Orison

Chapter Three: Aurianna

Hi everyone, since I started posting Orison, I have good news. It was selected on Amazon's Kindle Scout program, and Amazon is publishing it.  The bad news, though, is that because of that, I won't be able to post the rest of it. But if you would be interested in reading it and leaving a review on Amazon, let me know.  I might be able to get you a copy.

https://www.amazon.com/Orison-Brandon-Gray-ebook/dp/B01CF6AR2M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1467151074&sr=8-1&keywords=brandon+gray+orison#nav-subnav

 In the meantime, I have another Young Adult paranormal/urban fantasy story up. It's called "The Soul Stealer's Child" and I'd love to have you read it. It's right here: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/66714046-the-soul-stealer%27s-child 

Thanks!
Braden

CHAPTER THREE

AURIANNA

Outcast.

Alone, wet, and cold, the reality of my situation grew more urgent to me. With nowhere to shelter, the elements could scatter my essence. I might die in the next frost or great heat. But if Morganna and the others had sealed the earth against my roots, I would starve within a few days.

"Aurianna!" A hairy paw closed around my hand and I looked down. Panto had come. "You look terrible," he said. "Like a drowned dandelion."

I nodded, unable to speak. Dryads are light and fragile, like dragonfly wings or—as Panto had said—dandelion down. I had not fully understood just how badly we need shelter in storms until I no longer had it.

"You are trembling," he said. "Follow me!"

Panto trotted down a hill. With nowhere else to go I tried to follow, but the storm grew worse, whipping the world into a frenzy. Even in my most tangible, corporeal form, I struggled to keep from being blown away. When an especially fierce gust of wind came, I had to grab the branches of a pine tree to anchor myself. While clinging to those branches, the boughs just above lashed me with wet, cold needles. Was the tree driven by the storm, or did the dryad inside of him use the wind as an excuse to strike me?

"Aurianna, hurry!" Panto called from the bottom of the hill. "I grow cold!"

I needed no encouragement. The rain had long past soaked through the meager coverings over my form. Without shelter, it would sink down into my essence soon, bringing a chill or worse.

As soon as the power of the wind waned enough for me to safely move, I followed Panto down to a clearing at the bottom of two hills. Next to a stream, the humans had stacked the bones of dead trees, creating a large shelter that defied both sun and storm.

"In here!" He darted in through a gap between the rough planks. I started to follow but paused.

"Are you coming?" He stuck his nose out of the gap.

The place reeked of smoke and death. And yet I shivered without ceasing now, unable to control the movement of my limbs. If the living trees would not shelter me, their dead brothers would. I slipped through the gap, plunging at once into warmth and quiet.

The lingering scent of smoke troubled me. I had seen this place from a distance. Every summerend, the humans brought long, lush tobacco leaves from their fields. They hung the leaves in bundles over great fires of wet wood, using the smoke to dry the leaves into brittle deadness. Over the years, the smoke had soaked into the wooden walls.

Built from murdered trees and reeking of fire, this human structure should have been an abomination. But, somehow, welcome rippled through the air, a sense of peace beyond the absence of wind and rain.