It was in this untamed landscape that young John Ridd's life took a turn he never saw coming. His dad was a big deal around those parts - a farmer built like a brick house with a heart of gold. The kind of guy who could wrestle a bull to the ground one minute and then gently help a newborn lamb find its feet the next.Now, the Doones were bad news. Think of them as the local boogeymen, a family of outlaws who'd set up shop in a hidden valley.So, picture this: John's dad is coming back from the market in Porlock, pockets jingling with the day's earnings, probably daydreaming about the warm fire waiting for him at home. He's taking this narrow path through a glen - perfect spot for an ambush.It was over quick. John's dad was tough, but he didn't stand a chance against a gang of hardened criminals.When the news hit the Ridd farm, it was like a bomb going off. John, just a kid of twelve, watched his mom crumple like a rag doll, her cries echoing across the farmyard.In that moment, John felt like Atlas with the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders. Suddenly, he was the man of the house, expected to step into shoes way too big for him.But John was cut from the same cloth as his old man. He rolled up his sleeves and dove headfirst into learning everything about running the farm. From sunrise to sunset, he was out there, working his fingers to the bone. His hands, once soft as a baby's bottom, got all rough and calloused.As time marched on, John's anger towards the Doones grew like a weed, choking out everything else. Every time he caught his mom's sad eyes or heard his sisters crying at night, that anger just got stronger.Years flew by, and John grew into a man as big as a house. Folks started calling him "John Ridd the Big," and boy, did it fit. He was tall as an oak and solid as the hills themselves.John's strength became the stuff of legend around those parts. He could hoist a full-grown sheep over his shoulders like it was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. At the local wrestling matches, he tossed guys around like they were made of straw.Standing at the edge of his farm, looking out over Exmoor's wild beauty, John knew deep down that his story was far from over. That tragedy that shaped his childhood had also forged him into a man with a purpose.As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, John couldn't shake this feeling in his gut. Something was coming. Maybe it was time to settle the score with the Doones once and for all. He headed back to the farmhouse, his mind racing with possibilities.