The Dragon Princess and the Cook

Chapter 1 - The Wrong Ingredient

"Tren, where are you going? If you keep up like this, we'll be at the gateposts of Vastadia!" Talla complained. The feisty young peregrine flapped her jet black wings through the damp air in a fluster.
A bout of rain had just fallen. Wispy, grey clouds peppered the delicate blue skies. The bird was eager to land upon her human friend's shoulder to sort out her dishevelled feathers. But he was running far too fast for her to risk such a manoeuvre.

"Slow down a little, would you?!" she continued to grumble, and at last, the boy came to a halt. He turned to face his feathered friend and held out a muddy hand for her to land upon.
"Sorry..." said Tren, wafting a strand of raven black hair from his eyes. "The air feels so nice after rain, doesn't it?" he smiled, looking up towards the cold winter sky with a sense of longing that was not uncommon in humans of that era.
"You told Duran that you wanted to gather some herbs, but I've yet to see you pick anything," Talla pointed out. She settled on her friend's shoulder and plucked a crumpled feather from her back with a hint of regret.
The bird often felt a sense of duty to remind her old friend of the task at hand. It was no secret that he could be quite absent-minded. Tren was gifted with an almost childlike sense of wonder for the world about him. Forever noticing the smallest of details and the most subtle of changes, even if it meant completely disregarding the bigger picture.
With a last deep inhale of the sweet pine air, Tren nodded and continued on his way, albeit at a far gentler pace...
"The Westron trees don't grow this low down. We need to get to higher ground," Tren muttered, reaching down and groping at the dirt by his feet, feeling it between his fingers. The soil was rich, much too full of nutrients for a tree that preferred clinging to the sides of the mountains where possible.
The grass was slippery, the ground was muddy, and bushes rose high above the forest floor, proving to be quite an obstacle for anyone above a few feet. But even so, Tren passed through the woods with silent grace, as though he were one of the creatures that resided among the tall trees and rugged shrubs.
Before noon, the duo had reached the spot that had caught Tren's eye. A rocky outcrop of land that jutted several feet above the forest. Holding fast to it, were half a dozen tall, proud trees, swaying in the chill winds. Their roots were like coils of woven rope, wrapping themselves around the rocks and burrowing deep into the earth in order to keep from toppling. Just as Tren had hoped, they were indeed Westron trees...
Hardly sparing a breath, the human tossed aside his pack and fastened up the tattered brown coat that clung to his slim frame before latching himself to the nearest tree, climbing upwards at a steady pace. Talla waited from one of the higher branches of the magnificent Westron, preening her feathers and watching with amusement as the boy struggled to bring himself up to her height. Trees were definitely a bird's element...
"Any of these do?" asked the peregrine as she yanked a couple of pale green leaves from their place and let them flutter down into Tren's awaiting hands. He looked at them for hardly a second before letting them fall to the ground below.
"They're too old. You wouldn't get much of a flavour out of them. Use your nose. That's the best way to tell," lectured Tren. Taking his own advice, the boy gently scooted up the thin branch he was perched upon and sniffed a good cluster of leaves, being careful not to pull any away until he was certain they were what he was looking for.
It was in this way that Tren's keen eyes spotted something incredible, an Alnra! The silvery nut was suspended in a cluster of deep green leaves just a little further away from where he was sitting.

Though not exactly what he had been looking for, this rare nut would fetch a hefty price at the local market. It was known throughout the southern parts of the world for its impressive medicinal qualities and sought after by collectors and naturalists the world over for its rarity. It is said that only one, in every thousand Westron trees, would ever produce an Alnra, and here was one, hovering right before Tren's eyes... Acting without thought, nor caution, the boy inched further and further up the branch, paying no heed to the alarming creaking as he reached out for the nut. Talla opened her beak to protest, but all she could manage was an alarmed sqwark as the branch snapped, and Tren was sent tumbling out of the tree and down the rocky hillside.
It just so happened that at this time, there was another event taking place, and without so much as a warning, two worlds were about to collide.