The girl was dying.
In the middle of the forest, lying on a dirty old cot, rusted creaky old wooden floors, and stain filled walls filled with cracks. The roof was waving and screeching as the wind howled in horror, and the rain came down like a thousand bullets being fired form the sky.
The girl was young. No more than seventeen years old. This was not her fault, she was only the messenger. A messenger that wold die when she delivered the package. So she laid struggling, moaning and groaning in pain. Pain so strong that it seems to blur her mind. Blur her reality, until her mind no longer felt the blunt of the pain.
Blood laid in a puddle between her legs, on the dirty white grey linin she was lying on. Screams filled the air, as the pressure between her legs increased. Tears ran down the girls fair skin, her long thick black hair was damp with perspiration.
Lightening flared outside the small broken down cottage. Rain hailed down from the heavens. Night enveloped everything it touched.
Outside the small haven, in the savage storm that raged on beyond the wooden walls, wolves roamed the valley. Seeking the young mother, who was agonized, slowly bleeding to death without the knowledge. Lightning struck the wooden cottage, and the window above the ragged bed shattered in inwards violently, but not even the violent outburst of the window could disturb the storm, and nothing was heard but the roaring tempest.
The door to the small cottage burst open, giving way to two grown men walking in. Their naked bodies were covered with faint scars, their built and well-muscled bodies intimidating, and their height only accented the fear that they seem to cause others.
One man, the one with raven black hair that was surrounded with a commanding aura, stepped forward, imposing and violent. His expression softened when it landed on the struggling girl, his own mistress, delivering the his bastard child to this world. A world that was nothing but cruel and unfair to those less fortunate.
The mother whimpered one last time, as she took her last breaths, and the miracle between her leg took its first. The man picked the quite baby up, confused with its quiet nature.
Looking at the child now, he could see that the mothers strange blue eyes would haunt him in his daughter, the same midteranium blue that captivated him the first time his eyes looked on the girls.
"This is cruel Ruabon. The other will need its mother." The blond haired man said form behind the raven haired man.
"If it were you, would you do any different? She is my blood. I always have what is mine." Ruabon responded.
"Live will not be easy for her." The blond haired man stated.
And he was right.
Life does not favour the bastards.