Member-only story
The Valley of Dragons
Inspired by the art writing prompts below by Christine Graves and Amusing Responses.
Haust squatted, his back pressed against the large stone, his breath coming in rapid short spurts. His muscles ached and his mind swooned. For days, nature’s fury struck out against him. Blazing heat, rain, and wind, and now this snow and the biting wind. The tales of the Valley of Dragons did not mention the ferocity by which the elements of nature would test those who sought it. Were the gods demanding nature to defend the valley from violation by those not native to it? The cold bit deep, straight to the bones, his aching muscles drained of energy from the long struggle this far. For the first time in the long journey, doubt, worry, fear. He closed his eyes.
“Haust,” his mother whispered to him, he smiled recalling the warmth in mom’s smile, and brown eyes.
She always kept the fire going, he remembered falling asleep to a fire and waking to a fire and always wondered where did mom get the energy to do all she did.
“Haust,” her voice cried out. “Open your eyes and move. You must find protection from this storm. Time is waning.”
Haust opened his eyes the snow had already piled up around his feet. He stood, the wind and snow tore at his skin, then a shadow deeper darker than the cliff wall. He stepped out and pushed through the cold. Soon the shadow on the canyon wall, he was drawn to, grew into the mouth of a cave. Inside he quickly shed his pack and with shivering frozen fingers secured the flint kindling and oil.
“Not this time,” he said to the empty space. Recalling the first night in this cold and the difficulty he had getting a fire going. Each time he struck the flint, the wind blew, and the spark missed the kindling and oil. It acted as if it was alive. The wind died down, the air was still he prepped and struck the flint and poof again. He almost froze that night; “not again.”
Using large rocks, his pack, his shield, and his body he struck the flint. Poof from directly above, next to his ear a burst of air. The Spark missed. This time laughter, that of a woman. Haust could…
