“But Dad!” The boy said, almost crying.
With a whine, the young boy turned and ran down to the front room where he found his father's belt laying quietly in a evening shadow. Toby approached cautiously, his eyes focused on the thick wide brown belt. Sweating, the small boy paused as he picked up the belt and strained then to listen for his father. Waiting just a few seconds in hopes to hear the man calm down, his movement to take on a relaxed slump, a heavy fall to the bed, or even a creak from a chair. There was nothing.
Swallowing, Toby slowly crept back to the bedroom, returning to the big man like a servant bearing an offering. The belt heavy in his sweaty hands.
“Good lad.” His father said, taking the belt and wrenching it firmly around the woman's wrists, the owner of the house was so easily pinning down by his father. Then, with a smile, handing his roofing hammer over to Toby. The weight he has felt untold times was almost unbearable now.
“Like I showed you. Where do we hit?”