Tragic Innocence

Chapter 20: The Priming

“What a beautiful day!”  Spring Brook pulled on a lacy cord which caused the thick, scarlet drapes to draw open.  The sunshine spilled in a whipping rush into the dark room onto Crow’s tranquilly sleeping face.

            “Crow, time to get up now!”  She ran lightly to his bed and planted a gentle kiss on his right cheek, which was cool and soft to the taste.  The sprite then playfully yanked the great down pillow from beneath his black head.            “No...” he protested with agitation as he shifted to his other side, with his back now facing her bent form.  “I hate when you do that,” he growled with strained irritation.  “Don’t you have a home to go home to?” Crow snapped as he yanked the pillow from her grasp and buried his head once more.

            Spring Brook curled her lip with scorn once hearing his last retort.  “Well, then I guess Rawl will be more than happy to eat your breakfast as well!” her voice was heavy with spite as she sauntered carelessly out of the brightly lit room and into the warmth of the kitchen.

            After making sure sufficient time lapsed, the drowsy Turon reached under the bed and pulled out the leather bag that troubled and yet fascinated him.  He slowly sat up, avoiding any noise-making as to not arouse the undesirable attentions of Spring Brook and eyed it with suspicion.  Then his mind flew to the beautiful sorceress.  “Zolata...” he whispered fancifully remembering the sweet taste of her last night.

            He rolled out of bed to join Spring Brook for the first meal of the day. 

            A yawning red Enon slipped slowly behind the hazy DragonBones mountain as the mining dwarves gathered their latest exploits, with their greatly prized tools, into huge splintery wooden crates.  The three creaky wheels from their large wagons echoed loudly in the cooling of the nocturnal forests.  The dwarves watched cagily under sagging brows for bandits who may jump before their paths.

            Slinof reached home at dusk. 

            Crow waited in the very same chair, with the squat stool under his crossed feet, in the obscurity as always.  He somehow found solace in the dark embrace of night; why, he could not explain.  He just did and no one ever dared to question his habits. 

            The door opened with a groan and in came an extremely exhausted dwarf that was layered from ash of dynamite and thick dust that covered him like a second skin.  Slinof huffed and puffed from dragging the burden of treasure home--which was typically deposited on the front porch for Crow’s inspection.

            “Could you please leave the door open, Slinof?” Crow’s deep voice startled the poor dwarf to pieces.  Yes, although it was a habit of Crow’s to await him this way every night, he still was affrighted.  Slinof chuckled heartily as he gladly left the door swaying.  The cool night’s breeze swept into the stuffy home.  Crickets chirped merrily within the outer world.  It was heaven to listen to them!       A tiny light sparked on, lighting a milkwood candle.  Crow placed an ornately-fashioned orange glass bulb over it to keep the flame’s life prolonged.  “What did you find?” he asked hoping for more clues to this Denlone that Zolata had named hastily--the mysterious and forbidden jewel.

            The aged dwarf bit his lip and knew what Crow was thinking of and spoke rather softly.  “Well, I found nothing that pertained to yesterday’s adventure, I must regrettably report.”  Now seeing the disappointment cross the Turon’s fine face, he cleared his throat and brightened, trying to change the mood that now so physically settled him.  “However, young Crow, I know you shall be pleased to know that our findings were quite abundant today for the upcoming Market Fair.”  He shifted aside as Crow predictably stepped towards him to the wagon on the sturdy porch.