It was a sunny afternoon when it happened and I was just six. My family and I were settling down for bed after a long, tiring night's hunt. Then- there was shouting outside, roaring, a great loud roaring. Oh, it was horrible. My family went out to see what happened and to fight but they told me to stay. I hate them so much for that. I wish I could have burnt with them. I wish I were dead instead of them. But I just sat there like a good boy. Like a coward. Then they told us to come with them and I did. Like a coward.I called and called but there was no answer. I had to fly away with my pack but no one else was crying. No one else had even felt pain. And no one could ever understand my pain. “Mum, Dad, Lula.....”.
They sent out scout owls to see what had happened. And they came back to tell us that the whole thing was burnt to the ground. Every single bit of it. They didn't even seem that bothered. Just grumpy from flying. I hated them. My home, the great hall.....Mum, Dad, Lula.
We ,of course, set up new camps and everyone was happy again. I was broken. I was broken and no one could fix me.