Wardrobe

Villager: Bran

From a young age, Bran always dreamed of becoming a Warrior.
He was never interested in popularity or fortune, only wanting to be able to stand by those who protected villages and help the weak.

Except, Bran was one who was among the weak.

Despite his heart of gold and steely determination, he was always much too frail to become a fighter. Although no one had the heart to tell him, they all knew it - and deep down, he knew it, too. He just could not accept it.

It was a searing day of one Summer when he would have to deal with the crushing realization that he was not cut out to achieve his dream.

Two children of the village had gone missing.
Distressed villagers banded together to organize a search party to venture into the dangerous woodland area to find them.
The young Bran became too ambitious; he thought they were wasting time with so much planning, and decided he would enter the woods and find the children himself, before it became too late.
Taking a sword and shield from the Warriors' training grounds, he ran into the woods alone.

Not much later, when the party had been organized, and the village's Warriors gathered at the grounds to prepare their equipment, they found a shield and sword had gone missing.
Immediately, they realized what Bran had done.

. . .

The young Bran had already explored into the deepest part of the woods. Very fearful, but determined to save the children, he refused to turn back, and ventured further.

The unsettling silence of the forest was suddenly broken by screams.

Startled, Bran ran toward the direction of the noise and found the small children huddled together and backed against a boulder by a huge, snarling beast.

Letting out a cry, Bran bravely charged.
He swung with all his might, but the iron sword and shield were heavy for him, and he couldn't even land a hit as the creature quickly turned and swung a heavy paw at him, knocking him to the ground several feet away.
As he scrambled to get on his feet again, the beast began to approach him; slowly, deliberately, like a cat with its prey.
Suddenly, a swift arrow sailed through the air and into the beast's hide, causing it to let out a frightening roar of pain.

The Warriors had arrived.

As the rest of the party rushed into the scene, one Warrior quickly helped Bran to his feet and instructed him to take the children and run back to the village while their party slayed the monster.
He ran quickly to the children, still huddled fearfully against the large boulder, and began to lead them away from the scene.
But as they ran farther away, Bran turned and looked back at the spectacle.
Wasn't he going to be a Warrior?
Wasn't he going to help protect those in need?
Surely, if they could not slay the massive beast, it would find the village and hurt someone.
He should be helping them fight.

Quickly telling the children to stay hidden, he tightly gripped his heavy sword and ran back to the ongoing battle.

He was going to protect everyone. He was going to save lives.

He charged straight to the beast, ready to put an end to the threat for good.
He shouted loudly as he raised his sword to stab the creature's hide.
But he had grown considerably tired and weaker. He was slowed by his heavy equipment.
The beast, startled by his cry, turned quickly to face him. With a single swipe of its paw, it easily knocked the sword out of Bran's hands and knocked him to the ground.
Warriors shouted as the beast loomed over the fallen boy, who had become to shaken to move.

Bran suddenly realized, all too late, that he had made a grave mistake.

Warriors charged.
The beast bared its fangs, ready for the kill.

The Warrior who had instructed Bran to flee earlier ran to him quickly and stood between Bran and the monster.
He raised his sword readily to stab the beast directly in its throat as it struck.
The sword met its target, but the creature's fangs were long and sharp, and had pierced the Warrior's armor.
The sound of two different screams of pain rang painfully in the quivering Bran's ears.
The rest of the party attacked at once, causing the creature to shriek one final time before it fell to the ground, dead.

Before Bran fell unconscious, he saw the rest of the party run toward him as the injured Warrior fell to his knees.

. . .

Bran woke to find himself in the village clinic.

The nurse, who was organizing containers of herbs nearby, heard him stir and approached his bedside.

"Oh, Bran," they remarked, "you're finally awake. How are you feeling?"
"Tired," Bran groaned, "and hurting a bit. What...what happened?"

The nurse explained that the Warrior party had carried him back to the clinic after he had passed out.
Bran suddenly gasped.
"That's right! The children!" He exclaimed, "Where are they!?"

"Shh, it's all right," the nurse assured him, as they turned back to reorganizing herb containers, "they're both fine. They were not harmed. They are with their parents now."

Bran let out a sigh of relief, before he remembered.
The Warrior who had faced the beast's attack to save him.

"Um...there was someone else...one of the Warriors. He was injured by the...the thing. The thing we were fighting. It bit him." Bran shifted uncomfortably. "Where...where is he? Is he here, too? Is he all right?" He asked.

The nurse froze in place.
They took in a quiet, deep breath as they slowly turned to face Bran.

"His injuries were...they were very severe. He...had lost a lot of blood before they were able to bring him here, and..." the nurse became quiet.
"He...he died shortly after he arrived."

Bran's blood turned to ice. His heart sank. He couldn't find his voice.

He had only wanted to help people. He wanted to save lives.
But, instead, because of his foolishness, because of his unwillingness to accept his own faults, a life was lost.
Someone had died because of him.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the nurse placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Bran." They said quietly, and left the room.

. . .

A week had passed since that day.
Bran's body had fully recovered.
His heart had not.

No one said accusing words. No one yelled at him.
But he didn't miss the barely masked resentment in the looks the fallen Warrior's family and closest friends gave him when they saw him.
No one said it out loud, but they didn't need to. He knew what they wanted to say.

"It's your fault."
"My son is dead because of you."
"My friend is never coming home because of you,"

He wanted to help people.
But by selfishly ignoring his own faults, he did the opposite.
He hurt people.

He knew that, even now, when he had finally resigned from his Warrior training, he was only being unhelpful.
His face alone was a grim reminder to them of that tragic day.

And so, in the middle of the night, when the village was asleep...
Bran gathered his belongings...
...and he ran away from the village.

. . .

A few months later, he stumbled upon the town of Olde Foxbury.
Here, he met a small bat by the name of Rose.
When she learned he had no home, she offered him a place to stay in return for his work.
He happily accepted.


It would be different here, he decided. It was a new town. This was a new life.
He wouldn't cause any more suffering.
He would become a better person.