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flyingpups · 4 years

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Chapter 2

The trek was long and tedious, with the blistering hot sun down on her head. She took great caution avoiding the guards patrol whenever they passed by. There were small cuts and scrapes on the soles of her feet, at least there would be if there wasn’t a thick layer of mud, dirt, and pebbles coating her feet. She had been on the road for several months now, living off the kindness of strangers, whenever the inner demons, that is her hunger would sing their symphonies as loud as they pleased. Some were not as kind as they should be, claiming her to be a vagrant to try to steal their gold. She would often be chased away with someone behind, throwing stones at her. She would receive a different, much kinder response from the mystical creatures of the forest. Though, they were first hesitant the first few weeks of her venture.

They have a disdain for humans, considering they were hunted, a mere few thousand years ago. When heavy rain downpoured during the night, the forest nymphs would create shelters made of; grass, sticks and leaves to keep her dry. When a blanket of snow encased the ground, the gnomes would fashion her boots made of drakenfalk fur; thick brown and black fur with clawed bumps at the bottom of the shoes. The forest creatures proved to be far more kinder to her than the humans, but she relied on both to survive. Leaving from Destian was a difficult task for the heart, as that was her home for many years. She had to live with the fact that it was her home no longer. Harder in thought but easier to accept, she persevered and trekked onward to whatever future beheld her.

As she ventured forward, the town of Hiradanza peeked over the horizon. It was a small town consisting of mainly farmers and blacksmiths. She began to recall a tale about a man living here, being able to craft the finest jewelry ever blessed by the heavens. He’d be so talented, they say he could breathe the fire directly into the forge, and spit icy winds to cool the metal. Of course, they were all wise tales but impressive nonetheless.

As she entered the village, she made sure to pull her hood down as far as she could. Impairing her vision was nothing compared to avoiding the attention of others. This… proved to be a somewhat difficult task as some of the townspeople, kind as they are, attempted to invite her inside their business for a meal, trinkets, or simply just to share fables. She politely denied with her hand gestures and continued passing through, looking around for an inn to unwind.

The sleeping dragon. Taking a deep breath, she headed inside the building. It was a small cabin with a rose thorn design etched into the doorway. The interior of the inn seemed to be bathed by the sky, as an ocean of blue light emitted the surrounding area. The walls are painted a calming glacial blue, supplemented with accented vertical dark blue stripes. Hanging from the ceiling were white and blue chandeliers holding candles scented with dragons blood. The flooring is a cooled dark hardwood with a great forest inspired ashen rug to enhance the decor. As she stepped inside, basking in the glow of the room, the innkeeper called her over to the front desk. “Hello ma’am, will you be staying with us tonight?” she asked politely. The hooded girl simply nodded her head and placed 5 coins of silver on the counter. Her demeanor quickly changes to shock when noticing her bandaged fingers; grabbing hold of her hand quickly, she examines it with great caution and detail. Her questions become motherly and numerous, causing the hooded girl to withdraw her hand rapidly.

“I’m sorry, that was very rude of me. It isn’t my place to question the guest about their history. Please, you may have the room at the end of the hall. It is quite lovely with a view of the stream and the forest. You may call me Lisbeth if you need anything.”, she states calmly, handing her room key and spare wraps for her to use. The hooded girl nodded, smiled through her bandages and briskly walked to her room. Once inside, she closed the blinds, threw her hood onto the floor, and proceeded to fall back onto the bed.

She sunk deep into the bed, unable to move; more so, unwilling to move as she hadn’t felt such comfort in a long while. It was as if the nimbus floated her and soared through the deep oceans of the blue sky. She kept her eyes closed and soared high, higher through the clouds and across vast lands. The sheets were so pleasant and soothing, the feeling of clouds soaking in tepid air had reached deep inside her core. To her surprise, the bed was quite large. The idea of her sinking past the floorboards, or merging with the bed itself popped up silently behind.There was a flame lit underneath her, not sweltering enough to burn her, but pleasant enough to warm her soul. It was too much for her to handle, as the candles dimmed, so did her cognizance soon fade to slumber. She dreamt, she slept for hours and hours, as if she were cursed by the goddess of dreams, she slept peacefully.

She was awoken abruptly by a soft knock on the door, and a calming voice peeking through. “Good morning sleeping drim”, Lisbeth voiced softly. She entered the room quietly while carrying; spare towels, rag scraps, and a set of clothes to change into. The hooded girl yawned loudly, pulling the blanket over her head, and attempted to drift back into dormancy. Lisbeth simply sighs softly and walks over to her, ripping the sheets off of her. “You have been sleeping for three days now, and frankly the smell is beginning to rot the walls.” she states, whilst covering her nose. Grunting loudly, the hooded girl sits up straight and sighs. Lisbeth takes her by the hand and rushes to the restroom in a haste. She hesitates greatly, backing herself up against the door while protecting her arms. Lisbeth pauses for a moment, glances over to her filthy rags and sits in waiting. “I understand I am not in a position to be trusted” she responds gently. “I won’t force it upon you, but please allow me to mend your wounds before they become infected. If you have any wounds to mend that is.” she reached out her hand in a passive movement. With some reassurement, the girl agreed and stepped forward. Taking off her hood was similar to unwinding a spring, her hair shot out as a large ball of knotted mess. Lisbeth nearly giggled by her unkempt hair, but stifled it away.

Removing the bindings from the young girl’s hand, she fixates on the teardrop imprint on the girl’s middle finger. “You know, I never received a name from you yet, little drim.” She shakes her head in denial, allowing her to continue removing the bandages. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Lisbeth lets out a small smile towards her. “Well you are going to need a name if you will be staying here. I’m sure ‘little drim’ wouldn't be a good title for you either. How does Dew sound for a name then. A raindrop falling towards a beautiful flower.” Glancing over to her imprint, she smiles through her covered mouth and nods her head. “Dew it is then, a beautiful name for this budling.” Dew’s arms were smooth as silk, which was odd considering it had been essentially a month since her last bathing. Dew’s uneasiness increases evermore so as Lisbeth continues unwinding her, as if she were a top wound up by a string. For the first time, her scars were in front of a complete stranger, willingly if anything. Lisbeth held her up, and sat her in the tub filled with piping hot water. She reluctantly tried climbing out from the sudden heat. Giving it a few moments, the soothing effects soon melted her composure and caused her to relax her muscles. Though, it was immediately interrupted by Lisbeth dumping shampoo and hot water over her head. With an hour of vigorous scrubbing and silent screams, Dew was clean from head to toe.

“Will you get dressed already, I picked those clothes out myself Dew.” she proclaims from outside the doorway. Dew bangs on the door hard to insinuate her to shut up. After a few moments, she steps outside from the restroom, her hands wrapped behind her timidly. She was dressed in a combination of blue and green; a deep hooded cloak to cover her face, accompanied with a embroidered golden sleeping dragon design on the back. Her tunic flowed downward towards her hips, with velvet linings on the collar. Her trousers were loose but firm enough not to get snagged on anything jagged. Her shoes were jet black and soft accompanied with matching black socks. She wrapped a velvet green scarf around her neck and over her mouth to conceal her lips. Taking out some long sleeved fingerless gloves from the pocket of the cloak, she spun around, admiring her outfit.

“I wanted something more colorful for you, but knowing how you came in, it seemed like you did not want to be noticed. So tell me, do you love your outfit?” she asked her, sitting atop her bed. Dew smiled and gave her a thumbs up, enjoying the warmth of her attire.She took a moment to recollect about beast named drake and where it might be. Writing this question on a piece of paper, she asked Lisbeth. “That would be here, the drake is ‘The sleeping dragon’. Though I haven’t heard someone call it by its previous name in a while. Pray chance, where did you hear that name?” she asked Dew. Dew simply shook her head and smiled at her. She collected what little bags she had been gifted with and proceeded to the doorway. “You are always welcome back here Dew. A child shouldn’t be wandering the streets by herself”, she simply nodded her head and closed the door on her way out. Dew takes a moment to look back at the inn, and continues on her journey. At least now, she has somewhere she can come back to. At most, that is what she is hoping for. A new place and a new friend she can potentially trust.

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flyingpups · 4 years

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A story

Chapter 1 “Twelve scars on her thighs measuring in about four inches wide, small cuts surrounding her fingertips, and a teardrop imprint on her tertiary finger. Twenty five scars splattered her entire back, all ranging in different sizes and thickness. There are a plethora of scars covering both of her arms as well; minimal and small, but unusual that there are so many. The wounds on her arms will heal over time but…” the guard stares at the parchment with great sorrow. He shakes his head in a displeasing manor, continuing his report as followed. “The gash to her neck seemed to happen very recently, if she were any later to the valet, the valetudia, the valetudan..” “the valetudinarium?”, the other guard states in a mocking tone. “Yes, the clinic. If the people who had discovered her were any later, she wouldn’t be here knocking at death’s door.” “What did she do anyways?”, the second guard contemplated. “They wouldn’t tell us, just said to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t die from her wounds. It’s a shame, I knew her father, she was a very kind sweet girl once.

It’s sad to think she would be this marked up, at the age of fourteen no less”. They walk towards the prisoner, finding her huddled under some sheets on the cot. The visible pain on her twitches is enough to investigate her motives even more so. The prison medic walks out the cell, her medical bag on her persons with visible despair. She is visibly shaken from the young girl’s wounds.The first guard looks at her with somber eyes, tempted to enter her jail cell and console her. The only thing he managed to do was lay another blanket atop her to warm her up. The second guard lightly grasped his comrad’s shoulder, inviting him back to reality. Sighing softly, he nods and walks away, venturing back to their guards chambers. “So how exactly do you know her, Erza?” he pondered, lifting a mug of ale to his lips. “I’ve known her family for several years, Charles”. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, staring back at her jail cell. “I just don’t know how she accumulated so many scars. I still recall walking into her father’s bakery.” He let out a smirk, turning his eyes back to Charles. “I heavily remember walking into partake on a few lunar berry tarts, when this little girl would run out at the sound of the door chimes. She was coated in a heavy seep of flour and blotted cyan cream on her cheeks. She was only seven at the time…”

She tossed and turned in her sleep, grasping at the sheets often. The sound of water clashing into a pan awoke her from her slumber in a panic haze. The medic washing the dirty bandages nearly had her soul fly away from the sudden screams. She clasped her robe, trying to steady her heart, watching the girl wince in pain from the sudden movement. “You nearly gave me a fright, devil girl!” She hollered loudly. The two guards came rushing by with their swords drawn. The medic waives them off, claiming that everything is under control. Turning back to the girl, she settles her down with a soothing voice. “There there little poppet, you are not in any danger.” Quelling down, she lies on her back, steadying her breathing. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, pretty typical of what a jail cell should look like. Though they seem sparse of a mirror, it was highly unlikely there would be a reason to have one. She takes a good look at the medic salving her wounds. She was quite a hefty lass with; shoulder length amber hair tied into a bun, a holy cross of some sorts around her neck and oval cherry tinted glasses. She was dressed in all white with a auburn toolbelt and blue heeled boots. Her eyes resembled a meadow, bright yellow with a tint of orange. There were minimal freckles across the bridge of her nose and pierced lips of brass, two rings to be exact. She couldn’t be older than fifty five.

Mary attempts to unwind the binding embracing her arms. She seemed to resile away from her, crawling back against the wall. “Oh stop it will you, do you want your wounds to become infected? Would you rather lose a leg or two? Sit still and let me heal your wounds will you” she pestered the girl and scooted closer to her. Begrudgingly, she sat still and winced while Mary unwrapped her bindings. Blood soaked the rags heavily against her thighs and legs, taking an astonishingly longer time due to her cries of anguish. The bandages on her arms though seem to slide off like water on glass, a few cuts and scrapes but nothing major. the gash on her neck though worried her the most, it was as if someone held the knife in a cumbersome position. They cut her, healed her, and sliced her more so, similar to a scarred tree. Shaking off her nerves, she grabs some cleaning slime and spreads it across her thighs, causing the girl to thrash and holler in pain. “I know it stings poppet but that's how the healing works. I can promise you it won’t be pleasant but it’s better than lying here in constant pain while time heals you. Shame, those scars will remain with you forever. What prickly thorns did you infiltrate to paint your skin like a rose bush”. After half an hour of bellowing screams and hollering, Mary stepped out with a basket full of filthy rags. The girl falls asleep from the searing pain, finally able to dream peacefully. Erza stopped by her chambers, and glanced at her for a moment. She looked back at him, and smiled. “Please, tell me what happened to you, who hurt you, why has the queen ordered you to keep you alive” he questioned her. All she could muster was to shake her head negatively. He simply gave her a reassuring smile and continued on his patrol. The jail house was relatively small, able to house about four hundred criminals. There were three floors to this building, with the guards chambers being in both the second and first floor. At least that’s what the other inmates yell out. Most are in here for petty crimes while others need a shelter from the deadly weathers that come to be.

As the days went on, so did the bone chilling nights. As requested, Erza gave her several blankets to survive the night, five to be exact. Favoritism was heavily noted between both inmates and the other guards. but who can blame them, it was on the queens order the girl be kept alive. Mary mended her clothing when it had gotten rips, even added pockets to her request. An odd request, but she sought no reason not to grant it. The sound of the other prisoners next door, keeping her up didn't help as well. As the weeks went by, so did the frequent visits from Erza. It made her somewhat at peace, listening to an old friend reminisce about the past. His fondest memories have to be at the bakery her father worked at, the time she tried to sell him an overpriced muffin, and the infestation of drims from her feeding them halodena muffins. Not surprising that they were interested in a muffin filled with tons of sugar and rich creamy halodena berries. Every night he would ask what predicament she was in, every night she still remained mute as ever. She spent the days looking outside the barred windows, staring up into the stars. She couldn’t stay here any longer, as kind as the guards are, they wouldn’t be able to protect her. She made up her mind about the days to come. She has to escape from this prison, any longer and she would be putting other lives at risk. She made sure to keep in shape with minimal exercise, and contemplate her set path.

Slip through the bars, jump to the roof, and climb down the side of the building with greater caution. The jump is only ten feet away, possible with minimal margin of error. Using the blankets, I can make spare clothes for the trip… no that won’t work. Only Mary sews in this place. I can bring one blanket with me to use as a cloak and the other to help me escape. I have to pick a day when they are preoccupied with other things.

She had her plan, she recited it over and over to account for any failures. She recalled her father mentioning a town to the far east and a beast named Drake. What business that beast and her father had, she will never know until she makes the venture for herself. For now, she has to be patient for the right moment. She had remembered the guards are typically overly laxed on fridays. Not to mention, things tend to get overly hectic when a drunkard decides to either barge in or spend a night in a cell. The last drunkard that arrived tossed a guard out the window, and expelled his fluids onto several guards. Safe to say, they keep ample distances away from the wanderers and bar flies.

As she rested her head down on the soft cold pillow, she began to daydream about her lonesome adventure yet to come. She won’t be able to return for a long while, and most likely she will be hunted for escaping the city. Tears began flowing down her cheek; she would miss her father and the smell of the warm bread baking in the oven, the chimes from the door opening, even the birds in the late afternoon waiting for the bread that had gone partially bad. She would undeniably miss her mother’s heavenly voice echoing inside her head. With one shaky deep breath, she closed her eyes and retired for the night. The next day came to be and it started like any other; banging on the metal doors to awaken the prisoners, feeding them their daily rations, and making sure they head to the bathing chambers to clean themselves off. She had been here for one month now, watching ever so vigilantly. She saw when the guards’ patrols were at their weakest, when the prisoners seemed the most unruly, and when mother nature blessed her with fog. Thankfully the fog was exceptionally heavy. Tonight is the night to make her move. Equally lucky, only Charles and Erza seem to be the only guards present on the second floor. Taking the three blankets, she weaves them to a makeshift chain and smiles to herself.

The sound of the bed scraping against the floors alerted the guards to the prisoners chambers. One by one, they inspected their cells to find anything out of the sort. Everything seemed to be in order, except the girl’s room. They opened up the cell and inspected the body lying on the bed, no sign of disturbance or motion at all. “Hey, wake up will you”, he calls out, banging onto the bars behind him. She laid there motionless and still as a corpse. Charles ripped off the sheets to discover a makeshift body in place for their prisoner. Her grip was slipping lightly, causing her to pull the bed closer to the wall, thankfully gone unnoticed. Panicking, he lifted up the bed only to find the similar situation. Shifting the bed immensely almost caused her to fall from the side of the wall. With subtle movement she propelled away from the prison wall and caught the ledge of the roof across the way. Charles and Erza quickly rushed towards the windowsill, peered outside to find anything unusual, and saw a silhouette on the opposite side of them. Standing on top of the building ten feet away, they find the escapee wearing the makeshift cloak made out of blankets. The green glow from her eyes seemed almost full of sorrow as she jumped down and escaped into the darkness. Charles quickly ran for the door when Erza grasped his arm.“Wait,” he said with caution, “It’s best if we just let her go, make the excuse that she was never brought here.” “Why are you protecting her? Isn’t it our job to keep prisoners confined? If we hurry now we can still catch her.”, he asked him profusely.

“I’m considering it a favor for her father, I rather keep the memory of her being a sweet innocent girl, rather than a criminal.” Charles hesitates for a moment, then sighs in defeat. “You owe me a drink if we get in trouble for this”, he states in an annoyed tone. Continuing on their emergency patrol, they make sure all other prisoners on their level are accounted for. They trot back to their station and continue their paperwork. As they continue on their duties, he glances towards her cell, ever thinking about the innocent girl he once knew.

She continues running down the street, making sure to stay out of the light of the torches hanging by the streets. She sat in silence for a gruesome four minutes, breaking out in tears and soft sobs. She wouldn’t dare go back to her father, considering the situation she is in now. She had no friends, no other immediate family, and she isn’t even fiendish enough to break into another stranger's home and claim it as her own. She had nobody and no home to stay in. Giving herself a moment to regain composure, she stands up, gazes towards the stars and heads down the road away from town. What she does now will define her actions, but her past, her scars and memories… they will die down and never return to the surface. She wipes her eyes and glances forward with a focussed yet saddened look. “My voice will never be heard, it is better this way. My melody will never be sung, save the rest from my excuses.”, she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath, she shook off her nerves, and ventured forward.

#fantasy #liturature #amature writer #adhdlife

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