Seven years have come and gone since Tortall went head to head against the forbidden creatures known as Immortals, and the the two realms were saved by the 16 year god-born girl known as Daine. Yet the dragons have not forgotten in the span of seven years, and they have not forgotten the dragon infant, Skysong. A child is brought into the word, different from the rest, with a gift unlike any others. This is where our story begins.
"Damned, be it, woman!" The midwife screamed. "If a cow can do it, you can as well!"
The laboring woman lay at her side, drops of persperation beading across her forehead, now crimson with pain. The midwife knew she was to die, but if the father found his child dead, she herself would surely be punished.
"Just get the child out, woman! If you're to die, so be it!" A groan echoed from the mother, and with her dying breath, a baby was born. A small girl. The father would not be pleased, for sure. The man wanted a boy-child, but this was not a matter of hers. With a sigh of relief, she cleaned the baby and beckoned to her apprentice.
"Rebecca," she called out, "go tell the man of the death of his wife." Rebecca was obviously worried. Seeing her hesitantion, she lifted her lip in a disgusted snarl. "Go! Run if he hits you."
With that, the fair-haired girl skittered out of the room like a frightened mouse. The copper-topped midwife wasn't from Scanra, and was surprised to find that the baby's small amount of hair was a reddish brown, darker than her own. What was odder, was that both mother and father were of Scanra, and had fair hair and skyblue eyes like the rest of them. She turned her attention back onto the newborn.
She gasped, her face, creased with worrylines, became twisted and deformed with horror. The baby's eyes were changing colors. Red, blue, green, grey.
"Oh, Goddess," She dropped the baby on the dirtpacked floor and began to scream, running out.
With that, the little girl began to cry.
"Damned, be it, woman!" The midwife screamed. "If a cow can do it, you can as well!"
The laboring woman lay at her side, drops of persperation beading across her forehead, now crimson with pain. The midwife knew she was to die, but if the father found his child dead, she herself would surely be punished.
"Just get the child out, woman! If you're to die, so be it!" A groan echoed from the mother, and with her dying breath, a baby was born. A small girl. The father would not be pleased, for sure. The man wanted a boy-child, but this was not a matter of hers. With a sigh of relief, she cleaned the baby and beckoned to her apprentice.
"Rebecca," she called out, "go tell the man of the death of his wife." Rebecca was obviously worried. Seeing her hesitantion, she lifted her lip in a disgusted snarl. "Go! Run if he hits you."
With that, the fair-haired girl skittered out of the room like a frightened mouse. The copper-topped midwife wasn't from Scanra, and was surprised to find that the baby's small amount of hair was a reddish brown, darker than her own. What was odder, was that both mother and father were of Scanra, and had fair hair and skyblue eyes like the rest of them. She turned her attention back onto the newborn.
She gasped, her face, creased with worrylines, became twisted and deformed with horror. The baby's eyes were changing colors. Red, blue, green, grey.
"Oh, Goddess," She dropped the baby on the dirtpacked floor and began to scream, running out.
With that, the little girl began to cry.
