SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS
A/N: This is a prompt fill for the 12 days of Christmas and TBDH. I am stretching some very rusty writing muscles and attempting Harry in first person POV. It sounds a bit spazzy to me, but I hope you enjoy it. It will be very, very short chapters and yes-it is prewritten. I've already finished it and I'm posting the short clips/scenes, as I finish editing them. Harry has accepted something troubling and as such, is completing the "12 Days of Christmas" Legend in the song of the same name-as such, I'm creating a bunch of OC's for things like the two turtledoves, the partridge, etc. Expect silliness and maybe some old characters...
Thanks for reading and your continued support of this dragel-fandom-love-fest ~Scion
Nearly an hour later, I find myself waking from the forced slumber, achy, cold and fretful in the worst of ways.
It's begun to darken, the end of the day on call—and I have been warned to time my journey so as not to be stuck in this stupid orchard.
It is interesting to note that I'm inside the orchard still and not outside.
Even more curious to note that I've been comfortably settled into a sort of grassy bowl beneath the massive fruit trees.
Honestly, this is a bit disconcerting.
Just a bit.
A careful inventory is all I need to make sure that everything is where it should be an all limbs are in proper working order.
The aches and pains do not vanish, which is a slight pause for worry, because Dragels heal fast and while my healing has certainly decelerated with things in their current state—it hasn't deserted me.
A few more embarrassing minutes tick by while I convince my exhausted body to pick itself up and begin again.
And, naturally, it's only when I straightening up to my usual, short-height that I realize the branches overhead are casually moving aside, so as not to brush my head.
Moving.
As if they are more than merely alive.
Oh Ergen, Arielle and Merlin.
Running blindly through an orchard of enchanted fruit trees is not the best idea I've ever had.
Granted, it's not the worst—the worst involved, well—Charlie has agreed to never speak of it again, so I ought to at least try and forget it. Still.
I am black and blue from tripping, darting and dodging.
The trees, by the way, can move.
They simply tear and wrinkle their fat roots here and there, and the ground parts for them.
You can't even tell there's been something shifting and moving around you, just noticing the occasional depression in the ground or a ripple in the thick grass.
Ergen help me, but I am not spending the night in a place like this—I don't care how—the loud clanging echoing through the blasted orchard is the death toll ringing out that I really, really don't want to acknowledge.
Because I probably shouldn't have tossed the key. Because I don't know where the key is—and because if the gate has swung shut—I am not climbing over the spiky grated tops or the fancy spiked fence.
And of course, I'm not dense enough to imagine that I could simply open the gate from the inside—like normal. Oh no, that's if I even get to the gate.
The chill in the air is finally settling in. I shiver enough to attempt to warm myself by drawing the cloak tighter around my shoulders. It's Charlie's cloak, incidentally, because he's tall and it's oversized and he always has the best outerwear.
I figure it's because he had to learn to recognize and use it, when he was back in Romania, as a good cloak on a long night watch with a sick dragon is probably a very necessary staple. He doesn't talk about it much, but every once in a while, he'll smile and remember something. I try not to pry, but sometimes I worry if he misses it or something there. A dragon or two.
Even though we're dragons ourselves, I suppose there are some things that you just don't get over. Charlie has always loved dragons.
And thinking of him now makes me wish he was here, so he could torch this entire stupid orchard.
Really.
"Climb up here," the voice is light, whispery and desperately urgent. "Hurry—before the Grand Tree sees you!"
My yelp is swallowed down by an unexpected mouthful of leaf and tree branch, as I turn and find myself staring at a dull wooden face.
I stare at it.
It stares back.
"You're a tree?" the words croak out, before I can help myself. Really Harry—you know how to speak. Use your words.
"Did Maggie send you? She did, didn't she? She's been the only one sending people—but just getting here isn't enough. You've got to—hurry, climb me. Get up as high as you can and don't move or—or-"
"Or breathe?" I supplied. The deep rumbling beneath my feet was enough of a warning to spur me forward.
I shoved the rucksack over my shoulder, glad the thick strap would hold, before I grabbed at the fairly smooth bark of the talking tree.
The wooden face winced. "No need to pull so hard—I can help you."
These chapters will be short. Like, really, really short. and silly. It's a silly story. :P Enjoy! ~Scion