The blade fell, penetrating the ground several inches. He just couldn't bring himself to slaughter his son.
But, what could he do?
The lighthouse!
Bowan re-sheathed his sword and cradled the infant in his arms. All he had to do was set the child by the door of the lighthouse, and the lighthouse keeper was sure to discover the child by morning. If the boy died in the chill night air, then the blood would not be upon Bowan's hands, and no one would ever have to confront this monster of his own creation. If the boy lived, then mercy on the soul that would have to face him one day.
Which would probably be Bowan.
The father pursed his lips, stealthily making his way to the lighthouse. Dawn was breaking and he had to hurry. If he really did have the backbone, then he would have the chance, the time, to complete his task and do it right. At the lighthouse door, he lay the halfling infant on the ground, letting his hand gently linger on his son's round, childish cheek for a few moments. Then, he straightened, mentally preparing himself for what he must do.
Bowan drew his sword once more and examined it, appreciating the silvery flash of the morning's first golden rays as they caressed his deadly weapon. He looked down at the baby and resigned himself. "Just so I'll never have to face you again," he breathed to the sleeping youngling.
With a guttural cry, Bowan thrust the tip of his sword into the soft flesh of his belly and twisted. He fell to his knees as the sound of footsteps from within the lighthouse reached his deafening ears. The pain in his belly was far too great to bear.
Someone gasped above him. "Bowan? Bowan Monster-Slayer?"
"Monster," he gasped, feeling a weightlessness that seemed to carry him to the skies. Slashes of red were appearing across his vision, and he wasn't sure if it was his eyes or the bloody dawn. "It's a monster."
The lighthouse keeper stood in astonishment at the scene he had just walked upon in the increasing daylight: Bowan, the great swordsman, with a sword in his stomach lying beside a tiny newborn wrapped tightly and lovingly in swaddling clothes. All the while, the child slept peacefully as the lifeblood of the seasoned hero bubbled forth in bright torrents and drained away into the grass below his still, cold corpse.
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