Ambrose had been traversing the hillside for what felt like eighteen days. This may have been because it had been precisely eighteen days since the noddy writer had written anything.
But perhaps eighteen was just a nice number because really it had only been about half an hour. The terrain had levelled out into a relatively straight, muddy path, although the hill still turned slightly so Ambrose couldn't see all that was ahead of him. As he strolled on the young boy admired the distance below - filled with lush Redwood trees, the chirping of varied thrushes and an early dawn sky. The mud path was not so abundant with trees but held a wonderful collection of bushes and light slopes. The atmosphere was so refreshing to Ambrose after a childhood of restriction and staleness.
Yet despite these alluring sights, Ambrose still kept his father's katana ready, gripping the handle whenever he heard a noise a little too strange. Something rustling in a nearby coniferous shrub - GRIP! A hummingbird that wandered too close - GRIP! For the boy, it was hard not to be on edge knowing he was in a place called Dragon's Land; who wouldn't be afraid of encountering a dragon here?
After a thorough walk atop the hillside path, Ambrose heard yet another sound which put him on edge. But unlike the other sounds before, this sound was continuous rather than sudden. It was a strange noise, like the intricate song of a bird or an insect in the trees, but the music didn't sound natural. As Ambrose stepped closer to the chiming in the wind, another sound could be heard. This almost made Ambrose unsheath his sword, but upon seeing a figure in the distance Ambrose resheathed his blade and kept his grasp on the handle.
At first, our adventurer had not been able to see the person ahead, as the hill had restricted his view. When Ambrose could finally see the figure however, he noticed the person was wearing a strange costume. If we were with Ambrose at this point, we would have thought the person a minstrel, but Ambrose did not know what a minstrel was.
Now that the singing had become a little clearer, Ambrose also noticed that the minstrel was a girl. She sang in a cheery, light-hearted manner, but her frequent pauses and movements made her sound like she was struggling to sing. She was older than Ambrose; definitely an adult, but just barely. She had long, winsome brown hair, and dimple little cheeks. She also had a figure so delicate that when the wind blew, it looked as if the air might blow her away.
Ambrose still walked past the minstrel hesitantly, never letting go of his katana and looking at her warily. The minstrel seemed not to care, caught up in a melody of words and the strumming of her lute. Curiously, Ambrose listened in on her singing:
"I said to my king
I sang with a spring
'Oh, isn't reigning a glorious thing?'
The king in a fuss
Sat from above
That silly hippopotamus..."
Ambrose halted at the blare of the colossal word. Hippopotamus? What was a hippopotamus? But more to the point what a terrible rhyme! The boy turned as the minstrel passed him, and shouted at her:
"Hippopotamus? What kind of crazy person rhymes with such a long word?!"
When Ambrose had yelled he hadn't been thinking how the minstrel would react; in fact, Ambrose was quite surprised he had the courage to yell so outrageously at her. The minstrel stopped in her tracks. Ambrose couldn't tell if she was more shocked or angrier, but he had definitely caught her attention. She suddenly turned around in a fluster, gripping her lute aggressively.
"I'll have you know," the minstrel told Ambrose, "that it is perfectly reasonable to use the word 'hippopotamus' in a song! Hippopotamus rhymes with all sorts of things! Us, fuss, trust... a minstrel is entitled to use whatever lyrics they please!"
Ambrose had never been spoken to in such a manner. The boy had been used to the company of polite druids and playful children; no one had cared enough to start an argument with him. For a moment, Ambrose hesitated to answer back, but he wanted to learn more about those outside the mountains of Dartchester.
"Why do you want to rhyme with hippopotamus so badly?" Ambrose enquired. It was a perfectly reasonable question, but the minstrel seemed to take offence.
"Why?" the minstrel bellowed "Why?! Why wouldn't I want to use a word as wonderful as hippopotamus? It's a splendid word, with splendid meaning and splendid use! Are you suggesting I use... another word?!"
Ambrose was in full agreement that hippopotamus wasn't a suitable word to put in a song, but he also was in full agreement that disagreeing wasn't the best idea given the circumstances. Was it better to tell the minstrel now, or let her find out for herself?
"No, I've just never heard someone use hippopotamus in a song before" Ambrose admitted. "Let me listen to your other songs - I'd like to hear more of your music."
The minstrel went from being annoyed to flushing. Ambrose wondered if anyone had ever offered to listen to her songs before. The two stopped walking in the directions they were heading, and the minstrel took her seat on a nearby rock. Ambrose sat on the ground opposite her, and the girl began to play what songs she had already composed.
**TO BE CONTINUED**
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Authors Notes
Is it annoying you yet that I put "Authors Notes" instead of "Author's notes?"
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The Will to Kill a Dragon
AdventureAmbrose is a twelve-year-old boy who has only ever wanted one thing: to slay a dragon. But how far must he go to slay just one measly creature? For dragons, though numerous and well-humoured, are extremely difficult to kill. And where does one find...
