It was bitterly cold in the stream, but Arne was used to that. The spring of 1803 was a late one, and even in April, snow still clung to the ground, unwilling to leave its new domain. The fish were taking a long time to return, like a sleeper who had stayed up too late, and Europe was a powder keg. The fragile peace between England and France was being stretched in every direction, and threatened to snap and thrust Europe into open warfare once again. It was like two giants battling with each other day and night, only the giants had armies of unprecedented size, huge navies that threatened to make the seas burn, and formations of dragons that were able to destroy entire cannon batteries in a single manoeuvre.
Sweden stood with the few neutral countries: Prussia, the Turks, and some minor states. Like men walking a tightrope, the two sides of Europe tried their best to knock the walkers off, and into their opened arms. Arne sighed, discarding all thoughts of the spiderweb of diplomacy and put the soap next to his clothes, getting out of the stream as he did so. He dried off his brown hair, looking at his blue eyes and smallish nose in the water. He pulled on his thick top, looked mournfully at the patch on his trousers before pulling on his boots. His rifle and bag of powder leant against the tree like faithful companions, and the deer he had killed moments ago lay under the old, dead pine tree. He walked over and slung the animal over his shoulders like a sack of coal, before starting down the old, weathered trail that seemed to change every time he walked on it.
It had been a two hour walk with the heavy deer slung on his back, and it was weighing Arne down. The sun was nearly below the walls of the Fjord, and the village was a few hours away. Making a quick decision, Arne decided he did not want to go back to the village and face his father or his stepmother just yet. Father was too controlling, and Helga flirted with him like a common slattern. It wasn't the best of conditions to grow up in, so he always tried to spend as much time as possible hunting. It was like his only friend in a sea of strangers. That and his daydreams dragons. Every boy dreamed of them, few ever saw them, especially in Scandinavia. The cold wrenched out their hearts as effectively as a knife. The few dragons in Sweden were considered a nuisance more than an effective military force. Besides, Swedish tactics had evolved around d the destruction of enemy dragons, so the Swedish infantry were a hugely significant threat on any battlefield, especially Poltava, where they had smashed the Russian dragons into the snow and annihilated them, until only 3 remained.
Arne decided to use the old caves to rest in, instead of his usual tent. They were always uncommonly hot, and the wolves never seemed to go near them. He climbed a tree with as much effort as his tired arms could muster, tied the deer to the trunk, and struggled down, the snow falling like silent leaves all around him. After a long walk to the top of the mountain, he decided to be more adventurous than ever and sleep in the topmost cave he could find. He had always found that the higher caves were warmest, and this one at the top would probably be no exception.
He was right. The heat there was oppressive, and the lighting was incredibly poor. Some boulders covered the entrance, and the overhanging ice distorted all vision into the cave. Arne picked up a branch of wood and used his tinderbox to light it, hoping that the meagre light was enough to see by. He then looked around the inside of the cave. It was titanic, with a ceiling stretching up out of sight. Large, natural ramps went down from the rear of the cave to the caves below it, and that wasn't the worst thing. Huge, terrifying claw marks ran along the walls, like after affects of a huge cataclysm of savagery. In the centre, a huge natural podium rose up like a titan, and upon it, was a curiously elliptical rock. It was silver, with blue spots running down the sides, and was harder than any other rock he knew about. Hesitantly, Arne pushed at the rock, causing it to roll toward the edge of the pillar. Arne had already started to scramble frantically toward the base of the pillar, when the rock started to fall. He looked up, and the last thing he saw was the rock, with a huge crack on its surface.
Then it hit him in the face.