My father and brother were coming home from the village with fresh goods when they were attacked and killed by a wargal raid. Wargals are vicious demons that look like a bear, but have a dogs snout and walk on two legs like a human, they have no need to carry weapons as they use their massive paws and powerful jaws to kill and maim. I vowed the day we buried them that I would learn to fend for my self and kill if need be and if ever I ran into a Wargal I would kill it as easily as I kill the squirrels for food.

Turning from the window I pulled on a pair of my brothers old breeches and tucked them into my boots and pulled on a tunic and wool vest to guard from the early morning chill. Grabbing my bow and quiver as I left the room, climbing down the ladder from the loft I found my mother already stoking the fire in the stove to cook some breakfast.
"Don't worry about cooking breakfast, I'll be gone till dusk," I said, walking over and tearing off a hunk of bread and grabbing some cheese to eat on my way.
"Be careful dear the raiding season isn't quite over yet," said mother.

I looked at her and smiled, my mother had grown older over the years and was begining to show it, the gray at her temple was begining to move outwards and the lines in her face becoming more pronounced, but she was still very beautiful and could stop any man in their tracks, and even more strong than she is beautiful. I am proud of my mother, proud that after my father and brother's death, she still managed to survive and thrive out here on the edge of the woods with just herself and I.