Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is property of Tolkien and there are many references throughout to Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. I only own what you do not recognize. The character Chinky is not meant to cause offence and is named after a real horse whose name has been shortened from a Fiat Cinquecento (Chinky – Chento).
Part 1: The story begins
Chapter 1: Memory of fire and smoke
Walking into the room Amy promptly dumped her bag on the floor and then threw herself onto her bed. Within minutes her mossy green pillows were stained with her tears. It had been a day like every other really and her pillows already held the stains from previous days. She gradually calmed down, and after a time, sat up. She tried to forget what had happened that day, but no matter how hard she tried, the images came flooding back through her head in waves of torment.
She sat and looked carefully at her piece of work. It had taken near on ten hours to finish, but finally her final piece for her art GCSE was finished. 'If this doesn't get me an A, nothing will,' she chuckled to herself. Art was the only subject people didn't avoid her in, well except the boys. She was not liked, and had only a few friends, but in art, people would stop and watch her work as she tirelessly painted on her canvas. The bold sunset on her work contrasted with the near jet-black silhouette of an elf and his horse cantering off into the sunset. A boy came up behind her and 'accidentally' tripped and black paint went all over her work. She screamed as everyone else burst out laughing. "Opps did I do that?" he said. "I suppose you won't be getting the highest mark in the class now will you?" Someone else said.
Just as her teacher came over, the boy who spilled the paint lifted up his paintbrush and black paint smeared over her face.
Tears streaming down her face she picked up her bag and ran out the room, well that is what she intended to do before someone stuck their foot out and she sailed onto the floor. More tears stung her already swollen eyes as she painfully lifted herself up, and proceeded to run out the room.
She had run nearly the whole six miles it was to her house. Why had everybody been so mean? They always had been. Anger soared through her as she wiped her eyes on her quilt.
Once she gathered her self up, the realisation of what she had done hit her. She had run out of a GSCE exam, which would probably result in her getting disaplied, and she would never become an artist. Then the simplest thought hit her. Runaway. What had she got to live for? Her father had died when she was very young and she could not remember him, her mother spent the whole time drunk and beat her. She winced as she remembered the last time her mother had taken a belt to her. The mark on her back was still as clear as ever, and she did not think it would ever fade.
Living on the edge of the New Forest it wouldn't be hard for her to escape. The gate at the back of her house led straight into the forest, and she doubted whether her mum would notice.
She settled it there and then, she was going to leave. For the first time in months she smiled, a proper smile, not the usual sarcastic smile she shot at people who annoyed her. Getting up she looked in her mirror, she smiled at the tear stained face, alight with freckles, yes for once she was happy.
OOOOOO
Two hours later her bag was filled and on her back. She had changed completely. Far from the tank top wearing girl she was now clad in leather soled light shoes, a pair of green leggings and a light green and brown tunic, which she made herself. She also had to admit it fitted better than the rest of her clothes.
She took of her cloak and knelt on the floor by her bed. Slowly she pulled out one of her prized possessions. Glittering in her hands was a sword.
The long two-handled hilt fit her hand perfectly. The ornate patterns and markings down the side were alien to her, but it was some form of writing, that she was sure of. Dual dragons were engraved all the way down the blade, twisting and spiralling around each other, looking so real that they might come to life. She placed it in its scabbard and fixed it to her waist. She never knew where the sword came from, only that it was entrusted to her. If she thought back far enough she could just about remember a dark haired man placing it on her and then kissing her head, but along with this memory came fire and smoke. She knew subconsciously that the man was her true father yet the memory brought with it pain and anguish.
Taking a quick look out the bedroom door to check her mum was still asleep, she gave a sigh of relief before shutting it again. Before she went out the patio door of her room she ran a mental check, to make sure that she had everything. Once satisfied that everything was in her back and the coil of rope was firmly tied round her waist she went through the door. Outside she breathed a sigh of relief and ran lightly over to the stables next to the field.
First running into an empty stall used for storage she pulled out her bow. Her second favourite item. It was not as ornate as the sword, as like her clothes she had made it herself. Despite this she had engraved the dragons on to her quiver full of fire sharpened arrows. Loosely slinging it over her back she picked up a bridal and moved silently into the next stall.
A soft neigh greeted her, as her mare stepped back so Amy could open the door. "Calm down Chinky," Amy said as her horse nudged her shoulder ready to have her bridal put on. Amy smiled and sighed as she pulled the bridal over her black head making sure that none of her forelock got caught in the headpiece. Chinky was nearly pure black except a white splash on her withers making some of her mane white as well and a white splash over her rump. Standing at 16.3hh she was a bit large for Amy, but she had never thrown her off, and would carry her to the end of time at a flat gallop. Sometimes Amy swore she could here a soft voice in her head that sounded like it was coming from her, but she laughed at her self saying only the some of the Mearas could talk and they only existed in a book.
Reluctantly she looked back at the house as she vaulted onto Chinky bare back. Smiling they cantered off into the sunset; anyone seeing her now could not help but to think of the picture she had painted.
