Role

Chapter 7

Tarak stands at the graves of his family, two the left a fresh grave has been dug about five
feet in length, a casket sits inside the grave. A tear forming in his left eye Tarak whispers
the words "Goodbyes sister, Taraks misses."

As he places hand on shovel he remebers back to the good times he shared, as he did when he
burried his mother and father. The words he uttered when he was so young held true, for
eighty years he carried his sister, cared for her. Their bond extremely unique, it was very
early on in child hood that something was noticed was not right, her legs never really seemed
to develop so Tarak was her legs, and well she was the brains of the outfit. She shared this
gift with him help teach him things his father never could grasp. She loved the thrill the
motion she had been denied, and nothing beat the thrill of combat, so she studied the ways of
unarmed combat and applied this knowledge through her brothers body as an extension to her own.
Hearing her laugh and giggle only pushed Tarak harder, over time becomeing quite the formidable
unarmed combatant.

It was during a particularly nasty fight against a pack of wolves, Tarak was covered in blood
throwing his arms and legs in way of teeth protecting his sister, constantly getting his legs
tripped up from underhim, he knew he was ... he knew they were in trouble. Suddenly the two
found themsevles, on high ground, finally the upper hand managing to beat the wolves back
to the shadows of the forest. Peering downwards Taraks sister pokes him on the shoulder and
points towards his feet elevated some two feet from the ground.

"How the hell did you do that?"