Yay! Chapter Two! Sorry it took me so long. Homework. Lots. Plus, the time
it takes for FF.net to upload this darned thing . Anywho, as you people
can obviously see, I use the word "damn" quite frequently. -__-; Okay,
here's the next chapter. Don't have much to say in the A/N, so I'll shut-up
now. ^^ There's a lot of waking up and falling asleep in this chapter, kind
of boring.
Daine awoke; a thin layer of glossy sweat covered her face. "W - who?" Her mind was running with questions. "Who spoke to me? Not a god, then who?"
The woman had an odd history, and was often visited in dreams by her mother, father, or guardian, the badger god. Seven years ago, the Gallan- born girl was swept into the realm of the gods and caught in the middle of two wars, thereby known as the "Immortals War," for the strange, beastly creatures known as immortals had taken a great role in it.
Glancing out the window, she noticed the sun, which was quite high in the sky already. She cried out in mild alarm, surprised how late it was. Tossing off the light covers, she practically threw herself out of bed and scrambled about her room, dressing as she went. Daine hastily dragged a brush through her dusty brown curls and splashed some cold water on her face. Straightening her shirt, the young woman headed out the door.
'Chirrup!!' I sudden noise behind her made Daine spin wildly, only to find her looking down on a very small, very curious, and very bored smoky blue dragon.
The god-born girl laughed. "Kitten," She replied to its chirrup, "You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" Her vulnerable mouth widened into a delighted smile. The immortal known as "Kitten" whistled in response.
Suddenly, as if struck, Daine remembered her dream and what the voice had said about the gods. "'Pride less god'? Where have I heard that before, Kitten?"
The dragon cocked her head to the left, understanding her statement.
"How odd. Should I tell Numair?" She bit her lip hard. It had been ages since she had pondered at informing the mage anything. "No," Daine told herself firmly. "He doesn't need to baby me anymore, and he'll worry. Besides, it's been so peaceful the last few years. I just hope it doesn't spoil it."
With a last heavy sigh, Daine led Kitten out the door. "C'mon, girl, let's go check on the Rider's ponies."
'Cheeekab!' Her dragon replied agreeably.
-------------------------
The eerie darkness had resumed as before, and a giant shadow fell over Zekan. Instead of feeling fear, she only felt a deep resentment and anger. Hunters, She growled to herself. The ones who made this trap! With an indignant cry, the Scanran impulsively reached for her dagger - one she had learned to never be without - and yelled, "Who's there?! Show yourself!"
The voice then echoed inside her head, like before. It was strong, firm, and gentle. It seemed to mock her subtly, jesting about her from afar. Very well, mortal
Zekan, furious, replied loudly, "Who you calling mortal?!" Temporarily forgetting her injury, the redhead stood on her ankle, only to meet the gaze of the largest eyes she had ever seen.
She screamed. The scream rung throughout the forest, then enveloping into the canopy of crimson leaves. The pain suddenly shot up her leg once more, and she dropped to the floor, Vision became blurry, and all she could see was the giant pair of eyes, silver in color, staring straight through her. The Scanran dropped her knife, falling into dead faint.
She could hear her voice being called, over and over.
"Where are you, hunters?? Show your face so I can gouge your eyes!" Zekan snarled fiercely. "I command you!"
"Foolish mortal. Zekan. Zekan. Zekan."
There was brief silence.
"Awake!"
Zekan jolted from her slumber. "A dream." She murmured. Rubbing her eyes, she cried out, the horribly huge face still remained. Opening her mouth to scream once more, the Scanran looked about frantically for the knife her father had given her, yet no sound emitted from her terrified mouth.
Silence, girl-child. Listen to my words! Zekan immediately fell silent. The name you shall call me by is Sirk. Obey and heed my words, for you shall need them in the future. You were called for a reason. You were chosen for a reason. Zekanvealadas, you are different."
The sudden jolt of reality struck the Scanran's mind. She was talking to a dragon. Irritation hit her as well, and she answered haughtily, "I don't understand... Sirk."
Red began to tinge the dragon's pale green scales. Silver talons dug into the damp earth in contempt. End your foolish games! A snarl rose at his lips; if dragons do have lips, that is.
"Explain it to me! Why? Why am I different?"
The crimson faded gently, and his glare softened. You have been given a gift. You shall obey the will of the Dragonmeet, and I shall teach you.
Dragonmeet? Gift? Zekan wondered silently. "I have no gift!" She shouted.
Wrong. You do.
The redhead hesitated. "Explain, sir."
The time in the woods bordering Grimhold. You wandered far from home, and the women were calling to you.
"Yet... I did not hear." Zekan breathed.
Wrong, once more. You couldn't understand.
"That's silly!" She growled in response. "I - I could hear them!"
Liar, The dragon replied. You were speaking a language unknown by humans, lost to only a few scarce species of immortals. You have a gift to speak the tongue of the dragon.
-------------------------
"Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith!" Came the heated voice from inside a closed door. The wooden door was surging with heat, and a black glow emitted from the cracks.
Veralidaine Sarrasri stood in the doorway. Numair hasn't been out since yester-noon. Timidly, she rapped her knuckles on the door.
"Go away!" the frustrated male voice replied.
Daine hesitated. "Numair?"
The door opened to reveil a large man with black hair, sensitive face, and dark complexion. His long locks were tamed with a tie, pulled back into a messy horsetail. He looked at the woman before him kindly, happy to see her.
"Sorry, Daine. I was... uh... working." The mage Numair Salmalin placed a big hand behind his neck, obviously embarressed at the room behind him, which lay in clutters, clouded with smoke.
Daine waved her own hand in front of her nose, fanning the smog away, coughing. "It's alright." She smiled.
'Chipchip!!' Kitten wagged her tail furiously, demanding attention. Numair chuckled and stroked the dragon's rough scales. "You need to be oiled, little one," he said to her.
"Um, Numair?" Daine began, her smoky blue eyes fascinated with the flooring. "I had..."
"Yes?" Her friend, teacher, and love questioned.
The Gallan-born woman heaved a sigh, and concluded to hold back her question. "Nevermind."
"Very well, love," he replied tenderly, though concern tainted his loving gaze.
Daine awoke; a thin layer of glossy sweat covered her face. "W - who?" Her mind was running with questions. "Who spoke to me? Not a god, then who?"
The woman had an odd history, and was often visited in dreams by her mother, father, or guardian, the badger god. Seven years ago, the Gallan- born girl was swept into the realm of the gods and caught in the middle of two wars, thereby known as the "Immortals War," for the strange, beastly creatures known as immortals had taken a great role in it.
Glancing out the window, she noticed the sun, which was quite high in the sky already. She cried out in mild alarm, surprised how late it was. Tossing off the light covers, she practically threw herself out of bed and scrambled about her room, dressing as she went. Daine hastily dragged a brush through her dusty brown curls and splashed some cold water on her face. Straightening her shirt, the young woman headed out the door.
'Chirrup!!' I sudden noise behind her made Daine spin wildly, only to find her looking down on a very small, very curious, and very bored smoky blue dragon.
The god-born girl laughed. "Kitten," She replied to its chirrup, "You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" Her vulnerable mouth widened into a delighted smile. The immortal known as "Kitten" whistled in response.
Suddenly, as if struck, Daine remembered her dream and what the voice had said about the gods. "'Pride less god'? Where have I heard that before, Kitten?"
The dragon cocked her head to the left, understanding her statement.
"How odd. Should I tell Numair?" She bit her lip hard. It had been ages since she had pondered at informing the mage anything. "No," Daine told herself firmly. "He doesn't need to baby me anymore, and he'll worry. Besides, it's been so peaceful the last few years. I just hope it doesn't spoil it."
With a last heavy sigh, Daine led Kitten out the door. "C'mon, girl, let's go check on the Rider's ponies."
'Cheeekab!' Her dragon replied agreeably.
-------------------------
The eerie darkness had resumed as before, and a giant shadow fell over Zekan. Instead of feeling fear, she only felt a deep resentment and anger. Hunters, She growled to herself. The ones who made this trap! With an indignant cry, the Scanran impulsively reached for her dagger - one she had learned to never be without - and yelled, "Who's there?! Show yourself!"
The voice then echoed inside her head, like before. It was strong, firm, and gentle. It seemed to mock her subtly, jesting about her from afar. Very well, mortal
Zekan, furious, replied loudly, "Who you calling mortal?!" Temporarily forgetting her injury, the redhead stood on her ankle, only to meet the gaze of the largest eyes she had ever seen.
She screamed. The scream rung throughout the forest, then enveloping into the canopy of crimson leaves. The pain suddenly shot up her leg once more, and she dropped to the floor, Vision became blurry, and all she could see was the giant pair of eyes, silver in color, staring straight through her. The Scanran dropped her knife, falling into dead faint.
She could hear her voice being called, over and over.
"Where are you, hunters?? Show your face so I can gouge your eyes!" Zekan snarled fiercely. "I command you!"
"Foolish mortal. Zekan. Zekan. Zekan."
There was brief silence.
"Awake!"
Zekan jolted from her slumber. "A dream." She murmured. Rubbing her eyes, she cried out, the horribly huge face still remained. Opening her mouth to scream once more, the Scanran looked about frantically for the knife her father had given her, yet no sound emitted from her terrified mouth.
Silence, girl-child. Listen to my words! Zekan immediately fell silent. The name you shall call me by is Sirk. Obey and heed my words, for you shall need them in the future. You were called for a reason. You were chosen for a reason. Zekanvealadas, you are different."
The sudden jolt of reality struck the Scanran's mind. She was talking to a dragon. Irritation hit her as well, and she answered haughtily, "I don't understand... Sirk."
Red began to tinge the dragon's pale green scales. Silver talons dug into the damp earth in contempt. End your foolish games! A snarl rose at his lips; if dragons do have lips, that is.
"Explain it to me! Why? Why am I different?"
The crimson faded gently, and his glare softened. You have been given a gift. You shall obey the will of the Dragonmeet, and I shall teach you.
Dragonmeet? Gift? Zekan wondered silently. "I have no gift!" She shouted.
Wrong. You do.
The redhead hesitated. "Explain, sir."
The time in the woods bordering Grimhold. You wandered far from home, and the women were calling to you.
"Yet... I did not hear." Zekan breathed.
Wrong, once more. You couldn't understand.
"That's silly!" She growled in response. "I - I could hear them!"
Liar, The dragon replied. You were speaking a language unknown by humans, lost to only a few scarce species of immortals. You have a gift to speak the tongue of the dragon.
-------------------------
"Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith!" Came the heated voice from inside a closed door. The wooden door was surging with heat, and a black glow emitted from the cracks.
Veralidaine Sarrasri stood in the doorway. Numair hasn't been out since yester-noon. Timidly, she rapped her knuckles on the door.
"Go away!" the frustrated male voice replied.
Daine hesitated. "Numair?"
The door opened to reveil a large man with black hair, sensitive face, and dark complexion. His long locks were tamed with a tie, pulled back into a messy horsetail. He looked at the woman before him kindly, happy to see her.
"Sorry, Daine. I was... uh... working." The mage Numair Salmalin placed a big hand behind his neck, obviously embarressed at the room behind him, which lay in clutters, clouded with smoke.
Daine waved her own hand in front of her nose, fanning the smog away, coughing. "It's alright." She smiled.
'Chipchip!!' Kitten wagged her tail furiously, demanding attention. Numair chuckled and stroked the dragon's rough scales. "You need to be oiled, little one," he said to her.
"Um, Numair?" Daine began, her smoky blue eyes fascinated with the flooring. "I had..."
"Yes?" Her friend, teacher, and love questioned.
The Gallan-born woman heaved a sigh, and concluded to hold back her question. "Nevermind."
"Very well, love," he replied tenderly, though concern tainted his loving gaze.