Post by saerphe on Apr 1, 2010 22:59:55 GMT -5
How to Train Your Thunder Dragon
Chapter One
Damian stormed angrily through the undergrowth. Twigs and branches snagged against his tunic and threatened to tear the fabric, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get as far from the village as possible. He stopped and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him; he wouldn’t put it past George to send Keith or Ryan after him, to make sure he wouldn’t do something rash.
Damian huffed and continued walking through the forest until he came to a creek. He sat down on a rock beside the water and stared at his reflection glumly. His hands automatically found a long, straight stick and he poked at the water with it, creating ripples in the lazy stream. His anger simmered as his thoughts went back to the village he had stormed out of and he felt a twinge of regret.
George had once again refused to take Damian on a Dragon hunt. He had asked, begged, pleaded to be allowed to patrol, to train in combat, to study Dragon lore, like so many boys even younger than Damian were doing, but time and time again, George, the leader of the village, refused.
Their village was situated perfectly, with the mountains on one side to shelter them, the sea on the other, and forest and fertile fields all around. It was the ideal place for farming and raising livestock, and the village had thrived for years. However, there was one problem.
Dragons ran rampant all across this part of the countryside. They lived in the mountains and hunted in the forests, caught fish out of the ocean and lakes. Unfortunately, the Dragons viewed the villagers’ livestock as an ideal food source, and hunted the sheep and cows that the villagers worked so hard to raise. When the villagers started to retaliate, the Dragons began swooping down on their homes, burning, raiding, and injuring and killing hundreds. Thus began the ritual of hunting Dragons; it was very much born from a kill or be killed mentality.
This had been happening for as long as and longer than anyone could remember. Killing a Dragon had become a rite of passage, and it was tradition for boys who had reached the age of fifteen to be taken out on their first hunt.
Damian was nearly eighteen. And he still had not had not been on his first hunt, let alone killed his first Dragon.
Damian’s life started out happily enough, living on a farm with his mother and father, helping with chores. He had even had his own pony, which his father had saved carefully and diligently for as Damian’s tenth birthday present. His farm was closer to the village than many others, and rarely saw wing or tail of Dragons. Damian had never even seen a Dragon until he was almost fifteen years old, but that first encounter was the one that had planted the almost obsessive desire to hunt down the beasts in his mind. He remembered it as if it had happened only yesterday…
“Damian, wake up! Wake up now!” He was being shaken roughly by his mother. Damian opened his eyes and peered blearily at his mother. He could hear the screams and shouted orders coming from the village, and loud, ferocious roars. The smell of wood-fire and smoke was overwhelming.
“What is it?” Damian asked nervously, sitting upright. His mother hastily handed him a draw-string bag with blankets, food and a canteen of water, his shoes and coat as she explained.
“Dragons are attacking the village, sweetie. Your father’s gone to help, and I’m going to join him, but I have to get you somewhere safe first. Come on, quickly!” She grasped Damian’s hand and pulled him out the back door of their cottage. Damian followed his mother as quickly and quietly as he could, sensing the need for stealth. His mother led him deep into the forest, and they came to a clearing ringed with tall bramble bushes. She held open the thorny branches for Damian to crawl through.
“Stay here, and don’t move until I come back for you. You have plenty of food and water to get you through tonight and tomorrow, but I should be back before then.” Damian was about to protest, to ask why he couldn’t come and help, but before he could say anything his mother had disappeared.
Damian sighed and sat back, wondering what he should do. He was fourteen, nearly fifteen!! She couldn’t just leave him out here in the dark to cower like a child while she and the other villagers fought off the Dragons. There must be some way he could help, even if it was only fetching water to put out the fires. After a few moments of indecision, Damian struggled out under the brambles and followed his mother back towards the village.
Damian could hardly believe the sight that greeted him when he finally found the village. There must have been nearly twenty Dragons, all well over ten feet long, with enormous wings, long, lethal claws and sharp-tipped tails. Many were in the sky, but some were on the ground, fighting with the villagers at close quarters.
Damian spotted his mother and father cornered against the wall of a hut by a large green Dragon. It swiped its massive paws at Damian’s father, who fought back with a makeshift spear. The Dragon opened its tooth-lined maw and inhaled deeply to breathe a tongue of flame at its victims.
Damian, without thinking, scooped up a stone about the size of his fist and threw it as hard as he could at the Dragon. It hit the creature just above the eye, and it turned to face Damian. Damian noticed that, while the Dragon’s entire body was green, its left eye was surrounded by a patch of bright violet scales.
As the Dragon turned on Damian, it opened its mouth and shot a blast of fire at him. He tried to jump out of the way, but wasn’t quite fast enough; the fire caught his side and though he managed to smother the flames, he knew he’d been badly burned.
How Damian knew this, he wasn’t sure; he couldn’t feel the pain at all. Everything slowed to a dull blur and he saw his parents fighting to get to him. Damian managed to stay conscious long enough to see the Dragon pounce at his parents from behind, but before he could see the outcome of the fight, he blacked out.
~*~
Damian awoke to the smell of cooking food and the sound of someone humming idly and clattering around a kitchen. He opened his eyes to see the thatched roof of one of the village’s wooden huts. He turned his head to see Zara, the village healer (and the champion dancer) standing beside a cooking fire, stirring the contents of a large black pot.
Sensing something cool and damp on his forehead, Damian reached up and grasped a wet rag; he presumably was recovering from a fever. He tried to sit up, but his burned side seared and he fell back with a groan. What had happened? As he was trying to piece it all together, Zara turned from her cooking and hurriedly came over to sit next to him.
“How do you feel?” She asked, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, “You’ve been out for nearly three days. We were worried you wouldn’t make it.” Damian tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry cough. Zara offered a cup filled with water, which he gratefully drank from.
“I feel awful.” Damian managed to choke out, “What happened?” Zara filled him in on the fight with the Dragon, his getting burned, and what had happened since he fell unconscious. The sounds of hammers, horses and carts, and men shouting back and forth to each other floated in from outside; the villagers were still rebuilding and repairing their homes and outbuildings.
Damian looked around Zara’s little cottage while he took the information in. “Where are my parents?” He finally asked. Zara’s eyebrow’s knitted together in a frown, but before she could answer there was a knock on the door. She answered it and after a short exchange in which Damian heard his name mentioned, George, the leader of the village stepped inside. Damian blinked in confusion. What would George be coming to see him for?
Zara moved out of the way to a far corner of the cottage; George obviously wanted to speak to Damian alone. He started to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. George pulled up a chair to sit next to Damian. They were silent for a time.
“How are you?” George asked gently. Damian could see something like concern in his eyes. Or was it pity?
“Fine.” Damian replied, slightly impatient, “Where are my parents?”
George drew a deep breath and let it out, running a hand over his bald head. Damian noticed he seemed quite tired. George clasped his hands on his lap and stared at them for a moment before looking back up into Damian’s searching blue eyes.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, lad…” George murmured softly. As George explained in full detail exactly what had happened, Damian’s whole world crumbled away beneath him.
~*~
The next few weeks crawled by with no end in sight. Damian, now parentless, was consumed by grief and shock. He wouldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep. His health deteriorated to the point that Zara had to brew a concoction of herbs to ease his broken heart so that he could rest and recover from his injuries, physical and emotional. It was a long, slow, hard recovery.
George took him in as his adopted son. George’s wife, Carolyn and his daughter, Sarah, were enthusiastic about the idea; they had liked Damian’s parents very much and Sarah was delighted to have a playmate. Though, it was a long time before Damian even thought about wanting to play. The Donaldsons’ warmth and kindness were a soothing balm for his pain.
Damian’s fifteenth birthday came and went, but he was still in no condition to be taken on the traditional first Dragon hunt. His burns healed and faded to dull, red scars. He grew from an awkward, lanky teenager into a handsome young man. He started to sing again; after his parents’ deaths, he had lost all joy in music, but it became a comfort to him as his heart began to mend. Damian’s rich, deep voice was the envy of many in the village.
It wasn’t until the next Dragon raid that Damian had his heart set on finally killing a Dragon. He was sixteen, running for water to douse the burning houses. The heat licked at his face until he reached the stream and was overwhelmed by the cool air. He filled the bucket and was about to sprint back to the village when he heard a loud snort and looked up at the other side of the stream.
A great, Green Dragon stood there, staring at Damian with wide yellow eyes, apparently surprised to see him there. Damian stood stock still, staring at the Dragon in fear. It was easily twenty feet long, maybe more, with its enormous, leathery wings folded tight to its flanks. Water dripped from its muzzle; it had clearly stopped for a drink, though Damian couldn’t be sure if it was involved with the attack on the village.
It struck Damian that this Dragon was familiar to him. He could swear that he had seen the green, plated scales, the long, thick whiskers that streamed from behind its nose, four long, black horns, diamond-shaped tail tip and surprisingly dainty paws before. But the real giveaway was the patch of bright purple scales around its left eye.
This was the Dragon that had killed his parents.
Damian saw red. He knew nothing but blinding, hot, raging anger. This creature had taken away everything that he held dear and had gotten away with it. Damian shouted something indistinguishable at the Dragon. Startled, it turned and loped away on its stocky legs. Damian stood fuming, watching as it ran.
“Damian!” Startled, Damian turned to see Keith running down the hill, a bucket in one hand, “Get back to the village, quick! We need all the help we can get!” Damian started, coming back to his senses, and with a nod in Keith’s direction, sprinted back to the village.
It wouldn’t be the last time he encountered that Dragon, and Damian swore to himself that next time he did, he would avenge his parents.
~*~
It was three years to the day since Damian had lost his parents, and the wounds were still as painful now as they were then. He was sitting in the very same spot that he had encountered the Dragon for the second time, tracing the water with the branch he’d picked up. Birds sang, the sun shone, butterflies and bumblebees hovered lazily around the spring wildflowers. The world seemed to have moved on and forgotten, but moving on was not an option in Damian’s eyes. It hadn’t been for years, and wouldn’t be until he had hunted down the Dragon that had killed his family.
Tossing the stick into the water, Damian stood and began walking. He wasn’t sure exactly where his feet were leading him, but he wasn’t quite ready to return to the village yet. He couldn’t face George yet, not after their argument, not after his angry departure. George and his family had been good to him those last few years; he didn’t deserve Damian’s anger. He’d save that for the Dragon.
When Damian stopped walking, he looked up to find himself under a weeping willow, standing before his parents’ graves. He sat down in the long grass before the stones with a sigh. It never failed. On this day every year his feet managed to find their way to this spot.
“What do I have to do?” Damian sighed. He traced his fingers around his parents’ names. Damian had never known himself to be capable of hate until after his parents were killed. He’d been quite happy with his life, happy to help his parents and neighbours. He never wanted anything in return, except maybe to live a happy life. What had he ever done to deserve this?
It wasn’t just the Dragons he hated. Ever since he lost his parents, and missed his first hunt people had looked at him differently. He saw the pity in their eyes; he knew that they knew how much his loss had affected him.
People saw him as weak; he was tall, but thin and had long, skinny limbs. Despite being apprenticed to Declan, the blacksmith, he had hardly put on any muscle. Technically he wasn’t supposed to be apprenticed at all. According to the village law, a boy could not officially begin an apprenticeship until after his coming of age… which was marked by his first Dragon hunt. George had had to bend the rules so that Damian could earn his keep and prepare for life as an adult. Everyone knew that George didn’t want Damian to hunt Dragons, although the reason why was a mystery to everyone but George.
It all came back to Dragons.
Even so, Damian enjoyed working in the forge with Declan. He fell into a tranquil state while he was working with the metal, and concentrating on his work allowed him to put aside all the other thoughts that bounced insistently within his brain.
Damian had hoped to inherit his family’s farm when he became an adult, to till the soil, raise horses and sheep and maybe some chickens, and to bring in a harvest every autumn, but it had burned down the same night he lost his parents. Still, he hoped to someday rebuild the farm house and raise a new barn, once he’d earned the money. Sure he could make very good money as a blacksmith, but Damian was more interested in living a simple and happy life than a rich one.
“Damian?” He started and looked behind him. Hayley-Jo, one of his neighbours from village was standing not far from where he was sitting; a basket slung over one arm. Hayley-Jo was apprenticed to Zara, and would inherit her responsibility as healer when Zara retired. She must have been out collecting herbs for Zara’s remedies. She knelt down beside him in the grass, her long white skirt folding neatly under her. Damian bit his lip.
“Hi.” He said quietly. She smiled softly and braided some of the strands of grass before her. Damian watched her hands as they manipulated the blades of grass into a long band. Once Hayley-Jo had secured the ends of the strand she plucked it from the ground and examined it.
“It needs something…” She trailed off looking at it. Damian looked around at his surroundings and saw a small, white lily growing next to his foot. He must have just missed crushing it when he settled himself. He picked the blossom up and tucked its stem into the band of Hayley-Jo’s grass bracelet. She smiled and tied it around his wrist. Damian raised an eyebrow.
“It reminds me a little bit of you.” She said gently, taking Damian’s hand in hers, her small, pale fingers tracing his larger, callused ones, “You’re frustrated because you’re missing something important. You feel incomplete.” Damian blinked. Hayley-Jo had an almost shrewd, unnerving way of getting right to the heart of an issue. That was why Zara had personally hand-picked her from a group of eager candidates. She had… what had Zara called it? Oh yes; a woman’s intuition. And she had lots of it.
“Maybe if George would let me go on my first hunt…” Damian grumbled. Hayley-Jo looked at him, seeming to consider something for a moment.
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but maybe that’s not really what you need.” She turned Damian’s hand over in hers and followed the lines on his palm with her index finger.
“Then what do I need?” Damian asked, his deep voice a sad sigh. Hayley-Jo shrugged.
“I don’t know. Only you can decide that.” She released Damian’s hand, collected her basket and walked away with a wave. Damian sat back and watched her go, slightly bemused. He would never understand girls. Especially Hayley-Jo.
~*~
So... I hope you enjoyed! Chapter two is in the works, and any and all input is appreciated! ^___^
Chapter One
Damian stormed angrily through the undergrowth. Twigs and branches snagged against his tunic and threatened to tear the fabric, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get as far from the village as possible. He stopped and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him; he wouldn’t put it past George to send Keith or Ryan after him, to make sure he wouldn’t do something rash.
Damian huffed and continued walking through the forest until he came to a creek. He sat down on a rock beside the water and stared at his reflection glumly. His hands automatically found a long, straight stick and he poked at the water with it, creating ripples in the lazy stream. His anger simmered as his thoughts went back to the village he had stormed out of and he felt a twinge of regret.
George had once again refused to take Damian on a Dragon hunt. He had asked, begged, pleaded to be allowed to patrol, to train in combat, to study Dragon lore, like so many boys even younger than Damian were doing, but time and time again, George, the leader of the village, refused.
Their village was situated perfectly, with the mountains on one side to shelter them, the sea on the other, and forest and fertile fields all around. It was the ideal place for farming and raising livestock, and the village had thrived for years. However, there was one problem.
Dragons ran rampant all across this part of the countryside. They lived in the mountains and hunted in the forests, caught fish out of the ocean and lakes. Unfortunately, the Dragons viewed the villagers’ livestock as an ideal food source, and hunted the sheep and cows that the villagers worked so hard to raise. When the villagers started to retaliate, the Dragons began swooping down on their homes, burning, raiding, and injuring and killing hundreds. Thus began the ritual of hunting Dragons; it was very much born from a kill or be killed mentality.
This had been happening for as long as and longer than anyone could remember. Killing a Dragon had become a rite of passage, and it was tradition for boys who had reached the age of fifteen to be taken out on their first hunt.
Damian was nearly eighteen. And he still had not had not been on his first hunt, let alone killed his first Dragon.
Damian’s life started out happily enough, living on a farm with his mother and father, helping with chores. He had even had his own pony, which his father had saved carefully and diligently for as Damian’s tenth birthday present. His farm was closer to the village than many others, and rarely saw wing or tail of Dragons. Damian had never even seen a Dragon until he was almost fifteen years old, but that first encounter was the one that had planted the almost obsessive desire to hunt down the beasts in his mind. He remembered it as if it had happened only yesterday…
“Damian, wake up! Wake up now!” He was being shaken roughly by his mother. Damian opened his eyes and peered blearily at his mother. He could hear the screams and shouted orders coming from the village, and loud, ferocious roars. The smell of wood-fire and smoke was overwhelming.
“What is it?” Damian asked nervously, sitting upright. His mother hastily handed him a draw-string bag with blankets, food and a canteen of water, his shoes and coat as she explained.
“Dragons are attacking the village, sweetie. Your father’s gone to help, and I’m going to join him, but I have to get you somewhere safe first. Come on, quickly!” She grasped Damian’s hand and pulled him out the back door of their cottage. Damian followed his mother as quickly and quietly as he could, sensing the need for stealth. His mother led him deep into the forest, and they came to a clearing ringed with tall bramble bushes. She held open the thorny branches for Damian to crawl through.
“Stay here, and don’t move until I come back for you. You have plenty of food and water to get you through tonight and tomorrow, but I should be back before then.” Damian was about to protest, to ask why he couldn’t come and help, but before he could say anything his mother had disappeared.
Damian sighed and sat back, wondering what he should do. He was fourteen, nearly fifteen!! She couldn’t just leave him out here in the dark to cower like a child while she and the other villagers fought off the Dragons. There must be some way he could help, even if it was only fetching water to put out the fires. After a few moments of indecision, Damian struggled out under the brambles and followed his mother back towards the village.
Damian could hardly believe the sight that greeted him when he finally found the village. There must have been nearly twenty Dragons, all well over ten feet long, with enormous wings, long, lethal claws and sharp-tipped tails. Many were in the sky, but some were on the ground, fighting with the villagers at close quarters.
Damian spotted his mother and father cornered against the wall of a hut by a large green Dragon. It swiped its massive paws at Damian’s father, who fought back with a makeshift spear. The Dragon opened its tooth-lined maw and inhaled deeply to breathe a tongue of flame at its victims.
Damian, without thinking, scooped up a stone about the size of his fist and threw it as hard as he could at the Dragon. It hit the creature just above the eye, and it turned to face Damian. Damian noticed that, while the Dragon’s entire body was green, its left eye was surrounded by a patch of bright violet scales.
As the Dragon turned on Damian, it opened its mouth and shot a blast of fire at him. He tried to jump out of the way, but wasn’t quite fast enough; the fire caught his side and though he managed to smother the flames, he knew he’d been badly burned.
How Damian knew this, he wasn’t sure; he couldn’t feel the pain at all. Everything slowed to a dull blur and he saw his parents fighting to get to him. Damian managed to stay conscious long enough to see the Dragon pounce at his parents from behind, but before he could see the outcome of the fight, he blacked out.
~*~
Damian awoke to the smell of cooking food and the sound of someone humming idly and clattering around a kitchen. He opened his eyes to see the thatched roof of one of the village’s wooden huts. He turned his head to see Zara, the village healer (and the champion dancer) standing beside a cooking fire, stirring the contents of a large black pot.
Sensing something cool and damp on his forehead, Damian reached up and grasped a wet rag; he presumably was recovering from a fever. He tried to sit up, but his burned side seared and he fell back with a groan. What had happened? As he was trying to piece it all together, Zara turned from her cooking and hurriedly came over to sit next to him.
“How do you feel?” She asked, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, “You’ve been out for nearly three days. We were worried you wouldn’t make it.” Damian tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry cough. Zara offered a cup filled with water, which he gratefully drank from.
“I feel awful.” Damian managed to choke out, “What happened?” Zara filled him in on the fight with the Dragon, his getting burned, and what had happened since he fell unconscious. The sounds of hammers, horses and carts, and men shouting back and forth to each other floated in from outside; the villagers were still rebuilding and repairing their homes and outbuildings.
Damian looked around Zara’s little cottage while he took the information in. “Where are my parents?” He finally asked. Zara’s eyebrow’s knitted together in a frown, but before she could answer there was a knock on the door. She answered it and after a short exchange in which Damian heard his name mentioned, George, the leader of the village stepped inside. Damian blinked in confusion. What would George be coming to see him for?
Zara moved out of the way to a far corner of the cottage; George obviously wanted to speak to Damian alone. He started to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. George pulled up a chair to sit next to Damian. They were silent for a time.
“How are you?” George asked gently. Damian could see something like concern in his eyes. Or was it pity?
“Fine.” Damian replied, slightly impatient, “Where are my parents?”
George drew a deep breath and let it out, running a hand over his bald head. Damian noticed he seemed quite tired. George clasped his hands on his lap and stared at them for a moment before looking back up into Damian’s searching blue eyes.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, lad…” George murmured softly. As George explained in full detail exactly what had happened, Damian’s whole world crumbled away beneath him.
~*~
The next few weeks crawled by with no end in sight. Damian, now parentless, was consumed by grief and shock. He wouldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep. His health deteriorated to the point that Zara had to brew a concoction of herbs to ease his broken heart so that he could rest and recover from his injuries, physical and emotional. It was a long, slow, hard recovery.
George took him in as his adopted son. George’s wife, Carolyn and his daughter, Sarah, were enthusiastic about the idea; they had liked Damian’s parents very much and Sarah was delighted to have a playmate. Though, it was a long time before Damian even thought about wanting to play. The Donaldsons’ warmth and kindness were a soothing balm for his pain.
Damian’s fifteenth birthday came and went, but he was still in no condition to be taken on the traditional first Dragon hunt. His burns healed and faded to dull, red scars. He grew from an awkward, lanky teenager into a handsome young man. He started to sing again; after his parents’ deaths, he had lost all joy in music, but it became a comfort to him as his heart began to mend. Damian’s rich, deep voice was the envy of many in the village.
It wasn’t until the next Dragon raid that Damian had his heart set on finally killing a Dragon. He was sixteen, running for water to douse the burning houses. The heat licked at his face until he reached the stream and was overwhelmed by the cool air. He filled the bucket and was about to sprint back to the village when he heard a loud snort and looked up at the other side of the stream.
A great, Green Dragon stood there, staring at Damian with wide yellow eyes, apparently surprised to see him there. Damian stood stock still, staring at the Dragon in fear. It was easily twenty feet long, maybe more, with its enormous, leathery wings folded tight to its flanks. Water dripped from its muzzle; it had clearly stopped for a drink, though Damian couldn’t be sure if it was involved with the attack on the village.
It struck Damian that this Dragon was familiar to him. He could swear that he had seen the green, plated scales, the long, thick whiskers that streamed from behind its nose, four long, black horns, diamond-shaped tail tip and surprisingly dainty paws before. But the real giveaway was the patch of bright purple scales around its left eye.
This was the Dragon that had killed his parents.
Damian saw red. He knew nothing but blinding, hot, raging anger. This creature had taken away everything that he held dear and had gotten away with it. Damian shouted something indistinguishable at the Dragon. Startled, it turned and loped away on its stocky legs. Damian stood fuming, watching as it ran.
“Damian!” Startled, Damian turned to see Keith running down the hill, a bucket in one hand, “Get back to the village, quick! We need all the help we can get!” Damian started, coming back to his senses, and with a nod in Keith’s direction, sprinted back to the village.
It wouldn’t be the last time he encountered that Dragon, and Damian swore to himself that next time he did, he would avenge his parents.
~*~
It was three years to the day since Damian had lost his parents, and the wounds were still as painful now as they were then. He was sitting in the very same spot that he had encountered the Dragon for the second time, tracing the water with the branch he’d picked up. Birds sang, the sun shone, butterflies and bumblebees hovered lazily around the spring wildflowers. The world seemed to have moved on and forgotten, but moving on was not an option in Damian’s eyes. It hadn’t been for years, and wouldn’t be until he had hunted down the Dragon that had killed his family.
Tossing the stick into the water, Damian stood and began walking. He wasn’t sure exactly where his feet were leading him, but he wasn’t quite ready to return to the village yet. He couldn’t face George yet, not after their argument, not after his angry departure. George and his family had been good to him those last few years; he didn’t deserve Damian’s anger. He’d save that for the Dragon.
When Damian stopped walking, he looked up to find himself under a weeping willow, standing before his parents’ graves. He sat down in the long grass before the stones with a sigh. It never failed. On this day every year his feet managed to find their way to this spot.
“What do I have to do?” Damian sighed. He traced his fingers around his parents’ names. Damian had never known himself to be capable of hate until after his parents were killed. He’d been quite happy with his life, happy to help his parents and neighbours. He never wanted anything in return, except maybe to live a happy life. What had he ever done to deserve this?
It wasn’t just the Dragons he hated. Ever since he lost his parents, and missed his first hunt people had looked at him differently. He saw the pity in their eyes; he knew that they knew how much his loss had affected him.
People saw him as weak; he was tall, but thin and had long, skinny limbs. Despite being apprenticed to Declan, the blacksmith, he had hardly put on any muscle. Technically he wasn’t supposed to be apprenticed at all. According to the village law, a boy could not officially begin an apprenticeship until after his coming of age… which was marked by his first Dragon hunt. George had had to bend the rules so that Damian could earn his keep and prepare for life as an adult. Everyone knew that George didn’t want Damian to hunt Dragons, although the reason why was a mystery to everyone but George.
It all came back to Dragons.
Even so, Damian enjoyed working in the forge with Declan. He fell into a tranquil state while he was working with the metal, and concentrating on his work allowed him to put aside all the other thoughts that bounced insistently within his brain.
Damian had hoped to inherit his family’s farm when he became an adult, to till the soil, raise horses and sheep and maybe some chickens, and to bring in a harvest every autumn, but it had burned down the same night he lost his parents. Still, he hoped to someday rebuild the farm house and raise a new barn, once he’d earned the money. Sure he could make very good money as a blacksmith, but Damian was more interested in living a simple and happy life than a rich one.
“Damian?” He started and looked behind him. Hayley-Jo, one of his neighbours from village was standing not far from where he was sitting; a basket slung over one arm. Hayley-Jo was apprenticed to Zara, and would inherit her responsibility as healer when Zara retired. She must have been out collecting herbs for Zara’s remedies. She knelt down beside him in the grass, her long white skirt folding neatly under her. Damian bit his lip.
“Hi.” He said quietly. She smiled softly and braided some of the strands of grass before her. Damian watched her hands as they manipulated the blades of grass into a long band. Once Hayley-Jo had secured the ends of the strand she plucked it from the ground and examined it.
“It needs something…” She trailed off looking at it. Damian looked around at his surroundings and saw a small, white lily growing next to his foot. He must have just missed crushing it when he settled himself. He picked the blossom up and tucked its stem into the band of Hayley-Jo’s grass bracelet. She smiled and tied it around his wrist. Damian raised an eyebrow.
“It reminds me a little bit of you.” She said gently, taking Damian’s hand in hers, her small, pale fingers tracing his larger, callused ones, “You’re frustrated because you’re missing something important. You feel incomplete.” Damian blinked. Hayley-Jo had an almost shrewd, unnerving way of getting right to the heart of an issue. That was why Zara had personally hand-picked her from a group of eager candidates. She had… what had Zara called it? Oh yes; a woman’s intuition. And she had lots of it.
“Maybe if George would let me go on my first hunt…” Damian grumbled. Hayley-Jo looked at him, seeming to consider something for a moment.
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but maybe that’s not really what you need.” She turned Damian’s hand over in hers and followed the lines on his palm with her index finger.
“Then what do I need?” Damian asked, his deep voice a sad sigh. Hayley-Jo shrugged.
“I don’t know. Only you can decide that.” She released Damian’s hand, collected her basket and walked away with a wave. Damian sat back and watched her go, slightly bemused. He would never understand girls. Especially Hayley-Jo.
~*~
So... I hope you enjoyed! Chapter two is in the works, and any and all input is appreciated! ^___^