Authors Note: Hello! My name's Ellen, and this is my first story to be published on ffnet. This is one of my pieces for my creative writing controlled assesment. I hope you guys like it :) Any feedback would be great!
Fire
Flames spat and hissed, embracing the wooden structure as a girl stood there and laughed. Smoked billowed off the skeletal building around the figure and up into the night. The salt on her cheeks had evaporated; sobbing gave way to hysteria as she watched the fruits of her labour and her father's before her crumble into dust. But she did not move. Her mind was far away.
Ding! The bell rang as a man stepped inside, hood up against the harsh snow. His appearance was of one who had travelled a long way; mud stains crept up against torn trousers and his tangled hair seemed to have a number of plants inside. His boots trod softly against the wooden floor to pick up an order she knew so well; a horse, a book, a sword and a flower. He came every year, neither changing in looks nor choice. Stepping towards the counter, he would offer the same greetings and smile at her with his eyes twinkling, and pass her something he'd found; a perfectly round stone from the river, or the smallest acorn she had ever seen. After a while, as she grew older, her father would get her to slip something in his bag; a sandwich or a bowl of soup. He looked too thin, she was always told. Then the routine changed. Her father was no longer there, and she couldn't afford to give away food. He picked up a leaf as well as the usual four, and stayed longer. She learnt his name, and he learnt that she was extremely stubborn when it came to help. She was fine.
She was not fine now. Red licked the only thing she had left of her father. They had tried to kill her. They had not succeeded. They would never succeed. Shoulders were squared and a silent goodbye was said, and then there was only fire and ash. Her home had crumbled, but she would stand.
Maybe she would find him.
Hurried footsteps ran towards the pile. Now and then the pile would shift and sigh, showing glimmering red embers and releasing a puff of smoke. Keen eyes saw footsteps where there was only a broken twig or a bent blade of grass. Rain was falling. Clues would soon disappear. He sprinted into the woods dodging branches and holes, checking every now and then to adjust his course. He was led to a clearing, where the angry sky could be seen in its full glory, all water and light and sound. In the middle, there was a small bundle splattered with mud and soaked through to the bone. Her hair was draped over her face, thin strands of ebony that reminded him of his family. He had vowed to protect her. Not to her face of course; she was as stubborn as his brothers and twice as fiery. But he had still failed. Images flashed through his mind of a young girl with mischievous grins and bright laughs as he watched over her as a friend and a brother. Too young, his mind screamed. Too young.
The bundle gave a shuddering gasp of the cold, harsh air. Tired lungs struggled to ingest the icy oxygen, but they did. Because they knew, as did she, that he was near. He was near and he would help her, just like he offered to so many times. She felt a soft cloak being wrapped round her, and with warmth returning, her determination did also. She would survive. They would not succeed. Strong arms cradled her and she let herself be a child for the first time in years. She knew she was safe.
That noise was like music to his ears. She was alive. He had not failed yet. There was a chance. She was cold. Too cold. His cloak would do. What next? What had years of experience taught him? Shelter. He could do that. She had done more for him, with her little bowls of soup that had kept him alive. The sky roared and the trees screamed, but he carried her off towards warmth and safety and song.
Disclaimer: The man is based off one of Tolkiens characters.