First time doing this, thought why not? This story is based on Llytaei's childhood at the age of five. It depicts language that was developed from his viewpoint, reflecting on the age and wisdom of Llytaei at the particular time.
I'm late. I need to finish these studies on time, otherwise no breakfast; and since I haven't eaten for a few days, I have to make sure I get something to eat. Father is making his way around around the estate yelling at Syrimon and my mother. I can hear him stomping through the hallway towards the study. I focus my attention upon my studies once more. It's too late. He catches me.
SMACK. Father sends a hand against the back of my head, I topple from the chair to the floor. I know better than to stay down. I learned that the hard way. I regain my posture and look away, as he screams into my ears.
I act timid, nodding to his threats, at least I think threats, I really just nodded. Please, I say to myself, let it end, I need to eat. Another blow pushes my head against the desk. I let the tears of defeat stream down my face as he storms from the study for my brother, or mother, maybe both, seemingly satisfied with himself. After I count the steps, making sure he's gone, I breathe a sigh of relief. Father can beat me all he wishes, but I haven't let him take my will to live, not yet, not while I can still eat. I finish my studies. For my reward I receive breakfast - leftovers from my father's' dinner. Today it's half eaten fish. There are only a few bits of fish left, mostly bone. But as quickly as I can, I eat. I eat before father changes his mind. He knows better than to throw leftovers away. He knows I'll dig them out. Father has learnt most of my tricks. It doesn't matter, I have my breakfast.
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