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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Luinnar" data-source="post: 5605469" data-attributes="member: 44459">She suddenly looks up frightened and backs away to a nearby tree. No danger is presented by the party, however, and soon she calms herself. My name is Maria, My  husband is Ontosh. I have two children, a young son and daughter, Frantosh and Jelena. My oldest son, Joshua, is buried here she says, pointing to the hand dug grave.Two weeks ago, my husband was badly wounded. He had gone out after dark (against my pleas to do otherwise) for he had forgotten to put out the lantern in the barn and was afraid the straw there might catch fire. When he was on his way back to the house, he heard a noise behind him and turned to see a large animal in the shadows near the barn. He ran to the house, staying just ahead of a great wolf as it charged after him. As he reached the house, he fell and broke his leg, but thankfully made it inside safely.Every night since then, we have been plagued by a dreaded fear at night. Every sound we heard seems evil and dark. The fear finally overcame Joshua, my oldest son, and he went out into the night with an old blunderbuss to put an end to our terror. Although I called to him to stop, he did not listen. As she relates this part of her story, she breaks into a long fit of tears and falls across the fresh grave.After several moments she composes herself enough to continue. Several minutes later, we heard the distant boom of the gun. After a second of silence, we heard a dreadful howling and a horrible scream. The next morning, we went out to find the body, which had been torn apart by some savage beast. Now I fears for our other children. Only I am able to protect my family until my husband heals. My other children are too young to look after themselves. But what can I do? I am not a warrior but a simple farmer! she shouts, breaking into another stream of tears.</blockquote>

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