@matriixrch
The Everdeens’ kitchen, with it’s solid walls and the crackling fire fending off the chill in the air, could almost be comfortable. Peaceful. As it is, he can’t enjoy it. Not while the sounds of his son’s laboured breaths fill the room. They don’t know if Gale will survive the night, and with so many years since the last whipping, they’re all a little out of practice when it comes to treating the wounds. In his youth, Noah like so many others had grown used to seeing men and women alike carried from the square on makeshift stretchers to whichever healer they could afford, deep lashes in their backs -- however many their particular method of survival deserved. It’s jarring to see the punishments return full force, and with the first victim being his eldest boy --- maybe if he’d fought to be stronger, it would’ve been him coming home from the woods with a bag of game. If he’d been stronger, he would’ve saved his son from such a fate. He could’ve protected his family from so much suffering. Is that not a father’s job?
It was he who placed a bow in Gale’s hand so many years ago; he who taught the boy how to bring down game; he who was too weak to fight his wounds and provide for his family. He who failed. And he knows it.
“This is my fault.”
