Third Age: Awakening

A soft breeze blew down the mountainside into the valley, sending rippling waves through soft grass and brightly colored wildflowers. In the shade of a willow tree, near a gently bubbbling brook, a small dark haired girl sat weaving flowers into her hair. She hummed softly as she worked, an ancient tune.

A shadow fell across her, and she looked up in surprise. No one ever came here.

She saw a man, tall, and broad of shoulder. Dark eyed and hook nosed, he could not be considered handsome. He seemed... confused as he looked around him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as they settled on her. She came to her feet quickly.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, in a voice which suggested he was used to commanding. "Why did you bring me here?"

She tensed, prepared to run. He seized her arm and pulled her closer to him, staring intently into her eyes. She squirmed inwardly under his scrutiny. The wind had died, and the air was completely still. She though she could smell lightning in the air.

He kissed her.

She felt something shift around them, and deep within her something flared to life - the ashes of a long-dead fire. One of his hands slid down her back to her waist, pulling her against him as the other twisted in her hair.

He released her and looked around with a curious expression on his face. She followed his gaze and caught her breath. The meadow had disappeared, replaced by a forest and beyond the two of them, a perfectly round lake. She could smell wood smoke in the air.

"Raelle?" the man said, in a voice barley above a whisper.

She shook her head, no. "My name is Kashira." He frowned. "I'm dreaming."

"Yes," he answered, reaching a hand up to stroke her cheek. "You don't remember."

"Remember what?"

He didn't answer her. He seemed lost in thought for what could have been a moment, or an hour. He suddenly glanced up at the sky, listening, then back at her and smiled.

"You will remember. I must go now, but I will find you again soon." He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Wake now."

Kashira woke in darkness. The smell of him seemed to cling to her, although that wasn't possible. She could picture him perfectly, the sharp lines of his face. A peculiar dream.

She knew it must be quite late. The drums were silent, and an early morning chill seeped into the wagon. She could hear the occasional creaking of the wagons, and the rustling of blankets, her father and brother snoring in perfect harmony. She willed herself back to sleep, back to the dream, but sleep would not come.

Eventually, she gave up, and slipped out of the wagon into the cool night air. As she made her way silently through the camp, one of their wolfhounds trotted up to her and stuck its huge shaggy head between her hands. She scratched the dog's ears and patted it. The dog stayed close on her heels as she left the camp and headed down to the river.

The moon hung bright and full in the sky, turning the river into molten silver. The grass was damp with dew which had just begun to form and the mud at the bank of the river felt wonderful between her bare toes. The night was warm, even with the slight breeze from across the river.

She found a spot with several large rocks on the bank and trailed her feet in the water watching the fish jump further out. Kashira loved the sights, smells and sounds of the camp. She - like all her people - felt the constant music in her soul, but unlike many in the camp, she was unafraid of the night and the world outside the camp.

The night had its own music, and Kashira imagined that the rest of the world must be much the same. Sometimes, she fantasized about leaving the wagons and seeking out the cities, meeting those her father condemned, learning about their clothes, and their customs, their ways of speaking.

Tonight, her fantasies took a different route. She recalled dark eyes, and felt a chill run through her. She mistrusted her dreams, especially lately. Too often in the past year, she had dreamed of something only to have it come true. She had told only one person - her mother - after the first time. Her mother had sternly ordered her to tell no one, and Kashira obeyed without question.

The True dreams, as she had come to think of them, were the only times she ever dreamt of people, other than herself. Not all of them were about people, but most. People she knew. This man, the dark man, she had never met. She knew she had not, and yet he ... felt... familiar. Even now, just recalling the dream, her knees felt weak, and her mouth was dry.

Kashira splashed some water on her face, and headed back towards the camp, telling herself not to be silly. As she came close, she realized the woods had gone quiet. Too quiet. A moment later, the dog at her side started growling, low and deep in its throat. She smelled smoke and the silence was broken by screaming.

Fear rose in her chest, and her feet felt stuck to the ground. Numb with terror, she watched as dark shapes moved between the wagons. First one, then another caught fire, the flames quickly spreading. A movement to her left caught her eye and the dog sprang past her, a huge taloned limb caught it and flipped it into the air.

The dog's dying gurgle was enough to set her running. Like a startled rabbit, she fled, back towards the river, unthinking, terror lending wings to her feet. Behind her she could hear whatever it was crashing through the underbrush, an eerie howling followed her. Her bare feet struck the soft mud of the riverbank, and slowed.

Then some long buried survival instinct took over and she plunged into the river. The icy water sucked the breath from her body and she kicked ineffectively. She had always considered herself a strong swimmer, but against the combined strength of the current and the cold, her limbs had no strength.

Burning wagons lit up the sky as the river swept her away.