The ceremonial shield hung on a pole, outside their tent. Later that day, his father would present it to him, as a symbol of his coming of age. But it would be years before he would wield it in battle. The Carver had been paid many pelts to produce it, for the metal studs and boss took days to perfect, and the intricate carving had been designed to ward off evil spirits.He ran his fingers over its surface, marvelling at the details, and feeling their hidden power tingling up his arm.
Hal was twelve summers old, and his blonde hair tickled his face but stung his eyes as the wind whipped it harder. His cloak too, was flapping around his bare legs like a banner, tugging at the silver clasp fastened on his shoulder. His mother and sisters had been working for months to spin and weave enough cloth to make it, and had given him the silver clasp only this morning, in honour of his initiation. The Warrior Brotherhood would teach him all the skills he would need to become a worthy member of their tribe.
Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales asked for a poem or vignette inspired by her photo of this shield. I already wrote a humourous poem, but wanted to try something more serious, so who better to tell me whether this constitutes a vignette, than fellow Blogpals? Can't wait to hear your opinions...


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