From Wyoming, to Middle-earth

Chap. 1 - The Fortune

~ Welcome, new reader. This book is in the process of being edited! Bear with me :/ ~

This morning I woke to the sound of birds warbling outside my window. It was almost peaceful, that is, until three loud cracks silenced the forest.

The birds fell quiet.

Ugh. My eyes slowly blinked open as more gunshots fired. My father owned a shooting range a few miles down from our house. The sounds always traveled up in such a way that it sounded like gunslingers were having a showdown right outside my window.

I laid in my bed for a few minutes, staring at my ceiling and simply listening to the gunshots. Then I finally gathered the nerve to heave myself out of bed.

Oh gods, I was sore. Yesterday I had gone on an expedition. Expeditions are what my father and I made up when I was little. Basically, it's just a better--in my opinion--name for a friendly jog through the woods. That is if one could count a nearly twelve mile loop with targets that I'd run by shooting a friendly "jog". My hands had blisters and cuts from handling my bow.

At the thought, my gaze traveled to the bow. It was leaning against my dresser. I've had it since I was eight--nearly fifteen years ago. I've always been in love with archery. Shooting things . . . Basically my passion. My father and I share the same love of weapons. So much that he'd opened up a range.

The range was the only one around for miles so it gets plenty of business. It's nestled in a valley, outside of the small Wyoming town I live in. And yes; I still live with my dad. There's no need to move out when the small community college I attend is in town. It's quite convenient.

I stretched out my legs and rolled my shoulders, skimming my fingers over my bow as I approached my desk to look at a small, bronze frame. In it was a picture of my mother. She died when I was young; died because of some damn drunk driver.

"Hello, Mama," I murmured, picking up the frame to briefly kiss it.

Beside the frame was a small locket, strung on a delicate golden chain. Within it was a picture of my entire family. Together. There was never a day where I didn't wear it. I clipped it around my neck before dressing myself in the same pants I've been wearing for two days--they're still clean--and an old shirt. I shoved my feet into some random socks I found and rushed downstairs, bow in hand.

The backdoor clicked open as two black labradors came bounding in. My dad followed and offered me a smile, then pulled me into a sloppy hug. "Morning, Alex."

"Morning," I mumbled, pulling back as I pushed a lock of hair behind my ears.

"How've your dreams been?" he asked, putting a filter into the coffeemaker.

"Mm. They could be . . . better," I said. My dog, Bon, snuffed at my feet. I leaned down to pet her. "Yeah. They could be better."

My dreams. I've never had such vivid nightmares. Usually I'm the type to wake up and forget my dreams--not a trace. But now I can recall everything with frightening clarity. Usually I'm the type to sleep through the entire night without waking. Now, I'm awakened at ungodly hours. Sometimes I wake screaming. Sometimes I see shadows undulating in the corner.

They've only begun recently, starting the night I returned from visiting a fortune teller on a dare.

[flashback to the fortune teller night]