Tears welled in my father’s eyes. Grandfather’s blood still lay fresh in my hands. I was not done speaking when Oswald barged him.
Elliot’s father was a stout man, always dressed to the nines even for tea. It was clear where his children got their looks from as his wife was a plain woman. Unfortunately, he had let himself go. He was only an honorary member of the council now, no longer a hunter. He had let himself go and it showed in his stomach that entered a room before him, his harsh breathing as he climbed up the stairs to my father’s study and the beads of sweat congregating on his upper lip from his journey.
“What is this I hear about the war ending, Eric?” He boomed, flinging the door open in a dramatic entrance.
“I have recalled my men,” Father, ever so calm, answered.
