He ran through the dark, the stones cutting into his feet. Despite the pain he couldn’t stop. Stopping meant death by the soldiers who were eagerly chasing him. They were drunk and mad, their drinking had made it easy for him to sneak into their camp and swipe their pot that held their gambling winnings. It also made it more dangerous since none of the men were anywhere near rational. If they caught him he was dead. Sometimes he wondered why he was trying so hard, it wasn’t as if anyone cared whether he lived or died. It would be so easy to just give up and let go, but some deep bitter part of him whispered that it would be letting them win. He hated the country, the people, the soldiers, the aristocracy, the king. Strangely enough this is what made him keep fighting, he hated them more than he did himself. His presence is a thorn in the side of at least some of them, so he keeps on moving. It may be a bitter petty reason to keep living, but it was enough for him. He cursed as he heard more men in the dark ahead of him. He had heard whispers that one of the royal knight groups had lost something valuable and that was why the soldier presence here has increased so much. It must have been something really special to warrant such a reaction. There is a war currently going on and to call so many soldiers from the front is not something that could be done lightly. It has the added bonus of making his life that much harder as he comes to a stop as quietly as he could to avoid the squad in front of him. Holding his breath as the men rush past his hiding place in the shadows, he waits until he hears the two groups come across each other. Using the sound of their collective voices as cover he makes a run for it and catches his foot on a stray root and goes down a rather rocky hill and slams hard into a rather large group of boulders. He lay there winded for precious few minutes. It was the sound of angry voices getting closer that finally gave him the strength to move.
One hand on the rock face for guidance he walked around, sliding into the carefully concealed cave with a grunt of surprise. He never knew that there was a cave here. Deciding that it was a good enough hiding spot he carefully backed himself into the cave and tried to be quiet as he could. The soldiers went past several times in their sweeps for him but not one noticed the cave. It was a few hours later that he began to relax and realized that he wasn’t alone. It was faint, that was why he didn’t hear it earlier, but now that he wasn’t straining to hear the footsteps of his pursuers he could hear the quiet ragged breathing of another living creature. “Hello?” he whispered cautiously stepping in the direction of the breathing. A quiet slow scrabbling sound as if something was trying to back away from him but having trouble doing so. He knelt on the ground feeling around to avoid a collision and his hand felt something wet on the hard packed dirt of the cave. Bringing his wet hand to his face he sniffed it. A metallic scent told him that whatever was in here was bleeding. He paused, thinking. He decided that it would be safe enough for a fire. He could build it deep enough to keep it from being obvious from the outside, it was going to get cold soon and he was going to need the light if he was going to be able to do anything for the bleeding creature sharing this cave with him. It took a few very careful trips out of the cave where he nearly got lost twice to gather the supplies he needed for a fire. Once he had a good steady flame going and enough fuel for the night he turned to the wounded creature. He was stunned to see the strangest creature huddled in a tight ball as far as it could get away from him. It was smaller than he was and covered in shiny black scales except for a collection of dark grey scales that scattered the face and torso in a pattern that reminded him of freckles. The poor creature was covered in what looked like lash marks and several places where the scales had been stripped away, as if it had been restrained. Stranger still was the way the creature didn’t look directly at him, it kept darting its eyes around to various sounds, it wasn’t until he was close to the beast that it’s eyes locked on him. It dawned on him that the creature hadn’t been able to see him until then. Something had damaged its eyesight. Eyes still locked he was deeply shocked when the creature opened its mouth and gave the most heart-wrenching plea “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
Hissclearia awoke with a hiss. Such dreams were not uncommon for her. A member of the Moonstone dragon species made it so that her dreams were often the memories of others. She had never met the young man whose life she had glimpsed. If any of her observations were correct then this child would be long dead by now. He seemed to have been living through the Cesperian wars. That had been five thousand years ago. She did not know why she had dreamed of him, but thought that maybe it was because he was about to show kindness to that wounded dragon he had found. She could feel the boy’s intention to help before she had woken. Hissclearia had been aching to feel some kindness for some time now. Too many of her visions have shown her pain and the suffering of others. While Tawny, her current master, was not too bad her situation was not one that she would have ever chosen. Tawny was the only master she had since her hatching that was not fond of the whip which was why she gave her friends as many future tips as she did. No matter how gentle her methods, Hissclearia can never forgive Tawny for holding her greatest treasure hostage. Hisslcearia had been a small young dragon, one that was scared and hurting when she first came across her treasure. It had merely caught her eye at first. It was shiny and beautiful and looking at it gave her comfort. In a rare fit of generosity one of the women who came to clean her cage had seen her stare at it and had stolen it for her. That nameless girl had given it to her and showed her a good place to hide it. Hissclearia knew that the masters of the house would have demanded to have her treasure handed over to them as soon as it became clear that she had become obsessed with the item. Instead the slave girl had helped her hide it instead, when the girl had fallen ill and died Hissclearia actually grieved. She had been so kind, as kind as she could be in her circumstances. Her replacement found her treasure on their third day on the job. He had waited until she was removed from the room for more “training” when he stole the treasure from her hiding place. She had come back, bloody and bruised and found her hiding place torn open. She heard them praise the slave boy for his find. They freed him for it. His freedom in exchange for the thing that would ensure her enslavement. She had crossed paths with the boy one more time before he left the house and in her rage she froze his feet and hands. Her frost breath was weak, her still being an immature dragon, but it was enough to take several fingers and most of his toes. He may have won his freedom, but she made damn sure that he would not get to enjoy it. She would never deny being vengeful, it was all she had in this sad life.
Tawny’s friends are mainly terrible. Hissclearia has had many visions of their exploits. It was why when she first met the man Tawny called Carne she hated him instantly. She growled on their first meeting, the night before she had seen him and his father killing and torturing a skulk of Kitsune. She has witnessed many atrocities in her visions but nothing haunted her more than the screams of creatures who have had their mana extracted. When she was younger and as punishment for using her ice breath she had had her mana extracted for years. Her masters had feared her turning on them before she was “fully trained” and she had been too young to have her visions. Her masters had not wanted her for her ice breath, only for her psychic visions. The pain will haunt her through her entire life, hearing the screams while others had their mana extracted made her remember all the pain. The only redeeming factor in her eyes is that he preferred to hunt the non-mana creatures. He also preferred to capture his hunts alive. She still tries to send him off on hunts and places where he has a chance to get killed. The future is fickle and so changeable, he always finds a way to come back though. Every time he comes back through the door to pay Tawny for Hissclearia’s services she can’t help the feeling of hate and despair from showing on her face. Even though she refuses to be in any shape other than her original, not even her draconic features are enough to keep him from knowing how much she hates him. She thought about where to send him next, there is that Amarok running about near that white stag, she thought about it then sighed. He had just refreshed himself on the Amarok. Damn man has all the stupid luck. Deciding to save that one for later if she needs it she catches a promising tip near a young siren that he has no chance of finding. One wrong move and he would be killed. Just as she was about to head up from her frozen sleeping chamber a whisper of a knowing stopped her in her tracks. An opportunity involving her treasure was coming up, not soon, but it was coming. Grabbing that thread firmly in her mind she locked the thread down. If she played this right… She has been waiting for this for a long time now. For the first time in years a smile played at the edges of her mouth.
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