Right and Wrong

Ciaran scanned their faces, waiting for fear or anger, for someone to try to. One man raised his sword.

Ciaran let flame blossom on his palm.

The man let his sword fall, and then he turned. Fled.

The rest of the men followed him, some running, some stumbling, and behind Ciaran, the rest of the blue-painted began to cheer.

Relief trickled down Ciaran’s spine, and as the last of the enemies disappeared, he knew he had done something right.

And then the smell of burning flesh struck him again, and he knew he’d also done something very, very wrong.