Hael Waters

Algar worked his shoulder. The wound was painful, but the bleeding had slowed.  With some difficulty  he shucked off his woolen jerkin. He took a deep breath, uttered a prayer and waded into the haelwaters. The cold was stunning, but he braced himself and went to the center of the pool.  The boil of the falls fell fierce about him, the water roaring like a wild beast as it crashed down on his back and shoulders. Standing beneath the cascade, the horror of the morning still hard upon him. He and Father had been checking the snares when they came upon the trio of Normans astride great gray horses. The men wore gleaming armor and carried swords such as Algar had never seen. Father, not knowing their queer language, had offered them the brace of hares he carried.  The horseman laughed and unsheathed his sword, slew Father without a word.


What Pegman Saw


Add Yours
  1. Alicia Jamtaas

    Ouch! In many ways. I “like” how the lack of communication was what caused all the trouble. Sadly, it happens all too often. (And I don’t think the Normans would have cared if they spoke the same language.) Great take on a peaceful picture.

  2. rochellewisoff

    Dear Josh,

    I hear Strother Martin saying, “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” ;) A story as stunning as the pain in Algar’s shoulder.



  3. Lynn Love

    Lovely snapshot of the past here, Josh – a past where violent death an an everyday occurence and a land was still at war with itself. Lovely evocation of the times in the language and images you used – you didn’t labour the details and it worked very well for that. Great story

Don't just stand there.