The Start to a Long Journey

When I awoke, my head throbbing, the room was empty of all but a wind carrying a few leaves to drift across the floor and rustle to a halt at me feet.  the door swung creakily, and the wind whistled noisily.  All was dark.  I stood, and tiptoed to the door.  Outside a crescent moon drifted blue-white tendrils of light between waving branches, and my eyes searched the surroundings for any sign of unnatural, human, movement.  nothing.

I grudgingly admit that at this point tears began to slide down my cold cheeks, and I, shivering, ran back into the cottage and sat in a corner, arms wrapped around me, and rocked, till nothing was left inside of me, all I could feel was the cold hard floor beneath me, the cold hard wind around me, and the cold hard feeling deep inside me, reflecting the cold hard moon outside.

I was suddenly struck by a strange sense of determination that I had never before felt, and I leapt up with a vigor.  I looked around, the cottage was a disaster, the table knocked over, the ashes of the fire scattered, bedclothes flung about.  I ran to the chest, resting at the end of one of our two beds, and opened it with a certain amount of difficulty.  Inside lay two fighting knifes, in sheaths, an ornate saddle blanket with gold stitching and a cloak with similar design.  I lifted the knifes, the cloak and the blanket, shoved the latter two into a pack, and wrapped the belt, with the knifes hanging from it, around my waist.  I took my mother's worn brown cloak about my shoulders, and, with no food to be found in the house, left without looking back.

Outside I checked the lean-to that served as shelter for our animals during storms.  Tibi and Plucker, the chicken and rooster, had escaped through a hole in the fence, that hole being made by Betsy, the cow, bolting.  Trance was standing docilely at the fence, his sad eyes trained on me.  I smiled at the speckled white pony and quickly saddled and bridled him.  After I had pulled myself onto his back, and tied my belongings to the saddle, I kicked him into as fast a gallop as he could manage, not being strong or fast in any way.  Even as the trees slipped by, I felt the strong determination failing, and my heart fell to my knees.  I headed for Duinn, the nearest civilization, and by sunrise, I was clopping along the grey streets, my eyelids drooping, and dismounting at the Dragon Scale Inn.

Explanation.

earlier of the now.

When I was thirteen, the day I turned it, I had stood on the path outside my house.  Listening to the birdsong, and the rustle of wind in trees, my mind had wandered, I recall, to a story told many times by firelight whenever my extended family came together.  A warrior had stood forth to except a sword, and had fought a dragon, and married the princess.  When the princess dies, in the story, the warrior melted into a river of tears, becoming the Teardrop River flowing not far away at that time.  I loved that story.  

But when, later on, a warped form of that same tale came upon me, I realized it wasn't as beautiful as it seemed.  it was ugly.  the truth of the story killed people.  But of course no one mentioned that in the version told by the fire on warm nights under the stars.

I walked forward, humming a song, and then it started.  the sad part of my story began.

A man walked toward me on the path.  He was dressed in peasants garb, greens and browns, and had brown hair and blue eyes.  He smiled warmly, and reached out a calloused hand to shake.  He told me who he was, his voice warm and friendly.  
"Hello!  I'm Carl.  Lovely weather isn't it?"


This was the beginning of our friendship.  And perhaps more than friendship.


Carl looked to be about 19 or 20, though still boyish at heart.  Always laughing, smiling and joking.  Little did I know.


That night, we ate dinner together by the fire outside, and I told him the Warriors Tale.  He looked thoughtful, and was quite the rest of the evening, then departed not long after to head home.


Then, the next morning,  I awoke to a scream.  I leapt out of bed, and found Mother and Trav, my younger brother, huddled in a corner, and a man with a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, threatening them.  
"NO!"  I screamed, and ran after him, He turned and cracked my head with the hilt of his sword.  I was to become much more familiar with that pain in days to come.  I blacked out.


~Z

Fast fingers, slow tongue

My fingers unintentionally reached for my blade, only to find it not there.

"Speak!" the man roared.

Though I tried, my tongue remained stiff as cardboard.

He raised his saber hilt downward, and I closed my eyelids tight and held my breath, hoping it was a dream, but my lights blinked out with a thud and I fell to the ground.