cut hay, also held the scent of prey. Munjin, frozen as if he watched himself in a dream, stood still as the trio, like harvest scythes, left broken stalks in their wake.
Munjin stiffened as his name floated over the grass, and rattled the length of his spine. He knew the voice—Silas—and it packed his belly with dread. Not the biggest of the Kolva brothers, or even the meanest, but it was Silas who possessed an unerring ability to find Munjin when he was alone.
He cut his gaze to the nearby creek as it burbled past him. He preferred possible drowning to another round with the village’s premier bullies. Like wolves, the Kolva brothers traveled in packs. Together made a savage fist that hammered unlucky dogs, and lone boys.
Or Munjin could run for the forest; weave through the tall pines and elms along the paths of the woodsmen and trappers. The Kolvas might tire of chasing him. As he gazed at the river one more time, he could almost feel the cold swift waters bearing him away.
No. He was his father's son. He awkwardly adjusted the sheepskin hat that might have fit a larger boy, and waited for the Kolvas.