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Brothers	By : Koori Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 1830 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Nineteen – Foster Conway, Age 12
"Pa!" Foster shouted as he raced toward his father. He had to run around the river and across the bridge to reach him, barely glancing at the body of Mr. Dixon as he ran by. At his heels was Wendy, her underclothing still wet from the river. They knelt down next to his father and gently rolled him over. "We need to stop the bleeding." Wendy said. She tore the bottom of her petticoat and pressed the cloth down over the cut on his father's arm. She placed Foster's hand over it, "hold it tight," she instructed.
She used a second wad of cloth to push into the bullet wound in the shoulder. "He's losing blood from behind too," Foster said, despairing at the ragged breaths his father was taking. "Help us!" he shouted, "someone help us … please …"
"There is no one around to hear our shouts," Wendy said sadly, "I'm sorry … so sorry."
There was a loud splash and Foster looked over at the river, forging its way across was a large chestnut horse, on its back a man.
"Please," Foster called out, not knowing if it was friend or foe. "Please help him!"
"Come on, Mirador," the man said urging the horse. Once across he leapt down and knelt beside Foster. "What happened?" the stranger asked as he took Pa's tunic off.
"We were attacked …"
"By my father," Wendy said, "I'm so sorry … my father had an awful mean streak in him …"
"Is he the one responsible for the bruises on your face, my lady," asked the man as his hand started to glow over Pa's wounds.
Wendy looked down, "yes, sir, my punishment for aiding the Conways yesterday … he wasn't right in the head anymore …"
"Where is the brute now?" the man asked.
Foster watched the bullet hole close and gasped. "How are you doing that?"
"Put your faith in the Light, and all is possible," the man replied. "Answer my question."
Foster pointed over to the still form of Mr. Dixon. "He's dead; my father killed him before he fell."
"Saves me the trouble," the man said. "Pardon me, Miss, being your father and all …"
"He stopped being my father a long time ago," Wendy said. "Please is Foster's pa going to be okay?"
"I've closed the wounds," the man said, "but he's lost a lot of blood. We will need to wait and see … he has the strength within him."
Foster took off his riding cloak and draped it over Wendy's shoulders. "Wendy, please stay with my father I need to go find my brother." He walked over and reached for the bloody knife near Mr. Dixon. A hand wrapped around his wrist before he could grab it.
"That is not for a child," the stranger said. "Where is your brother?"
"I don't know, sir," Foster said, "last I saw he was struggling with Vance …"
"Vance?"
"That man's son," Foster said, pointing. "He's as mean as his father … please I need to go, I promised my brother I'd protect him. If anything happened to Nathaniel …"
"Stay with your father," the man said. "I know these lands like the back of my hand. If this Vance had meant to kill your brother he would have done it, no he wants a hostage. I'll be back …"
"Wait," Foster said frustrated. "I don't even know who you are, why would I trust you?"
"I just saved your father's life," the man said with a growl. "As for who I am? I'm just an old foolish man. Stay here!"
Foster watched as the man swung up on the back of his horse and after looking at the ground a few moments urged his mount into the forest. "Foster?" Wendy said. He looked over at her; he'd never paid her much attention, older than him she wasn't in the same circle of friends. It dawned on him she probably had no friends her own age, and her father had been cruel to her.
"Yes, my lady," Foster said kneeling down beside her.
"Don't call me that," she said as her cheeks flushed. "I was wondering if we should go for help, one of us that is? There has to be a homestead near here."
"I won't leave my family," Foster said. "Can you ride?"
"I used to have a pony before my mother …" her voice trailed off, "yes I can ride."
Nodding Foster ran to where Nutmeg was hobbled, freeing her he walked over to Wendy who was slipping back on her dress. "Your pa really do that to you … for helping us?" he asked when she brushed her loose hair from her face.
"He liked his drink," she said. Foster offered her his cupped hands, she stepped into them and he lifted her up so she could get into the saddle.
"Try to the southwest," Foster said, "I kind of remember of farm that way, be careful."
As she rode off Foster took the quilt they had ate lunch on and laid it over his father's still form. His breathing was light but steady, giving him comfort. "Please be okay, Pa," he pleaded. "We need you!"
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Brothers