Dragon-Age

The tales of old with dragons flying always excited Ariela. The stories told around the fire of those who did not fight the dragons but did something greater in deed, they rode them...

What if the tales of old were really not all forgotten, what if the dragons dead to the world were not dead at all, what if they were still out there, watching and waiting for the day to come when a rider would be chosen...

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10. my own home

I awoke this time to find myself in a new tent. The leather looked more orange. Then I noticed the fiery paint covering the walls. Candles around me enhanced this effect. As I sat up I saw a chest of draws and a little table with a draw beneath it. I swung my legs over the bed and my toes squirmed around in the soft rug beneath my feet. Sheeps back of some sort...

As my feet explored I found next to me a pair of boots. After inspection i found that were like hunting boots, leather but soft and supple. They had been worn in by someone else. I found a pair of socks inside and after placing them on I tried out the boots for size. The fit perfectly. Contrary to their appearance they were light and versatile. Perfect for running and climbing. I then turned to see some clothes neatly laid out on the table. A pair of pants, leather at the knees and backside were folded underneath a linen blouse. A brown corset and leather jacket were ontop. I slipped off my boots to pull my pants on. The blouse was next and then the corset. Finally I picked up the jacket. It was soft and all the clothes fitted me perfectly. Then I realised something was missing. My carving. I frantically scoured the room for it until I found it in my boot. It must have dropped off into the shoe. I draped it over my head as I began to place on my shoes.

After braiding my hair around my head and down by my shoulder I checked my bag. The rations were gone and so were the herbs but my fathers knife was there. That's when I saw it, glinting in the bottom of the satchel. I hadn't noticed it before. I must have placed it in during my frenzy of grief. A small ring, like gold and bronze flames weaving in out in a plaited pattern. It was my mothers wedding ring. I slipped it onto my finger and felt a calming sense. Her peace was with me. After putting my bow over my back I grabbed my fathers knife, shoving it into a space in my belt I discarded the bag and headed outside.

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