Brandy sobbed for a couple minutes. After, he went quiet as his father spoke again. Leave… leaving…
.
It felt impossible in a way. Would he ever really be able to leave his home? Would he even be able to stay either? He couldn't imagine leaving… but the thought of staying reminded him that his mother's blood still clung to his hands. It coated the walls, it painted the floors, it hung on the curtains. Everywhere his eyes trailed he was reminded of her body.
.
He couldn't stay. He'd go insane. But if he left… What would happen then?
.
Brandy felt his father begin to let go, but Brandy didn't let his hands loosen. His father had pulled back, and Brandy had let his arms loosen, but he still clung to his father's sleeves.
.
“You've gotten big.”
.
His father ruffled his hair, and Brandy felt his eyes well up again, but he didn't sob this time. For a long moment, he just kept holding on, and then he let go of his father's sleeves. “I guess I've grown a few inches. Mama always told me I'd grow up and hopefully be taller than you.” He let out a defeated chuckle. “Maybe I just ain't there yet…”
.
Pack essentials… Some canned food, a canteen, a blanket, his guitar, and his gun… That's all he could really think of. To him, maybe the guitar was the most important thing. It was all that gave him comfort the last couple days. He'd pluck a couple strings every now and then, but the boy hadn't had the energy to really pick it up and play.
.
“Yeah, I still have him… I hope I always will.” Brandy mumbled, watching his father get up and exit.
.
It was difficult to get up. Even worse to stand. His legs were shaky and for a moment his vision blurred, before fixating on his guitar. He reached down and picked it up slowly, pulling the strap around his shoulder and letting it hang off his back. The boy slumped around the room, gathering his things into a brown sack, before making his way to the front door. Brandy looked back longingly.
.
Who would clean up? Who would take care of the house?...
.
Maybe the neighbors would find the place and clean it up… Maybe someday somebody else will try and make it a home… Maybe someday he'll return…
.
Brandy heard his father calling, and slammed the door behind him. Walking over to his horse, he tied his brown sack to his satchel, and tied his gun up next to it. He put one foot in the stirrup, and threw his leg over his steed.
.
Willie was his horse, a small, but sturdy, welsh cob. His coat was thick and dappled grey, and his long hair half covered his eyes. The horse relaxed as Brandy settled into his back, and let out a huff, before swinging his head to look at Evertt’s horse.
Summer Month: 2 
Day 
Heavy Rain
