Here Be Dragons: The Protector

Chapter One: Flight

It had been late afternoon when Vaylerie had fled the scene on the hilltop, so by the time she made it back into town, the sky had begun to darken. Gratefully, she slipped into the deepening shadows – happy to clothe her naked form in a cloak of darkness, even if there were no people around to make it necessary. She crept on down the path towards home. Soon, she heard a soft murmur approaching, so she ducked closer to the wall she was skirting along, deeper into the relative protection of her shadows. A young couple strolled into her view, so wrapped up in their conversation, they didn't spare her direction a glance. "... swears he saw a man with skin made of stone" the man said, before affecting a deeper voice, "And 'is eyes were red as 'ell"

"He does make up some fanciful stories, doesn't he?" The woman giggled, "What did he do?"
"Well, apparently, he challenged the thing to a game of Mindro, but it just walked off..." As the couple's chatter faded from earshot, Vaylerie readied herself to set off again. She closed her eyes and forced deep breaths in and out of her lungs. Her heart once again beating at a normal pace, she took a step forward. But to Vaylerie's dismay, her foot connected with a glass bottle she hadn't noticed in the gloom; the hollow racket it made as it bounced off the wall brought a groggy voice behind her out of his slumber. The drunk man's confusion gave her a split second to decide what to do. She just ran.

She had always loved to run; no matter what demons were chasing her, she could just pick up her pace until they fell behind. Her world dissolved into the pumping of her legs, the wind rushing through her hair, and the pounding of her heart. Soon, Vaylerie's fears were more of a blur than the houses flashing by on either side, her embarrassment beaten down like the dirt path beneath her feet. When she ran, all that mattered was where she was going, and how fast she could get there. But all love brings pain, and Vaylerie's pain came in the form of remorse: although she could not run for ever, her demons would never tire. Her lungs were burning, and it made her breathing ragged. A stolen glance at her surroundings told her there wasn't far to go now, and she devoted her remaining effort to pushing on through the tightening in her muscles. Her adrenaline gave out just as her goal came into sight. Her left leg buckled – her shoulder scraping painfully along the ground as it bore the brunt of the fall.

Once again, she found herself laying on the ground – this time cold against her flesh – gasping at the mixture of pain, fear, and a lack of air. She rolled onto her back to regard the great bodies in the sky. She knew not to plead the huge red form of Tol for help, as he would never pause his retreat below the horizon to reach down and set her back on her feet. She knew also that Dah, the youngest – who was barely larger than a blue dot when next to her brother – would not reveal herself for another few Drittendays. Instead, she searched for the middle sibling: Hed. Hed had already crested the horizon, her light not as warm as her brother's but far more loving – for hers shone directly onto Vaylerie. Amid the pool of starlight, Vaylerie pleaded with the white goddess, 'Please, Hed... help me... Take me home.' She was suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness, as the world seemed to fall away below her. The pain and fatigue taking their toll, her head span and her ears filled with a whistling keen. When her surroundings came back into focus, she realised she had moved – with a thankyou thrown skywards, she stumbled to her feet, and through the last few steps up to her door. She couldn't move her left arm, so she leaned her right shoulder against the frame and reached around herself to get the key from the little pouch on her hip. That was when she pulled up short. The pouch had, of course, been burnt to cinders during whatever it was that had happened on the hill.

Her disappointment mingled with her exhaustion, to the point she almost blacked out, falling heavily against the door. 'It was all for nothing; tomorrow, someone will find me here, and see the state I'm in... The shame I'll bring –'
"Vayle?" A woman's voice, edged with concern, cut through her despair, "Vayle, please tell me that's you"
A groggy "Mothe...?" was all Vaylerie could manage.
Recognising her daughter's voice, Vaylerie's mother smoothed the worry and tiredness off her face, propped her hands on her hips, and affected an expression of motherly anger. However, when she opened the door to find the intended target of that anger collapse through it in a bloodied and unmoving heap, terror tore over her face.