Chasing Dawn

CHAPTERS 1-3

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Several shades of green flitted between the thick tree trunks and tickled the damp grass, all that could be heard was the feint but soothing trickle of a nearby stream. Rich, evergreen bushes yielded ripe, red berries just waiting to be picked and devoured by those only foolish enough not to realise that they were in fact incredibly deadly.

This intertwined paradise was startled by a marvellous animal which came hurtling through the undergrowth, ruining the serenity of the wood. Sunlight glinted off its coat as it leaped and lunged in and out of the rays of light. Then, the female deer, feeling safe from her attacker, stopped to graze among the nearby plants. Little did she know she was not alone.

Perched in a well hidden oak, was her hunter. Stealthily he observed her feed, unaware of his presence. Drawing his long, slender hunters knife from his belt, he prepared to strike. In one, swift movement the majestic creature was dead with the knife buried cleanly in its vulnerable, exposed neck.

Swinging down from his branch, the hunter analysed his kill, making sure it was truly dead, he sliced the carcass into several slabs of meat in which he intended to sell. This was how he got by. This was Aaron Crest, member of the Elrad clan, one of the most renown clans in the great land. Aaron was tall for his age with dark green eyes and brown, hazelnut hair which sat on his shoulders with as much grace as a starving tramp.

The Elrad's camp was situated in the south west, next to the great plains which spread for many, many miles to the north, all the way up to the great river of the Solamons and west to lake Telna in which the gypsies and sprites dwelt. This was a fair kill, he could possibly get twenty-five galleons at most for it from Rone the butcher or from one of the travelling merchants at the market. The Elnad were friendly enough, but not to be underestimated. They were fearsome fighters and had fought many battles against many foes. They were war hardened veterans.

Aaron had never fought in battle, the last war was now a distant memory, washed away like dust, like a forgotten city. Only old stories and folk tales remained of the great rebellion of the clans against the evil dragon lords who ruled from their island fortress of Santarea. According to folk lore, all that remains on the dreaded islands are the ruins of the mighty castle which once stood long ago. Ever since the clans have been at a distant peace, keeping to their own paths and ways of life.

The sun was just rising over the peaks of the Sentro hills in spectacularly glorious fashion as Aaron was striding out of the woods, it was still early, no one would be up yet but he was use to the isolation, he'd been hunting ever since he was a youngling. His Dad had taught him everything he knew and Aaron had learned fast. Very fast. How to use a knife, to skin animals, to track, how to be stealthy, how to lay traps for rabbits and squirrels and how to kill and gut fish. Now he was extremely thankful for his dads lessons and lectures as they had kept Aaron alive time and time again.

Aaron laboured up to the first house he came to in which he lived. It was a little mill house around a mile from the camp centre. He lived with his crippled uncle Slen and old widowed mother. They were what remained of his family. His father had been killed around two years earlier. It had been a dark, cold night and it was raining...heavily, there had been a thump on the front door. His dad had opened to find several bandits who immediately jumped him, his dad had fought bravely and brought down two of his attackers but there were just too many and he was brutally murdered. The Bandits fled and he never saw them again.

Ever since, Aaron had wanted to take revenge on his fathers killers but first he had to look after what was left of his family. They were all he had. The time for revenging his fathers death would come. Soon.