The young man takes another lashing, protecting in the only way he knows how. His brother caught cheating a game for coin because his belly hurt. Before it was his sister in trouble for stealing food and wood. Over and over again, more pain, more punishment. The young man bears it willingly.
If he can just keep them safe a little longer, another day, another year, maybe fortunes will turn. Maybe his siblings will survive to have better futures.
Yet tonight he takes the lashings alone. The village watches around the square, laughing and cheering for their evening fun before night’s snow sets in. Not one friendly face. Not one tear shed. No brother or sister or mother supporting from the sidelines.
No gratefulness for his protection . . . and pain.
The authorities remove his hand, punishment for cheating, though he never gambled. But he couldn’t tell them it was his younger brother. A ten-year-old doesn’t need that cruel fate. Not when he’s smart and talented with numbers and would make a wonderful worker, if he can just get some education.
The young man returns to the meager shelter of their home, his stump bound and aching. But the door won’t open.
Confused, he knocks and is told to leave. Pleading slips from his lips, but it makes no difference.
He’s still turned away. The lack of a hand a dishonor too much for them to bear.
Maybe, he realises as the wintery night claims him, maybe he’d always been alone.
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