CHAPTER 1
Once, in a peaceful Kingdom called Aroen, there was a small, mischievous child named Horill. Horill was once delivered to the steps of a castle, held in the fiefdome of Barald. He had no parents, his father died in a robbery, and his mother died in child birth. As he grew up, he always caused more and more trouble around the fiefdome. Everybody hated him, except for his friend, Brennor. When they met as Horill started taking battle lessons, they immediantly became best friends. They both caused mischief, and, together, everybody hated them twice as much. Everything was just about fine for them, until one day...
"So, what do you want to do?" asked Brennor. "I dunno," Horill replied. They were sneaking down the hall, as usual, skipping their Drill lessons. "I think we should go and poke around in the Kitchen," said Brennor. "Sure," was Horill's reply.
As they were walking down the hall to the kitchen, Horill tripped on a table. The resounding crash could be heard just about everywhere in the castle, and they knew that meant bad trouble if they got caught. As Horill got up, a voice came out from behind them.
"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" "Um... going to Lunch, sir," replied Brennor. "Well, I believe you guys are supposed to be in Drill lessons right now, correct?" "Yes--no... Sorta..." replied Brennor. This time, Horill chimmed in. "Just let us go and eat, sir Harald," "I would like it if you added the word 'Please' in there a bit. And, no, you guys just had your breakfast two hours ago. And let me think, you didn't have it because you were lurking around the Chivalry room, weren't you," replied Harald. "Wh--how did you kn..," Brennor replied.
"Come along with me, and we're gonna have a little talk about this after your Drill Lessons," Harald said.
CHAPTER 2
Brennor and Horill were never too good at drill lessons. Both of them would always mess up on one part or the other, their teachers always blaming it on their tardiness. "Overhand! Backhand! Side Cut! Thrust!" the Drill Master shouted in rythem. All the boys try desperately to follow the commands in order, most ending in a 'Thud' on the wrong part of the straw-filled practice dummy in front of them. The leather hilt and the dull edges on the sword didn't really feel too good when they're put together, but resemble the weight of a normal battle sword. Many different times, Horill would try to swing it, but couldn't get a firm grasp, letting it slide right out of his hands. Once the first part of the Drill was complete, Horill and Brennor sat at their lockers, located farthest from the door and in plain sight. Both boys sweating after their first section, were gulping away water. "I never liked Drill practice," said Brennor. "Me either," replied Horill. And, over all their 2 years of it, they never got ANY better. Both of them are still practicing with the level 1 apprentices, neither still being able to hold onto their sword. Horill looked around, seeing other kids swinging their swords, trying to get a new feel, and others just talking. During the second part of their Drill practice, Horill's sword slipped out of his hand, and went flying right into the leg of a different trainee, probably breaking it. The kid immediently slid to the ground, crying out in pain and agony, holding where the hilt of the sword struck. The Drill master immediantly told everybody to continue their drills, dragging the boy out of the practice room. After another hour and a half, the drill session had finally ended. Horill and Brennor were just glad it was over, not realizing when Harald stopped them in the hall. "We're going down to my office," Harald told them. As they were walking down the hall, Horill could smell the scent of a freshly-baked pie from the kitche area. The smell soon faded, as they walked past the boy's dormitory, where everybody was gathered after their Drill Practice. The hallway down to Harald's office would've looked beautiful to anybody who wasn't being dragged down their for a punishment. The marble walls, vasses, and tables around looked fascinating. When they reached Harald's office, they both took a seat."So, what were you guys planning to do walking down to the kitchen," Harald asked. "W-we told you, sir, we were going to have something to e-eat." replied Brennor, his voice cracking. "At 9:37? Lunch?" "Yes, sir." Horill replied. "Who's ever heard of having lunch at 9:37? None of our schedules go to lunch during that time, especially not your's," seeing as they had no way out of this, the boys fell silent. "Now... let's see... what do do with you..." Harald asked, almost speaking to himself. "Ah, I know!" he exclaimed. "How about we give you some time with our buddy Walter?" Harald said, almost enjoying it. Both of the boys flinched in horror. Walter was the worst, crankiest farmer ever. If you got in the way of him, he would immediantly whack you with his cane. And by the looks of it, Harald was going to make the two boys work for him at the farm.
CHAPTER 3
On the way to the farm, Horill saw things he usually didn't pay attention to. Normally, when Brennor and Horill were walking through the town, they just focused on what mischief they could cause. This time, they were being escorted by Harald down to the biggest farm in the fiefdom, where Walter lived. It took about 20 minutes to get there, and by that time their feet were already beginning to ache. When they reached the farm, they saw Walter siting on his porch, looking as if he were actually waiting for them to arrive. "And what do y' think 'yer doing 'here with 'em kids?" Walter asked. "Well, these two have been causing a lot of trouble around lately, so I decided to make them work with you on the farm," Harald replied. Work? WORK? Horill thought to himself. The only thing he really knew how to do was swing a sword, eat, and do paperwork! And he was bad at all three of them, admittedly. Horill looked at Brennor, and saw the expression on his face. He then assumed that he had the same reaction as Horill. "Well then, let's come 'n side 'n' git goin'" Walter said it, directing it at the two boys. In their current state, it felt almost like a soul-piercing arrow. Harald nudged them, and then they slowly started walking up the steps, into the house.
"Well now, let's 'ee what you t' can do, Alright?" Harald said again, sending the same feeling at them again. Walter's house looked pretty nice for a man that has such a reputation. His walls had animal heads on the top, all with a tag saying the name of the animal and when he killed it. "Alright, YOU can 'ave th' reaper..." he said, pointing towards Brennor. "What's it used for?," Brennor asked him, almost immediantly. "You use 't t' cut down all that wheat o'er there!" Walter replied, almost as if he were about to shout. "And you," he said, pointing towards Horill. "Can farrow," "Farrow?" "Farrowing is done with y'er HANDS. It means 'er gonna have to go out and dig more of 'em holes f'er my wheat!" He said to Horill, his face almost looking like it's steaming hot, and flushed red. "Y-yes, sir," Horill said, then he ran outside into the farm. When he got out there, he could already see Brennor doing a terrible job. Some of the wheat was done right, but others still had wheat sticking out of the ground, others with almost all wheat still out. He did it in absolutely no pattern, either. Horill got down on his hands and knees, then started digging little holes. The dirt felt soft, moist, and almost holy after what he'd been through lately. He took it up, and dropped it in a pile. Then he walked over a little bit, and started a new one. Brennor and Horill continued doing this, until Walter told them to come take a break so he could look at their work. Rather than going inside, they stopped at the back wall. From there, it looked almost as if the entrance were a mile away. Both boys sat down, and when Walter came out, he stared in horror at what the boys had done. The wheat that was growing--or more likely had grown, only had some actually pulled out and able to use. Others just had the top nicked off or some of the bottom, leaving a pitiful stem sticking out of the ground. The farrows were all spread-out and curved, as if Horill had no sense of pattern. Walter immediently turned around, and whacked the two boys with his cane. "WHAT'D YOU THINK Y'D BE GETTIN' DONE DOIN' IT LIKE THAT?" Walter shouted at them, while he was whacking them with his cane. Both boys got knocked down onto their knees, and were sitting there hopelessly on the ground. The cane felt terrible every time it hit. Wherever it hit, Horill thought he would lose that part of his body forever, after the walk here and doing all that farming. His back, arms, legs, and Walter even hit is head once, all of them ached. It was then that, in a desperate attempt to get back up, Horill grabbed onto what he thought was a shelf, but in his condition, he couldn't make it out, with everything being a blur. He grabbed onto it, then fell down, taking it with him and spilling whatever it was holding out. "NOW LOOK WHAT Y'VE DONE! YA' GONE AND EMPTIED OUT Y'STERDAYS HAVEST, Y' HAVE!" Horill noticed that now what he spilled, which must've been some wheat from Walters reaction, felt all grainy and a like a nice spot to lay. Walter stopped hiting them with his cane, and started picking up the wheat that fell out of its container. Horill attempted to stand up again, bit this time his hand caught on a steel shovel, and knocked that down. Walter was still focused on picking up the wheatt, when Brennor tried to stand up. Horill caught him across the shelf-like thing, but as he went, his arm hit something that felt like sandpaper, but more solid. Then he heard a small 'clank' as he helped Brennor up. As his vision cleared, he saw what had happened. The object that his arm hit was actually a bit of flint that Walter kept out here with his tools. And it juse so happened, as luck would have it, that it bounced just barely onto the steel shovel at the right angle. It only made a spark, but all the wheat was very dry. And then, before their eyes, the fire had spread across a quarter of the farm.
They had accidentally set this year's harvest on fire.
