((This character is suffering a PTSD episode, it is quite disjointed as a result))
A child stood on a chair, curiously watching his mother work on kneading some dough. The mother smiled kindly and tore off a small chunk of dough. She hands it to her son and shows him how to knead it properly. The two work side by side. She shows him how to form the loaf properly, setting out her loaf and his miniature loaf. Egfor giggled, a bit of flour smeared on his forehead and clothes. He was no older than seven. The two enjoyed the moment of serenity. Gwawr prided in teaching her son to be self-sufficient. Something told her that he would never take a wife, so she wished to teach him all the things a woman would do, as well as a man, though her husband had forbidden such teachings.
His mother tensed, hearing heavy footfalls. She ushered the boy away quickly, whispering, "Do not let your father catch you baking, it would make him angry!"
Egfor gasps and darts into the pantry at the last minute, holding his breath and keeping still.
Gwawr turned around to greet her husband who stormed in angrily, "Hello, love, I…" She didn't get to finish her sentence. She was met with the back of a hand and a, "Don't talk unless I tell you to."
Gwawr raised a hand to her cheek, fighting back tears. This wasn't the sweet, caring man she had wed.
The man's eyes settled on the two loaves of bread, scowling as he noticed the smaller loaf. He turned on her, hissing, "I told you not to turn our son into a woman."
Gwawr shook her head frantically, "I didn't have enough dough to make two large loaves."
The man scowled, not believing her. He grabbed an empty bottle that had whiskey in it at one point. He smashed it on the table, prowling around the room, "I'll find that little wretch."
Egfor quivered in fear, hands clamped over his mouth. All of a sudden the curtains were yanked back and he was hauled out, excruciating pain and the warmth of blood crossed his face.
Egfor gripped the table, threatening to break a piece off. The sound of his daughter breaking a glass bottle when he took to the whiskey sent him catapulting back into violent flashbacks. It wasn't her fault. She had no idea what triggered these episodes.
He heard nothing around him, did not hear Dem, Syllea or Nelendor calling his name. The scars hidden meticulously under his beard seared in agony as he relived the moment in his head.
He struggled to breathe, feeling like he was drowning. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Syllea promptly left. Egfor managed to croak out to Dem to go check on her. He left as well. Next thing he knew, he heard a musical voice. He tried going for his flask again, it vanished as Nelendor threw it across the common room. The pain and anger in his eyes, his father going after him, the bottle breaking, the numbing effect of alcohol, Wulf's face leering over him. He grits his teeth, unable to recall the rest of the night's happenings.
