Jay circled the campfire, clenching and unclenching his hands behind his back. His brothers stood back, as far from his wrath as they could manage. They feared him, and rightfully so, because his anger seemed somewhat justified to them and his anger could swiftly turn to rage. Looking into the eyes of an enraged Jay was like staring into the eyes of a hungry, caged, and tortured lion who was looking for something to kill.
“The wrong one?” He asked in a silky smooth voice.
“It’s not our fault,” the oldest brother, Bay, replied “the old man lied to us. He told us it was her!”
Jay continued to pace, digging a trench into the ground around the flames. Swinging his arms up, he rubbed his head and then traced one of the scars on his face. His gloved fingers stretched and then dropped to his side as he sat down on a stump.
“No.” Jay’s voice was strong and commanding.
“What?”
“The old man did not lie. He told the truth, but it was not as simple as we naively believed.”
“What do you mean?” Shey, the youngest brother, inquired.
“The old man only said that the weapon was a person who could kill the king and that she was made of metal. He did not say who she was.”
“Ah, I believe I understand.” Bay said, “We automatically assumed that it was her because she hides her arms, indicating something to hide, and she is close to the king.”
“But it is not her.”
“Who else could it be?”
“I don’t know,” Jay’s face hardened “but I’m going to find out and when I do, the king will die.”