Faefalling (working title)

Intro/ Chapter 1

Sparks and cinders flew into the air and the following wave of heat sent chills down my spine. I spun in the direction of the front door, picture in hand. Reaching out for the doorknob in haste, I jumped back with a cry. The iron was sweltering. While that was usually a great way to keep out thieves, today I was the one who felt their pain. With tears threatening, I grasped it nonetheless, and threw the door open, launching myself outside.

A wall of fresh air punched me in the face, while the heat still churned at my back; caught between two worlds.

My lupine companion, Scathe, growled at the flames. His bristling black fur glistened in the light cast from my home. His fangs were coated in red. A chunk of bloodied flesh lay discarded in the grass. My gaze wandered over the crimson trail leading off into the night. It was probably too much to hope it could be a fatal wound. Deep enough to scar at the very least.

My feet carried me to the nearby well as I stuffed the crinkled image into my pocket. With some effort, I grabbed a ball of water and launched it at my small cabin. And another. And another. And another. What had been meant to extinguish seemed to accelerate the process, and the blaze grew ever larger before my eyes. A frustrated wail tore out of my chest.

"Great!" I yelled skyward. "Just fantastic! Anyone care to explain why my house is on focking fire?"

No answer came; even the usual crickets were long gone. With one last shout, I turned my back on the crumbling stack of wood. A whole moon's worth of building reduced to shambles.

I ground my teeth as I contemplated my only real option, and found that it was in fact possible to regret actions that had yet to be taken. Scathe sidled up against my legs, sensing my acrimony, and I gratified him with a couple strokes behind his ears.

Why not just start again? We can camp under the stars for a time; Scathe would honestly be thrilled. But the still warm slab of meat glared up at me, and the blood coating my companion's pearly whites sealed the deal.

I lugged myself back over to the well and, dropping to my knees in the green at its right hand side, cleared out a bundle of twigs and leaves. A mossy trapdoor greeted me, its latch popping open with little complaint. Steps groaned under my weight as I slunk into the dark cellar, stooping to keep my head clear of the dirt ceiling. Scathe paced back and forth at the entrance, tail swishing and ears flat as he peered into the distance. The sooner we were gone from this place, the better.

Snatching a rough leather satchel off its hook, I began rummaging through my shelves. A lumpy loaf and some fruit found their way into the bag, followed by a couple dry strips of meat. Gods, it almost hurt to leave so many provisions behind, though I'd surely scavenge whatever lasted until my return at a later date.

I shouldered my bag and nearly turned to leave before a faint glimmer brought me to a halt. Five daggers hung from the wall at the cavern's end alongside my old armour. Flashes of slashing blades and clamouring shields clawed their way to the front of my mind. Even as I pushed them back down, my eyes resisted the overpowering urge to turn away. Instead, I was drawn in, though my guts coiled and twisted in protest. The hint of an unintelligible whisper slithered over me, inciting shivers and compounding dread.

I walked over in a daze, picked up the sheathed skeans, and strapped them to my waist and legs. Even after twenty-five moons of collecting dust, the fit was just right. Moving on their own now, my hands made their way to the breastplate; fingers ran over coarse leather and dipped into enchanted groves, tracing them like wonted trails, and into the various gashes. I yanked them back and shuddered through a breath.

"It's just a breastplate. Pull yourself together," I muttered, quickly shrugging on the ensemble.

The thin chainmail sent waves of ice through my shirt as I strapped the buckles in. Its familiar weight was almost comforting, and for a moment I imagined that I'd turn to find him standing there. He wasn't of course. Never was.