Bolders raged across the sky with their fiery light like comets streaking the night sky...no, too close, they were too close. Close enough for one to feel the scorching heat kilometers before they hit their targeted village. Screams were heard as the battle raged on. Ashes upon smoke and blood upon iron. But that was none of her concerns...not at the moment at least.
The tribe was well established, sturdy, strong, skilled. It was no surprise that envy would try and grasp them soon. But when an armada of barbarians lurks upon the shores, armored dragons surge across the sky lurking under the shadows of a tyrant...No tribe could stand its ground. She had seen them fight, not here to kill or to capture... but to enslave.
Ragnahild was far away from the mainland of the long drawn war, somewhere at the outskirts, in dense vegetation. She was a hunter, not just any hunter, She was the best they had, the Raven Clan's Leader. Apparently, when war turns tables, even hunters become the hunted with bounty of most profitable skills. She ran, weaving through the night cloaked forest, daybreak not far from the horizon. Her acid green eyes darted, her lungs worked with vigor, contrasting the swiftness of her legs as the leaped and skidded across familiar paths. Her leather hunter armor camouflaged into the forest's shadows concealing her pale sharp features. No... she had to keep herself in sight, draw them away. She dashed across a clearing. Arrows whistled past her...Stack stack, Thump thump. "Aye!" "Watch it." Clamors sounded behind "You four take them! Others, get her!" A small smile etched her face, 2 down, 12 more to go. They will never get her subordinates, well trained to escape dragons...humans are fairly easy.
Too lucky too soon, she felt the slash across her leg, tearing skin off her flesh as an axe landed behind her with a bloody thub. She grunted and stumbled, turning in the process. In one swift move, she straightened herself and lifted her ebony bow. A continuous volley, 4 arrows: one deflect, three kills straight through the chunks of the armor and they fell, blood pooling around their abdomens. She darted off through the forest once again readying the next shot as she neared the Southern Cliff edge. Her keen senses calculated the distance from the tree line, across the clearing, beyond which, the vast sky opened, daybreak not far from the horizon. Just three more to go. She looked down at her blood soaked boot...'One final showdown then we wrap em up.' she thought to herself heading for the clearing before the shree fall met its shores.
That's when she heard them, the chittering clicks and a series of hiss. The unmistakable Singetail rose upon her, large four legged flat disc-like dragon shining firey gold just like the fireball it swung from its tail. Ragnahild ducked and skidded across the ferny floor hashing her already injured leg. She felt the burning fire singe her bun hairdo, charring it to sparks. She yelped feeling fire exploded behind her, the shree force of scorching air that tossed her off the cliff. Gravity pullled her into a rapid free fall. Her breathing spasmed, horror converged her eyes as jarring rocks neared her, calling upon her death.
She heard the screams of the barbarians behind her. No, she wouldn't die, not like this. Her teeth clenched...'One final showdown' the thought echoed in her, fueling her with resolute. She clenched her the bow in her hand, while the other felt her raven fetched arrows in her quiver, perfectly preened. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind whistle past her, hearing the roar of the crashing waters below. With a swift movement, she twisted mid air and shot. Three at once, they cut through the howling wind, finding their marks and sending blood flying off from their gushing wounds and she met their eyes, acid green against obsidian blacks. Once again, the tables had turned. Their final expressions evident...fear, yes, the feast to a predator's heart. A satisfied smile etched her face once more. If this is really the end, this is how she'd love to go...this and nothing else.
Her body laxed and the breeze twisted her midair once again. Slash! a rock tore past her leather armor hacking against the side of her abdomen. Her breath hitch before her voice found a yell pierce through the air. She clutch her abdomen as sheer pain wrapped around her. The hand clutching the bow turned white around her knuckles. Blood oozed from her open wound. Suddenly, a Splash! echoed her ears, she felt the dark cold water devouring her. Bubbles rose off into the choppy currents. Her open wounds burned in a frenzied pain worse than the fighting lungs. A voice screamed within her, like a thrashing bird in a cage yelling for its survival. She clutched her abdomen and swam to the surface.
Shadowing the first light, were debris of war, all the destruction sailing away with the boundless seas. She found a slab of a ship flooring, large enough to hold her. Grunting, She worked up against the aching muscles, the screaming pain and shoved herself above. There she laid whimpering, barely alive. Warm blood still oozed from her wounds and burned against her shivering body. She lifted her buries arms, tearing apart her sleeves. Gritting her teeth, she painfully wrapped her abdomen and squeezed it shut daring not to make a single sound. The leg will have to wait. For now, her chances of survival, though slim, were exceptional at best.
As the slab of wood floated off into the horizon, the debris shifted. The heat of the rising sun poured down upon her body, warming her to the very soul. She felt herself relax as she shifted her face away from the blinding light. The island at the horizon, once her home, was a laid to waste. The war, which stretched overnight came to an end, she could hear the faint cheering of yelling barbarians as they shared their gruesome victory. Ragnahild shivered.
Somewhere out there, in the debris floated her bow, a sign of her apparent death and she would forever from now be dead to them. She, herself felt nothing to have with them. The people she knew where no longer, the rest were slaves to a tyrant she had no strength to face. Her home, where she grew up was destroyed, it would never go back to what it once was. She had nothing to own of them. All she caried of her past were now her empty quiver, stubbornly latched against her tattered armor. She lifted her bare arm, looked at the insignia of a raven, tattooed there the day she turned into her clan's leader. A mark she once cherished and honored was now a painful gaping wound, just like the one on her abdomen. They would, soon, turn to scars etched forever onto her, a reminder of her inevitably painful past.
Hello Everyone!
Long time no see? Vacations started so, I am resuming the writing of my books. I have rewritten the prologue to a better version. Feel free to expect a new chapter everyday till the end of this month.
Also, thank you to all the faithful readers who have held on so far. My honest apologies for not updating sooner. However, Please note that, due to my tight schedules, I will only be writing during holidays (this may not include weekends). I shall announce every time I post a new chapter to keep you guys informed. But rest assured, that I won't be leaving this book incomplete.
Once again, a huge Thank you to all of you!
Your faithful author,
Kyrie Dragonheart
YOU ARE READING
The Raven's Flight | HTTYD (slow updates, being rewritten)
Fanfic"In Maces and Talons, as in life, the line between good and evil is often unclear. Black and White can become grey so easily. What one soul considers evil, another might consider righteous." ...
