Silvestre Pendragon

Behind The Dragon Symbol

After the night of the tavern fight Silvestre and Milo had become inseparable, inky notes would be passed continuously between Little Leisel and even Florette and Evelyn were happy to play the game. They would talk for hours and hours, in the woods, by the waterfall, near the river, and sometimes they would just walk together through the energetic city. Silvestre loved being around Milo, it felt like she was lying by the waterfall again, the smells of earth and pinewood calming her, the last of the warm sunlight resting on her skin. They toyed with magic in secret and laughed at the risk. Silvestre no longer felt the consequence of a death-sentence looming over her, she cherished the fizzling feeling of fire on her fingers but Milo taught her to control it and use it. After the stunt she had pulled at the tavern, she would have to be more discrete, but fire wasn't the most discrete power. Unlike Milo, Silvestre was restricted to the twisting flames of heat , he appeared to be able to do anything and Silvestre often reflected on his mothers words, maybe he is meant to do something, maybe he really can bring peace...                                      He certainly was the most powerful warlock she had ever heard about, even the High Priestesses had some restrictions, every time she mentioned it he would swiftly change the conversation, refusing to admit to his strange strength. 

It was coming close to midnight and the clouds had created a woollen cover of royal blue in the dark sky, the city was sleeping and the small flames of candles died as it started to rain, it pattered gently on the roads, creating puddles for the youngsters to play in, the wind whispered to the sleeping horses and echoed through the creaking beams of the stable block. Silvestre and Milo were curled in one of the stalls, resting in the hay. The old dapple grey mare stared at them confused but continued to munch at her food, cautiously watching them in the corner of her eye. Silvestre's dark mane was loose and wisps of hay twisted into her curls, in her palm she cradled an orange blaze.

"That's it. " Milo encouraged, slowly placing his hands under hers, "Five minutes so far, pretty good." As he spoke Silvestre's eyes slid up to meet his, their beautiful brown distracting her, causing the orange flame to falter and sliver away from her grasp. Again Silvestre felt an odd sensation rise through her, like a hiccup in her heart, something she couldn't put her finger on. She didn't know what is was. And Silvestre hated not knowing. 

"You distracted me!" She teased, "Besides, I know I can hold a flame longer than that." 

"Confident then?" Milo smirked, the old lantern casting shadows on his face, making his jaw look like it was perfectly sculpted from marble. Silvestre cast a loop of flame around Milo, it twisted like an extravagant rope, and it danced in the dazzling darkness of the stable. Her heart jumped again. Maybe I'm becoming ill? She wondered. At last, Silvestre dropped it, only to reveal Milo's grinning face, 

"You're not burnt then?" Silvestre checked. 

"You're learning quick." After a short pause, he continued. "Why did you learn to fight, Silvestre?" he asked, leaning into the soft hay beside her. 

"Maybe I'm just a blood thirsty girl." Silvestre joked, but after a moment of them both gazing at the cobwebbed roof of the stall, she continued, " I didn't want to become dependant. If I only ever used magic to keep me safe I would be reliant upon it. When I was six I realised that what I could do must be kept secret, so I went to the knights. They taught me to hold a sword and brought me up. When I got my first sword the symbol of the sleeping dragon engraved itself and since then it has always been on the hilt." She finished.                                                                           Every sword Silvestre had ever owned had the symbol. Once it broke the symbol disappeared and a new sword would be etched with the dragon. It didn't leave her, it was her friend in battle. When Silvestre was younger she had thought that it had chosen her to fight but now she wondered whether it was just for magic's enemies to label her as prey. 

The pattering of the rain had stopped and the dapple grey mare still seemed agitated by her noisy guests. Silvestre turned her head to face Milo, a layer of dust had settled onto his face from a hard days work at the stables, his blond hair speckled with dirt and he slowly twisted his ring in deep thought. 

"Ma gave me the ring, it was my fifth birthday and I was so excited. It was just plain, carved from an old oak, but I treasured it because it was my own. When the symbol was etched, Ma cried and I was confused, she seemed so happy and proud. Told me I was different and that magic was a gift." He closed his eyes, exhausted. The words had tired him and the thought of his family overwhelmed him with guilt, but his muscles were too tired and his eyelids too heavy.  

"I used to be scared of my magic, but I'm not anymore." Silvestre confessed, but the world was silent all but Milo's soft breathing. He'd fallen asleep. 

Flicking her wrist, the lantern went out and she nestled down beside him in the cold darkness. Her heart hiccupped again.