~ I'm so sorry if you're Welsh and were insulted by the last chapter. Don't
worry, Quinn will get over it. Hopefully Merciless will go over them--- ~
The dawn came with the weak heartbeat of light. It pulsed into the sky as a pale bleakness that stretched amid the clouds. Quinn led the party up towards the abbey ruins, skirting round the hilltop. They were holding their breath, waiting and watching. After hours of painful trekking, they reached the remains. Alex went to the centre where the stones rose up to a higher level. She stamped on it to make sure it was secure. Then she beckoned the other workers to follow her. They were all bearing small crossbows, the deadly arrows locked into place and pointing at the sky. Alex and the rest formed themselves into a large circle and looked up, ready and waiting. Quinn and Gerald were moving north to the summit of the hill. They looked down to see the carved out valley before them. The hill was sucked in on the other side, worn away so that chunks of rock protruded out of the earth like fingers.
"It's a good look-out point," said Quinn stonily, "You can see everything from here. From a long way away. Good luck." Gerald didn't catch the indication quickly but it broke on him like icy water. But before he could begin to protest he was hauled in front of a supported crossbow.
"I can't- I, you know, I-"
"You'll do fine," Quinn interrupted him and turned away. Gerald guessed he would run back to the abbey but instead he ran along the hill edge until he came to a shallow drop. Climbing over, he stumbled down the embankments- letting out several curses along the way- until he finally reached the valley floor. He raised his hand in farewell. Gerald lifted a shaky palm, so confused he thought his brain would implode.
Quinn worked his legs harder, pumping down the old burnt track. The breath laboured in his chest but he kept on relentless. He knew what he was looking for. Something Van Zant had taught him to search for. Not easy to miss.
'They only perform this in secluded places,' rang the words in his head, 'And it has to be shadowed- they ain't proud of giving up something as old as that.'
Quinn swerved round the hill to another inset cave. It was enormous and littered with bleached chalky bones. Right at the centre sat the silhouette of a dragon. The flaky red skin rustled in the breeze, its papery thin hide shivering. And all the weight of a child. Quinn gently enfolded the neck and hefted the structure up. It wavered in his grip but he held it tight. Then, carefully, ever so carefully, he drew the giant shed dragon skin into the light.
The dawn came with the weak heartbeat of light. It pulsed into the sky as a pale bleakness that stretched amid the clouds. Quinn led the party up towards the abbey ruins, skirting round the hilltop. They were holding their breath, waiting and watching. After hours of painful trekking, they reached the remains. Alex went to the centre where the stones rose up to a higher level. She stamped on it to make sure it was secure. Then she beckoned the other workers to follow her. They were all bearing small crossbows, the deadly arrows locked into place and pointing at the sky. Alex and the rest formed themselves into a large circle and looked up, ready and waiting. Quinn and Gerald were moving north to the summit of the hill. They looked down to see the carved out valley before them. The hill was sucked in on the other side, worn away so that chunks of rock protruded out of the earth like fingers.
"It's a good look-out point," said Quinn stonily, "You can see everything from here. From a long way away. Good luck." Gerald didn't catch the indication quickly but it broke on him like icy water. But before he could begin to protest he was hauled in front of a supported crossbow.
"I can't- I, you know, I-"
"You'll do fine," Quinn interrupted him and turned away. Gerald guessed he would run back to the abbey but instead he ran along the hill edge until he came to a shallow drop. Climbing over, he stumbled down the embankments- letting out several curses along the way- until he finally reached the valley floor. He raised his hand in farewell. Gerald lifted a shaky palm, so confused he thought his brain would implode.
Quinn worked his legs harder, pumping down the old burnt track. The breath laboured in his chest but he kept on relentless. He knew what he was looking for. Something Van Zant had taught him to search for. Not easy to miss.
'They only perform this in secluded places,' rang the words in his head, 'And it has to be shadowed- they ain't proud of giving up something as old as that.'
Quinn swerved round the hill to another inset cave. It was enormous and littered with bleached chalky bones. Right at the centre sat the silhouette of a dragon. The flaky red skin rustled in the breeze, its papery thin hide shivering. And all the weight of a child. Quinn gently enfolded the neck and hefted the structure up. It wavered in his grip but he held it tight. Then, carefully, ever so carefully, he drew the giant shed dragon skin into the light.