Hello Of the Night readers! This story runs parallel to what is taking place in Choices, Change, and Fate. The reason I am writing/posting it is because this OC will show up in the sequel to OtN, and I didn't want to add more confusion to CCF by detouring so far from the storyline with his background. He's interesting, so I figured that it wouldn't hurt to give him a story of his own. Again, he does appear, so keep track of this story, perhaps while you wait for new CCF updates ;) Many thanks to Spartan 10007 for the character; I am hopeful that I will be able to do him justice.
I know that this, and the sequel, are possibly quite different from what you were expecting, but I am also hopeful that you will enjoy reading them as much as I am enjoying writing them.
This is the short(er) version of the story of James "Silver" Winter, a man accused of a crime he did not commit, forced to leave the life he knew to spend the rest of his days in the wilderness, until a chance encounter (or perhaps a fated one) alters the course of his life forever. M for language and violence.
He stalked the deer, creeping forward silently. He'd have to get pretty close before striking; his sword was long, but not that long. He considered using one of his throwing knives but decided against it, he only had a few left and didn't want to lose another before he could craft more. And, all things considered, that was never going to happen. Besides, this was good practice. He was slim enough to avoid making more than a whisper as he crept through the brush, carefully avoiding the twigs and dried leaves that were scattered all over the ground.
He was within three yards of the deer now. Its back was turned, and it was making enough noise as it ate to cover his gentle footfalls. Silly animals, he thought for what must have been the umpteenth time. Still, he held his breath, each step deliberate as he raised his sword.
He was about to leap out and strike when a terrifying screech shattered the hushed atmosphere, accompanied by a resounding series of crashes, sending birds shrieking into the air. Startled, the deer froze, and he cursed silently. One more step... Distracted, he failed to notice the stick beneath his foot, and it snapped loudly, audible over the strange commotion taking place somewhere in the distance.
The deer looked back and caught a glimpse of him, before taking off in a sprint. Swearing loudly, he stood and performed a stunt he had only practiced a few times, throwing his sword end over end after the retreating animal. It looked like it was going to hit its mark when the deer suddenly veered to the left, and the blade sunk deeply into the trunk of a large tree.
"Gods damn it!" he shouted, stomping over to the tree and yanking at his sword. It took a few tugs, but it finally pulled free, scattering splinters. "Ugh!" There was a bit of sap on the edge of the blade, and he knew it would take a fair bit of time to scrape it off. It was already mid-afternoon, the warm sunlight dappling the ground where it streamed through the leaves above, and he knew that he'd have to check all his traps in the hopes that he might have snared some dinner.
But first… His scowl deepened. Whatever had made all that noise was going to be immensely sorry for ruining his dinner plans, not to mention his breakfast and lunch plans.
He stalked through the trees, swinging his sticky sword back and forth with frustration, muttering under his breath. Suddenly he realized that the woods were unusually silent. No bird calls could be heard, not even a breeze shifted the branches high up above him. All he could hear was his own breaths, which seemed deafening in the hush of the atmosphere.
He noticed a pile of branches in a large patch of sunlight and darted over, sword held at the ready. They smelled fresh, the sap still wet. Looking up, he realized that the tops of the nearby trees had been completely broken off, and a chill ran down his spine as he looked back to the pile of branches, finally noticing a trail of them through the forest. Something had crashed through the trees and landed here… suddenly aware of how exposed he was, he crouched, weighing his options. Whatever it was, it was clearly large, and clearly not something he wanted to tangle with if it had fallen from the sky. And… it was probably still nearby. He looked back over to the smashed up branches, noting that the path the creature had made appeared to be straight, heading towards the base of the mountain.
For a moment he warred with himself, finally sighing as he stood up and prepared to follow the trail. It's not like it matters what happens to me, anyways.
The first tree he passed seemed to have been bent backwards by whatever had come through this way, and it took him a second to register the dark red smear on the bark. Blood. Great. Either the thing was wounded or it had brought with it something that was.
After about fifteen minutes he encountered wide river. It didn't appear to be moving particularly quickly, but he had no idea how deep it was. Looking across, he could see that the trail of broken trees continued, and even from this distance he could see that there were tracks in the mud on the bank. Frustrated, he picked up a rock and tossed it out into the center of the river, where it sunk with a loud thunk. Looking up and down stream, he noticed a series of rocks spanning the width of the water, and with a sigh he headed down to them, rolling up his pants and pulling off his boots so he could gain better traction on the slippery, wobbly stones. Once he was across, he quickly fixed his clothes and headed back upstream, where the trail was still fresh. Nervously, he took in the large tracks that betrayed the creature's unnaturalness. This was no creature he had ever encountered in these woods, but the mud had distorted the prints, so he couldn't be sure of its origin.
Steeling himself, he followed the trail uphill through splintered trees and trampled ground, noting the spots of blood marking the path. A few minutes later, he saw before him an open space in the forest, filled with sunlight, and he slowed his pace, weighing his options once again. Deciding it was too late to turn back now, he crouched, holding his sword at the ready.
On edge, he crept into the large clearing, gaze scanning the rocks that walled one side of the space. Nothing stirred, and he exhaled a sigh of relief, straightening from his crouch and letting his sword arm drop. But looking at the ground he could see large scrape marks in the dirt, with dark red smears and droplets scattered around them.
Suddenly a terrible growl filled the clearing and he whipped around, one arm holding up his sword and the other reaching for one of the hidden blades on his hip. For a moment he could see nothing, eyes searching the craggy rocks, then his gaze landed on a large, shadowed overhang. In it was the outline of a large creature, but he couldn't make it out.
He could hear it well enough though, growling deeply from the shadows. But it didn't rush out to attack. Quickly he glanced at the ground, trying to interpret the situation. From the crashing and the bloodstains, he was starting to suspect that the creature might be injured.
But what was it? Please don't let it be a dragon, he prayed. The sworn enemies of his people. But what else could it be? His brain told him to run as fast and as far away as he could, but something else made him pause. The growling was growing weaker, fading into a grumble.
Despite the screaming in the back of his mind, he took a step forward, his arm shifting away from the knife on his hip. Immediately the growl intensified, though it still sounded weak. He took another step forward, and the creature seemed to rise, growing in stature. His heart skipped a beat, but he didn't back away, keeping his sword raised.
Slowly the creature emerged from the shadows, and his breath caught in his throat. It was a dragon like he had never seen before, black with purple markings, and a triangular head rimmed with long spikes. It hissed, revealing a wide mouth filled with sharp teeth. It wasn't a large dragon by any means, but for some reason he got the impression that it was far more deadly than some of the bigger dragons he had encountered in his almost twenty years.
His first instinct was to run. His second was to raise his sword and attack, which would almost certainly result in his death. Well, there were worse things.
But there was something about the creature that stilled his hand. It growled at him, but he noticed the bloody scrapes along its sides, and he lowered his sword, uncertain.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, not knowing where the words were coming from. "You're hurt. Maybe I can help you."
It growled again, looking angrily at his sword. Swallowing, he dropped it to the ground, pushing it away with his foot. Taking an unsteady breath, he stepped forward again. "I mean it. I have no interest in harming or killing you, not that I think I could."
The dragon snarled as he approached, and he looked down, realizing that his hand was on his hip, ready to pull out and throw a knife. With another swallow, he removed the three knives from his belt, tossing them away.
Suspiciously, the dragon glanced back and forth between him and the discarded weapons, clearly unsure of what to make of him.
"I swear. Let me help you… would it help if I introduced myself? James Winter, at your service. Exiled to wander the wilderness until death, accused of a crime I did not commit. So if you decide to kill me, it won't matter to anyone but me, but I'll be dead, so I suppose it doesn't actually matter at all. Where I come from, dragons are the spawn of all that is evil, but I've never really felt that way. Don't ask me why…" he was rambling, but he wanted to put the creature at ease.
"Listen, I bet you're hungry, and I don't think you'll be doing much hunting like that," James pointed at the dragon's wounds. "So, I'm going to take my weapons, and bring back some food. Sound good?"
The dragon growled, but didn't move to attack him, so he figured it was agreeing with him. "Okay, then. Be back later!" he turned around, scooped up his sword and knives, before jogging back into the forest, following the path the dragon had made earlier. Over the next few hours he checked all of his traps, coming up with a surprising amount of game.
He debated not going back, but knew with certainty that the dragon probably wouldn't survive without his help. And something about its ferocity, even in the face of danger, garnered his admiration. So, he gathered up all the food he could find, along with some of the native plants he noticed on his way back towards the mountain.
When he got back in the clearing he announced himself clearly, gaze immediately landing on the creature resting in the mouth of the small cave it had found. It looked up at him, seeming surprised, before scowling and looking away.
James laughed at that, gently setting down the game and bringing over some branches to start a fire. "I don't suppose you could give me a hand with this fire?" he called out, and the dragon briefly glanced in his direction before snorting and turning its gaze away again. "Fine, fine…" The sun had almost set, so he did his best to set up a small spit and get a fire going. He immediately started working on skinning the game he had caught, then paused, uncertain.
"Do you prefer your meat raw or cooked?" he called out, but this time the dragon actually looked at him, clearly bewildered.
"You know, like on the fire?" It rolled its eyes. Obviously it knew what cooked meant.
"So… is that a yes?" It stared at him, then slowly shook its head.
"Well, then come and get it." James turned back to the rabbit he was gutting. He figured that the dragon would come out when it was good and ready, and he didn't feel like sitting and waiting for it to do so. Setting aside the rabbit, he scooped up some of the plants he'd picked and, using a rock, ground them up against another large rock, pouring a bit of water from his water skin over it to make a thick paste. He bit his lip, focusing on the task at hand. Let's see… a little more of this, that should do it…
Suddenly he got the distinct feeling that there was something behind him, and he looked up, before slowly turning to come face to face with the dragon. He gulped, but didn't break eye contact. Instead, he reached out with his right hand to pick up the gutted rabbit, and held it up to for the creature to inspect. It sniffed it, still staring him in the eye, before opening its mouth slowly.
"What, do you want me to throw it to you? Okay." He tossed the meat into the dragon's mouth, which immediately clamped shut as it swallowed the food whole. A strange expression crossed over its face, like it found the rabbit distasteful. "Do you not like rabbit?" The dragon's scowl returned. "Well, what do you like, then? I've got some other small game, but that's probably about the same. Would you prefer something bigger, like a deer?" So subtly he almost missed it, the dragon shook its head, and James almost gasped with shock, before gathering himself. He got the feeling he needed to be as focused as possible when dealing with this creature.
"Hmm… what else is there? I sincerely doubt you're a vegetarian, so… do you like human food? Like, our livestock?"
It shook its head again, more noticeably. "Well, that's good, because I don't have any of that. So you don't like red meat in general. What, do you like fish, then?"
It nodded, and James couldn't help but smile. "Then tomorrow I'll go fishing. In the mean time, can you handle eating some more of this stuff?" It looked thoughtful, before nodding. "Good. You need your strength."
He fed almost all of the game to the dragon, saving a small rabbit for himself. The sun slipped below the trees, leaving the clearing cast in shadows. Once he had finished his own dinner, he looked over at the dragon, which had lain down on its side nearby, watching him closely.
"Okay. Before it gets any darker, I need to at least look at those wounds," James pointed at the dragon's side, and it scowled, growling.
"Don't give me any of that. Come on, I didn't poison you with the meat. Why would I share my food if I wanted you dead? I'm not that devious. Here, smell this," he scooped up a handful of the paste on the rock, holding up his arm. Slowly the dragon got to its feet, still staring at him aggressively, coming close enough to be able to smell his hand. James forced himself to stand still, not wanting to startle the creature. After all, he enjoyed the use of all of his limbs.
"See? Nothing poisonous here. Move your wing over, yeah, like that— I need to see all of the damage." Looking extremely suspicious, the dragon slowly shifted its wing, revealing a terrible series of deep gashes, and—
"Are those arrows?" James squinted, unsure if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. "Was somebody hunting you?"
The dragon growled softly.
"Well, I certainly hope they aren't nearby, because your trail wasn't exactly hard to follow." It scowled at him, and he shrugged. "Just saying. Now, hold your wing up. This shouldn't hurt."
Stepping closer, he leaned in and gently touched the nearest wound, slowly rubbing the salve over it. The dragon hissed, but it didn't sound upset. James glanced up at its face, seeing it staring him down, and nodded. "See? I'm not so bad." Gathering speed, he no less gently applied the salve to the rest of the dragon's abraded hide, before reaching the arrows near its hind leg.
"Okay. I have to pull these out. I can't promise that this won't hurt, but they have to come out. Please, try not to kill me before I can remove them both. Or ever, actually, if you're feeling generous." He placed his left hand on the dragon's hide, holding the arrow still, then used his right hand to grab onto the arrow's shaft.
"Ready? One, two…" He yanked it out and the creature growled loudly, but remarkably it stayed completely still.
"Okay, okay. One more…" James repeated the process, then got more salve and did his best to seal the deep wounds with it. What would his mother say if she could see him now, using her training on a dragon of all things? When it was a dragon that had taken her from him when he was only a boy?
He sighed, closing his eyes. Best not to let old wounds open up. So he turned and looked at the dragon, who was watching him with what appeared to be curiosity.
"What?"
It made a funny groaning noise, which he couldn't even begin to decipher. "Are you telling me something? Never mind, I suppose it doesn't matter. Now, if you trust me enough to let me sleep here, I would like to do so. Tomorrow I can go fishing, the river's less than ten minutes down the hill. Then I should probably go back to my camp and get my supplies…" he trailed off, thinking. "Anyways. You should rest too, you had quite a day, looks like. If you haven't eaten me by then, I'll see you in the morning."
The dragon rolled its eyes, slowly getting to its feet and making its way back to its little cave. James, ignoring the chill of the night, laid down on his back next to the dying fire and looked up at the stars, wishing with all his heart that he could change the past, and knowing that he would never be able to.