AHIPPOTHATEATS
Its a fantasy book:
Prologue:
The boy stares at the cold, rugged path ahead, muttering into the frosty cold air, his breath solidifying as it escapes his lips, a short white fume in the breeze...
It comes with a whisper, a groan, and then a mutter- the sign of the sea, the wind, the ice and all that lies beyond. A slim ferret-like body, shining a colorful red, circles his neck. The wind roars into his ear, and the small Alphyn falls asleep.
The mountain trees fall low, and leaf and limb bend, the clouded wind rushes overhead, and the boy is almost blown off the mountainside. Every stride he takes to safety screams loudly of his intentions. Each movement tells no lie. I will not lose! He seems to be thinking and continues towards the mountainside.
The young boy moves towards a small tavern by the cliff. He is nothing but sincere unless a smile can tell a lie. After all, that will be the way Quiver, the first Votary in a hundred years, will always be.
But it's not like anyone would care... that he's a Votary anyway. After all, they've all but forgotten. Actually, probably only a handful of people in the whole kingdom of Fletcher would remember. And they would be hard pressed to do it.
And... currently, the Votary reaches the inn, after fighting through the powerful gale. As if offended, the enigmatic wind gives a final push, and he stumbles. However, mid-step he regains his balance and watches as a rain of leaves fall. Exceptionally, before the final leaf reaches its resting place, the boy catches it with his hand and grins widely. He holds a long, pale staff in one hand, and is careful moving around.
Without so much as a glance back, he swings his weapon sharply, and leaves soar upwards at an unexpected pace. He flicks a small red one that almost escapes him and brings it off to the side. He closes his eyes, and walks inside the rusted, frosty inn.