Bran groaned in pain, and his wife Daisy leaned towards the bed to take off the cloth from his forehead.
She turned towards the small nightstand, and soaked the cloth in a bowl of cold water. From what she had heard from the errand boy at the inn, Bran had barely escaped death. He had stitches all over his face, and Daisy had to pay the doctor with what little savings the two of them had.
Her heart ached, and her hands paused underneath the water.
Plop! Plop!
Her tears dripped down from her chin as she weeped in the silence of their bedroom.
"Dai..."
There was a slight whisper, and she sprang her head up. Bran was looking back at her with hazy black eyes.
She dropped the cloth in the bowl, and leapt at him. Wrapping her arms around his bare broad shoulders, she hid her face in the crook of his neck.
He winced, but brought his arms up from his sides, and gently embraced his weeping wife.
"Hoo...I was so scared, Bran."
She mumbled against his neck, and he stroked the back of her head.
"I'm sorry."
"You were bleeding so much. Hic!"
"I'm sorry."
"What if you had died? You are...hic...the only one I have...hic!"
"I'm sorry, dear."
She feebly slapped his shoulder.
"Don't you ever do that again."
She leaned back, and looked at him. Her rich brown hair had come loose from her braid, and now fell across her forehead. Even with tears glistening in her dark brown eyes, and her face covered in sweat and snot, she was still the most beautiful woman in his world.
"I'm telling you, Bran. Do not do such foolery ever again. Just run away if you can't win a fight. I...I..."
Her lower lip began to tremble, and she began to cry again.
"Oh, Daisy..."
He cupped her cheeks gently with his large rough hands.
"Hey, look at me. I promise that I will not make you worry again."
He whispered, and she leaned into his palm, her anxious heart calming down a bit after hearing his words.
The sun was about to set; its fleeting rays was making the bedroom darker with every passing minute. Bran pulled the sheet up to cover his wife who had fallen asleep after having tired herself by all the weeping.
His gaze softened, and there was a small smile on his face as he leaned down to kiss her on the head.
He stood up, and stretched his arms over his head. He looked at the oval-shaped mirror that stood on the wall opposite to him, and, God, his face was a mess.
"Tch! That damned beast!"
He cursed loudly, and Daisy groaned from the bed.
"Sorry. Sorry."
He whispered with a hand over his mouth. He walked to the rusty iron stand that stood beside the mirror, and grabbed one of his old white shirts from the hangers. He got dressed, and with one last look over his shoulder at his wife, he stepped outside the room.
Loud laughters and cheers came from downstairs as drunken men got more drunk at the Little's inn. He stepped closer to the railing, and leaned against one of its wooden post.
He grabbed the side of his bald head. It felt as if someone was pounding his head, and the noise that those good for nothing men were making was only making it worse.
"Shut your traps!"
Silence fell upon the inn.
Men looked up at Bran, daring not say a word, and the reason was simple; they could not win against him in a fight.
The watchdog of the slums.
That's what commoners called him. Order and law is something that is not meant for the poor. As unreasonable as it may sound that is the truth.
A starving man will not ask before snatching your only loaf of bread nor will a policeman bother to jump in a fight between two stinking and poor men. It is always the survivor of the strongest in the world of people with lowly origins.
Fancy laws only suit fancy people.
"Big Bran! Big Bran!"
Heads turned upon hearing those words. The only person who could call him that was Drake's little boy who now stood in the main doorway with a flushed face and short of breath.
He wore a brown vest over his white tunic, and had folded the ends of his oversized black pants. The sandles that he wore were the ones that Drake used to wear when he was a young boy.
"What is it, Eren?"
Bran said from the top floor, and Eren looked up at him with those ocean blue eyes of his. His wavy black hair came down to his shoulders, and he kept them from falling into his eyes with a white bandana that had the alphabet 'E' embroidered into it with a black thread- a gift from Daisy for his 14th birthday last winter.
"The wagon is here!"
Bran frowned.
"What? Now?"
"Yes! Yes! The men driving it said that they were ordered to delicious the products in advance."
Eren said running up the narrow staircase that went snaking around a sturdy pillar.
"It's 'deliver' not 'delicious', you pipsqueak."
Bran slapped the boy in the back of his head.
"Yes, deliver the products! Can I help with the products? Please!"
Eren begged, and Bran frowned at the innocence of the boy. If only he knew what those so called products were.
'Drake...You raised him good, you old man.'
Bran ruffled Eren's hair.
"Hey!"
The boy slapped his hand away, glaring at Bran.
"You gotta stay away from the adult's business, pipsqueak."
Bran looked down, and with his hand gestured at the two men who sat drinking beside the front door. They raised their mugs up in reply. Finishing their beer in a single gulp, they slammed the mugs down on the table, and got up from their stools.
It was time to get to business.
"Hey! Don't repeat what Drake always says!"
"I will, and you gotta listen to me, lad. Don't let me catch you near any of the wagons!"
"Bloody hell!"
Bran slapped him in the back of his head. Again.
"No cursing in front of me!"
"No this! No that! You are even worse at nagging than Drake!"
Eren kicked him in the back of his knee, and Bran stumbled into the railing.
"Why you!"
But the boy was already running down the stairs.
"I swear! That devil of a brat! Drake, you better get back soon!"