*I don't own jane and the dragon or its characters

I'm afraid this chapter is not as good as the first, but it was written. Thanks for all the reviews the first time, and if I'm deserving, then perhaps this will be read too


Behind him, was the town of his birth, the place that disliked him. If he were like them, he could settle into an acceptance, if he were like them, he would be a stranger to the road. Defeat would mean the steps untaken. As sure, as ever assured, the brightening sky opened the pathway. Happiness he would fight, fire that could burn, emerald glares he caused, all her ever expanding glory were waiting.

There was no time to take leisurely steps, but to run as though wind would will him to waste what would be his. True, only pigs sweat, but did he care? Devotion was waiting, wonderful creation in the shape of stubborn she knights ready to wound him. The road, as patient, as knowing, as careful as ever stood where it had always been, but it would not hinder. Be it happy, foolish, or Gunther, no one could be more deserving.

Lighter steps, hurried, and human met him halfway. It had never occurred to him as a likely occurrence, he assumed he was not deserving. Birds twittering in tree tops above, shepherds and sheep a distance, rose colored smiles before him said otherwise, and made him thankful of the road. All around them the sea breeze sang, tresses and locks whipped about smiling faces. "You took so long, I thought… I thought something occurred." came the muffled voice buried in his chest.

Her face was lifted by work worn hands, to glance upon her promised one. "Something did occur," he smirked against her lips, "I met you."

Oh, she hated him in the best possible way, and it might always be that way, but that was another story. Perhaps better things have happened on that road. It cannot be said, or known, but it was witnessed, and lovers vows exchanged. Gunther would pass along it from time to time, but never the same way. Change, it was happening all the time, its record etched in steps, and that is more than can be said than most, but on that misshapen road, it was the work of imperfect lives being lived.