The Brothers Grim

{This is a response to What Pegman Saw an international story collection focussed on a different part of the world each week. This week we are in Riga, Latvia, in Northern Europe.

The name of the monk, Dievmilis, means God-loving in Latvian. Hope you enjoy my somewhat less than original tale! Thanks for the prompt and thank you for stopping by!}

Brother Dievmilis “The Short” had spent his whole life, enduring jibes about his height.

But upon entering the sombre monastery of St. Benedict, he encountered several other committed Cistercians who shared the same insufficiency of stature.

Six, to be exact.

The monastery garden lay deep in the forest. Dievmilis and his brothers were busy pruning vines, pulling weeds, and plucking the tenderest herb shoots, to be used for pickling and potions and poultices.

Suddenly, a young woman burst out of the dense woods and into the garden. Hair, black as night. Skin, white as snow. Ruby-red lips, to make the chastest chaplain quiver.

Through the tangle of bushes behind the woman, Dievmilis could have sworn that he saw two steely eyes, and the sharp glint of a hunting knife.