The Rugged Edge

Grey Dragons - Chapter 7: Knights and Maidens

January 5, 775

(16 years ago)

.. .. ..

"Mama, it's a juggler! Please, can we go and see him?" exclaimed a seven year old Geraint.

"Mama, can I go, too?" I begged, desperate to join in.

Ma smiled at us, saying as she did so, "Go on. Only don't get lost and come back soon. Geraint, watch your sister."

Geraint hurried off amidst the crowd, and I followed hurriedly, trying as hard as I could to keep up.

I could still see my brother's thick brown hair when I heard the sound of the soft fiddle on the side of the street. I loved the sound of the violin, and wondered unyieldingly how it worked. I simply had to turn to see it.

But when I'd seen it and turned back, I couldn't find Geraint. In fact, I couldn't see anything but the towering villagers around me.

I turned around and around, wondering where Geraint might have gone, but I couldn't find him.

I didn't know what to do. I was lost!

I'll look for the juggler, I thought. Geraint must have gone on to watch him.

So I scurried between the trampling feet and through Runa's marketplace, looking for the juggler that Geraint had gone to see, but I couldn't find him, either.

I began to grow panicked. There were dozens of chattering people bustling around me, taking up my whole view. I couldn't hear anything but what sounded like thick, menacing voices in my loneliness.

"Geraint?" I called, wishing desperately that he could hear me, yet my tiny voice reached no ears but my own. "Geraint!"

No older brother came to my side, and my panic increased.

For the first time in my very short life, I felt the pressure of fear. All of a sudden, there was no Mama to hold me as I cried, no Papa to lift me in his arms and tell me I was his princess, and no Geraint to grab my hand and lead me through the streets he seemed to know so well.

"Geraint?" I called again, feeling tears slide down my little round face.

Presently I felt my tiny feet grow very tired and I sat down on the ground next to a table to cry.

A century seemed to pass for my impatient mind. I sat there, crying, believing I was lost forever.

And then I looked up, to see a boy with wild brown hair and big green eyes see me and hurry towards me with a look of relief.

My joy swelled as I scurried right into his arms.

"Geraint!"

.. .. ..

May 3, 776

.. .. ..

Mama and Papa were talking as we ate breakfast, but I wasn't listening. I was too busy pouring milk into my bowl on my very own, without spilling it.

"I can sell my flute," said Mama, but with a look of bitter grief.

"No," said Papa, firmly. "You don't need to sell your flute. Someday, you'll find you need to make music."

Geraint, now eight years old, was listening with a rapt expression, although he looked almost frightened.

"We may have to sell the donkey," said Papa, as if it were a last hope.