The sound of a screech echoed through the early morning forest.
His task interrupted by the piercing noise, Uncle Loff mounted his
hordling and raced toward the trees. Could this be the signal? Or
could it mean something else, could it be something else…or someone.
In my father's family, there were tales of a beast who could
hear—not just sound, but thoughts from the mind. Uncle Loff knew of
this beast but was anticipating the signal for the uprising.
"What is in the forest?" my uncle asked. He scanned the horizon
along the rim of the snow-covered trees. The hordling grunted and
sniffed the ground as if it detected a familiar scent. Uncle Loff strained
his ears to hear any sign of movement. Suddenly, he felt a presence. He
became aware of his rapid breathing, the hairs on the back of his neck
bristling. Suppressing the urge to flee, he turned his hordling back
toward home, and trotted away from whatever it was…
Some called it a wendigo. They spoke of this beast, and my father
described its appearance—it had the body of a deer but appeared as an
elf-like creature. Yet, it was not an elf.
Meanwhile, Uncle Loff made it back home.
"As usual.
" He was greeted warmly by his wife Larissa.
"Always
showing up just in time for the meal.
" Larissa noticed something in his
gaze which gave her pause, but she said nothing about it. She knew him
well enough by now to recognize that he had had an encounter of
some sort. He would confide in her, if he needed to share something, ifshe needed to know. Noticing her knowing glances, Loff consciously
took a deep breath and smiled at his children and the aromatic scent of
hot venison.
"I'm so hungry!" he exclaimed, suddenly aware of the pangs in his
stomach.
In their welcoming house, the family sat at the table, eating. As Loff
walked over and pulled out a chair to sit, his eldest son came down to
join them.
"Uncle Loff, why are you happy?" he asked. Uncle Loff's smile faltered
for a moment, but he quickly masked it.
"Just be good, son,
" he said. The boy's eyes lingered on him,
unblinking, as if seeing more than he should.
"It doesn't feel like a good day,
" the boy muttered, his voice distant,
almost not his own.
The son goes to school with his friend,
"what you so sad friend
you are?" he asked. Son looking at his friend "uncle loff see happy i do
not know but why do you know please tell me?"
he said. Meanwhile, at Uncle Loff's house Uncle Loff is thinking
about his uncle in the flashback, mounted his hordling and raced
toward the tree Uncle Loff's say
"uncle you can't do this.
" Uncle Loff's said his uncle "What is
this"uncle siad.Uncle Loff's the sound of a screech echoed through the
forest.
His task interrupted by the piercing noise, Uncle Loff "would never
tell my son this day we'll go back home" Uncle Loff said. At the SonSchool, one son looked out the window, lost in thought. He wondered
why the "bad one" was called that, a creature or perhaps an idea that
caused violence and hatred. Why was there always this cycle of violence,
seemingly never-ending? He thought about Lord Hordling, a figure from
the year 1456, who had once spoken about breaking that cycle. Lord
Hordling had said that the Creator was the "fourth hand of reason,
"
and that this hand could calm the storms of violence.
According to Lord Hordling, there were four hands of reason:
The First Hand: To Be Kind – Kindness was the foundation of
empathy and love, and could help break the cycle of cruelty in the
world.
The Second Hand: To Listen – True understanding came from
listening, to others and to oneself.
The Third Hand: To Share – Sharing connected people and
communities, preventing isolation and strife.
The Fourth Hand: To Calm – The ability to calm anger and fear was
the final hand, and the one that the Creator represented. Kotozo, a son
at the school, had learned these teachings well and believed in them
deeply. He recited them often, feeling that if everyone followed these
hands of reason, the world could finally be free of violence and hatred.
However, history had not been kind to Lord Hordling. Despite his
wisdom and efforts to spread these teachings, the forces of violence
had overwhelmed him. His fate served as a reminder that breaking the
cycle of hatred was a difficult and often impossible task. As the soncontinued to look out the window, he saw the stormy sky, which
seemed to reflect the ongoing struggle in the world. But Kotozo held
onto hope. He believed that by following the four hands of
reason—being kind, listening, sharing, and calming—people could
eventually break the cycle of violence. Even though it seemed impossible,
Kotozo knew that if enough people believed in these principles, change
could still happen.The sun's early rays filtered through the thick pines,
casting dappled light across the peaceful, snow-covered village nestled
in the valley. Uncle Loff's house, a sturdy structure made of timber and
stone, stood at the edge of the forest, a warm glow spilling from its
windows. Inside, the crackling of the hearth was the only sound that
broke the stillness of the morning. It was a home built with care, each
room lined with tapestries woven by his wife and tools crafted by his
own hand.
Uncle Loff moved about the kitchen, preparing a modest breakfast of
bread and dried meat. His hands, calloused from years of work, moved
with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime in labor. He paused
occasionally, glancing toward the window, his sharp eyes scanning the
darkening sky beyond the trees. A sense of unease lingered in his chest, a
feeling he couldn't shake, like the weight of some impending storm.
His young son, Kotozo, entered the kitchen with a soft yawn, rubbing
sleep from his eyes. The boy's face still carried the innocence of
childhood, though there was a quiet wisdom in his eyes that seemedbeyond his years. His hair was messy, the strands wild like the untamed
winds of winter. He was a dreamer, often lost in thought, but he was
also kind, and that kindness was reflected in the way he greeted his
father each morning.
"Good morning, Father,
" Kotozo said, his voice soft but earnest.
Uncle Loff smiled and ruffled the boy's hair.
"Morning, Kotozo. How's the
sky this morning?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of
something deeper, a question beneath the surface.
Kotozo stood by the window, peering out at the darkened horizon, his
brow furrowed as he stared into the distance.
"The clouds are heavy,
" he
said.
"But it's quiet, too. Almost too quiet.
" His voice trailed off as he
spoke, his words more to himself than to his father.
Uncle Loff paused, his eyes narrowing. He had learned to trust his son's
instincts, as they often carried more weight than anyone realized.
Something in the boy's gaze told him that Kotozo sensed more than just
the weather; it was as if the boy was attuned to the pulse of the world
itself. A gift, or perhaps a curse, that Uncle Loff had never fully
understood.
"You should head to school soon,
" Uncle Loff said, trying to shake off
the unease creeping into his mind.
"Your friends will be waiting for you.
"Kotozo nodded, but there was a hesitance in his movements, a quiet
reluctance to leave. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his eyes
still fixed on the horizon.
"Father,
" he said quietly,
"do you ever wonder
if it's possible to stop all the bad things from happening?"
Uncle Loff set down the bread knife, the question taking him by surprise.
He turned to face his son, a troubled look crossing his face.
"What do
you mean by 'bad things'?"
"The fighting. The hatred. The violence,
" Kotozo answered, his voice
distant.
"Sometimes, it feels like it will never end. Like it's just a cycle we
can't break.
"
Uncle Loff's heart tightened. The boy's innocence was fading, and with
it, his hope.
"We do what we can,
" Uncle Loff replied, his voice gruff.
"You
remember Lord Hordling's teachings, don't you?"
Kotozo nodded slowly, though his gaze remained distant.
hands of reason. To be kind. To listen. To share. To calm.
"
"The four
Uncle Loff's eyes softened.
"Those teachings are important, Kotozo. But
sometimes, in this world, even the best of us can't stop the bad things
from happening. All we can do is hold onto those hands and try our
best.
"The boy's lips parted as if to speak again, but before he could, a distant
screech echoed through the forest, sharp and eerie. Both of them froze,
their eyes meeting in silent understanding. The sound was too
unnatural, too disturbing. It was a call, but a call to what?
Uncle Loff's face tightened. He turned toward the door, his hand on the
hilt of his blade.
"Stay inside, Kotozo. I'll be back soon.
"
Kotozo's heart raced, but he didn't argue. He only nodded as Uncle Loff
mounted his hordling, a sturdy beast of war, and rode off into the
trees.
As the sound of the screech echoed again, Kotozo stood at the
window, his thoughts swirling with questions. What did it mean? What
was coming? And, most of all, could his father protect them from
whatever was out there in the forest?
The day was no longer quiet. It was filled with the weight of something
unknown, something that would change everything. Kotozo could feel
it deep in his bones.The steady rhythm of Uncle Loff's boots crunching
against the frozen earth was the only sound that accompanied him as he
rode his hordling through the forest. The morning's peace had
shattered the moment the screech pierced the air. It wasn't a sound of
nature—no bird, no animal, no ordinary creature made such a noise. Itwas unnatural, unsettling, like a herald of something ancient and
malevolent.
As he pushed his hordling deeper into the woods, Uncle Loff's thoughts
twisted in knots. The past haunted him, like shadows that stretched
across the horizon, always there, always just behind him. It was a burden
he had carried for years, since the time when he had fought in battles
that had left scars not just on his body, but on his soul. He had seen the
horrors of war—bloodshed, hatred, destruction—and in the heat of
those battles, he had once believed he could stop it all. But with each
war fought, each village lost, each soul sacrificed, he had come to
realize something painful.
There was no end to the violence. No matter how hard he tried, no
matter how much blood he spilled or how many lives he saved, the
darkness always returned. The cycle never stopped. It was the cruel truth
of the world he inhabited: violence bred violence, hatred bred hatred,
and in the end, no one could truly escape its grasp.
Uncle Loff had tried to teach his son Kotozo the lessons of restraint,
kindness, and wisdom, hoping that the boy would be the one to break
the chain. But deep inside, Loff knew the truth—he was preparing Kotozo
for a battle that no child should ever have to fight. He was burdened
with the knowledge that the cycle of violence could never be truly
escaped. The darkness would always find a way to creep in, like a cold
wind on a winter's day.As the hordling carried him through the forest,