Note: ----#---- represents scene break.
Chapter 3
Some fifteen miles southwest of Deschanc Ka Blatru, a society of anthropic Dragons thrived in the low mountains. These people were known as Deimos. Scaly, horned, fire-breathing creatures whom used their unlimited intelligence to see far beyond what the Humans or Sarachoo could know. There were no metal buildings or enslaved electricity, but there was the wise understanding of the earth itself. The Deimos became familiar with what nature had supplied them, mending it through their own will. Of course, one single being couldn't dare command all of the elements; instead, each Deimos specialized in whatever single power they wished. All pure-breed Deimos could breathe fire, sure, but to be able to control and animate a power was something all too different. Adolescents would prove their maturity during annual spring festivals, performing a beautiful speculation of nature at its best - and sometimes, worst. Now, as hideous as an anthropic Dragon may sound, the Deimos were evolved into a fitting physique, though still odd to some.
Pure-breed Deimos had reptilian tails, and most only reached to their ankles, in which this appendage wasn't of much use to them other than balance. Their faces, covered in tiny scales, were slightly elongated at the snout, still baring traces of their four-legged brethren's features. Deimos had hair, yes, though commonly course and frayed, sharing its place on their heads with a pair of horns that varied from being curled as a ram's or straight as a gazelle's.
Finally, as fitting as it sounds, the Deimos constructed their buildings out of stone, furnishings were wooden or bone, and clothing was typically fashioned from furs or traded goods bought through traveling merchants. Not all crops could be grown on a mountain, so keeping a peaceful reputation was necessary; in which case, alliances were often made (if there already wasn't one formed) with neighboring communities. Even so, cross-breeding with a Deimos was extremely rare; so rare, in fact, that the only recorded half-Deimos was the son of the current village leaders due to an agreement between the Deimos and a Human town known as Timberwood.
The cross-breed Deimos was named Azvyp, taking on mostly his mother's features - human face, ears, body; the only things Deimos about him were the scales that covered the right side of his body and patched the left side, his single Dragon claw that formed his entire right hand, and his pair of black stubby horns. Azvyp had his father's soft red eyes and dark blue hair, too. So strange that a Human's traits were dominant, but Gardru and Defrana loved him all the same. The children of the Deimos village, however, weren't so willing to accept the heir to the throne as a cross-breed. He didn't even have a tail! So they bullied Azvyp; threatened him, threw rocks at him any time the adults weren't around.
Those children were cruel - constantly teasing and abusing Azvyp. The higher the age group, the worse his treatment; young adults and older weren't so mindful of the Human-Deimos' faults, however. They understood how Azvyp came to be and what wonderful benefits resulted from his parents' union. Even so, the older Deimos weren't all too fond of Azvyp's appearance. They cringed and averted their gaze when they saw him, pretending the young boy wasn't there.
How could they do this to him? What did Azvyp ever do to anger his people? It wasn't fair!
"Pirates only have one eye," a slightly older Deimos teased the five-year-old Azvyp. "Let me help you with that." He shoved the young Prince down onto the trampled ground and readied his scaly clawed hand as he knelt over the helpless boy. “Which eye should I cut out?” With such an ugly cross-breed face, the boy much preferred to scratch it up instead; but it would be so funny to see Azvyp with an eye-patch and that singly clawed hand - all he would need then is some sort of pet to sit on his weak little shoulders. The cheering of the other variously aged children brought him back to reality. He stared into Azvyp's wide red eyes as they gradually filled with tears. He smirked, feeling the adrenaline welling up inside him. The left eye seemed like a good choice.
A new voice joined in with the cheering, but it wasn't joyful or excited; no, this voice snatched away the Deimos' adrenaline and replaced it with an icy chill in his veins. He noticed Azvyp's mouth opened wide, but he couldn't detect any sound coming from it; no, wait - he couldn't detect anything. Why couldn't he feel his knees on the ground anymore? Or hear the cheering?
Then the world began to spin around until it soon jerked to a stop as the ground reached the corner of his eye. He strained to get up, but his body wouldn't respond. What happened? This wasn't right. And Azvyp was getting up, kicking dirt in the boy's face as he tried to get his boots to grip the earth - how dare he soil his face?
Azvyp scrambled to his feet, looking around for the source of lightning that zapped his offender. His eyes landed on the small group of Deimos children cowering away. Did Azvyp do this? How? He was far too young to use his elemental abilities. No matter, Azvyp would think it over once he was safe in his home. His feet dug into the grass-scattered dirt and carried him behind the buildings just in time to hear an adult Deimos scream out her injured son's name, "Deiga!" Azvyp was going to be in trouble - he could feel it.
The empty house was a relief for the young Prince, though at some point an angry mob was inevitable - or at least his parents - he certainly hoped his parents showed up first. In the meantime, Azvyp figured he should get himself cleaned up; a change of clothes, a moist rag to wipe off the dust and clean the scratches - it was nice to feel fresh again, but it certainly didn't erase the past. In fact, just as he finished putting on his new tunic, Gardru and Defrana came rushing into the house, calling for their son. He ashamedly walked into the main room, hanging his head and averting his eyes from his parents.
Defrana quickly took Azvyp into her arms, kneeling at the boy's level as she cooed to him, "We heard what happened and knew you would be here. Oh, Azvyp! I know you didn't mean to hurt the boy..."
"I wanted him dead," Azvyp blurted.
"Now, Azvyp," Gardru knelt beside his wife and son, resting a hand on the boy's head. "We understand that they bully you constantly, but killing isn't the answer. You're lucky he's still alive."
"I wish they were all dead!" The cross-breed burst out his burning tears and buried his face into Defrana's shoulder. His parents would never understand how he felt - they never could! Azvyp wished someone would protect him, but the only thing anyone has done for him is give advice and soothing words. Why should Azvyp always fight for himself?
A heavy sigh escaped Gardru's chest as Defrana looked to him, silently asking her husband what they should do. He slid his hand down to Azvyp's shoulder and gripped it tight, pondering just how to get through to the boy. It was so difficult to explain life and death to a child - they just didn't have the same reasoning as adults. "We're glad that you're safe, son. Deiga is being treated in the clinic right now; he's suffered severe burns and nerve damage; his body will never be the same again."
How ironic that Deiga wanted to change Azvyp's image, and then he himself was disfigured instead. A smirk formed in Azvyp's mind, too busy crying to make a contradicting facial expression.
"What I want to know is," Gardru hesitated, "how did you burn him? The other children said they saw a flash of light, and then Deiga was on the ground, fuming with smoke."
"I ho nuh," Azvyp mumbled from his mother's shoulder. In all honesty, he didn't know how he burned Deiga - it just happened.
Defrana eyed her husband and whispered, "Do you think he accidentally used an elemental ability?" With being bullied so often and staring into the face of death, she admitted that even she would fight back at some point - even go berserk. It was quite possible that Azvyp unconsciously summoned up lightning from his body and used it to stop the boy.
Gardru nodded and stood up, trying to hold back a lecture that wasn't necessary. He knew Azvyp was taught well, and he knew even better that the other Deimos children were the ones who needed the lecture. It was difficult to punish another parent's children, however; nor could he always follow Azvyp for protection - how else would he learn life's lessons? The best Gardru could do is continue to talk to the other adults of the village and hope they'll heed his words; and, of course, give his son all the advice he could muster. "I'm going to talk to the parents of all the children involved, and probably anyone else I run in to," he turned away and opened the house door. "The last thing we need is the mature to lose their competence."
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The very next day, Azvyp was sent to buy some tomatoes in the market circle. Gardru assured him that he wouldn't have to worry about the other children as long as Azvyp stayed in the back alleys; in the end, his father was correct, aside from the occasional moments of pretending he was a thief sneaking about in the shadows and peaking around corners in case of anyone who may notice him. It was fun, but certainly not one of Azvyp's perks.
The child entered the market circle, knowing that as long as adults were around, the other children wouldn't hurt him - physically; he was the village leader's son, after all, and the citizens could only go so far with the negative actions against him. Regardless, Azvypalready felt all eyes glaring daggers into him; not the best feeling in the world, but at least they weren't trying to kill him. He gripped the three silver coins that Gardru had given him, and strolled straight across the circle of worn and abused dirt lined with shops and merchant stands. In the middle of the circle stood a tall untouched stone that came to a mild point at the top; a ring of strategically placed, elongated stones lay out from its base as the main stone heaved its shadow on a select one. Azvyp had no idea what it was for, and genuinely didn't care, though he was curious of why there was some sort of acoustic music coming from it. Maybe a spell had been cast on it?
As he past by the stone, a man's voice spoke up from the rhythmic strumming, telling of a dark monster that was hidden inside an unwary hero. Azvyp noticed a group of children and a few adults paying their attention to a Bard. He looked Human, though small, and his ears were pointed. The Bard's cotton and leather clothes were decorated with bells and chains, even a few curious little trinkets were hooked to his shoulders; his brunette hair spiked out from under his playful brown cavalier hat, and his sideburns braided into his short goatee, where he had another interesting item neatly rested on the tail of his chin braid: a tear-drop-shaped scale, tied securely to his hair by a thick brown thread that laced through a neatly cut hole on the wider end of the green-gray reptilian trinket. As he rhymed and sang in quite a wonderful voice that was well in tune with his small stringed instrument, one verse caught Azvyp's attention:
With the Beauty,
There can be
No Beast.
Azvyp wondered what the Bard had meant, but staying near the children was practically a way of begging them to attack him. He shook off the thought and approached the vegetable stand - Azvyp's favorite one. Sure, the produce was well grown, but Azvyp appreciated this particular stand because of the owner; he was nice to Azvyp, and always gave him positive advice.
Harn G'Brul, a middle-aged Deimos who enjoyed gardening, children, and people in general, yet had no significant other. He didn't have trouble finding the right woman; it was simply that Harn much preferred to focus on everyone rather than a single woman. That was what Azvyp was told, anyway. Harn was, in all actuality, a Deimos who slept with any female who allowed him to - and wasn't already joined with someone else.
"Now here's a face I haven't seen in a while," Harn grinned a cheeky one at Azvyp. To him, the boy was special - a Deimos who would grow up to help create peace between, if not all, most races. After Gardru and Defrana were married, the alliance between Timberwood and the Deimos Village was settled. Most Deimos weren't against this; why should they be? They had more resources and one less neighboring community to fret over attacking them. Regardless of it being okay that a Human and Deimos were to interbreed, no one else was interested; in fact, Harn believed that those who ridiculed Azvyp were the ones most afraid of what their children would look like after a few generations of the breed mixing. Oh well, fear tended to fade away as people became more and more exposed to it.
Harn brushed back a lock of course red hair and dusted off his apron, "I heard you got into another fight." He knew Azvyp didn't start it, though.
That wasn't so much of what Azvyp wanted to first talk about with the man. Couldn't it all just be forgotten? He ashamedly nodded in response to Harn and scanned his eyes over the various clean and ripe vegetables sitting so neatly in the angled open crates for passerby’s to see.
"Did you do as I told you?"
"He pushed me down."
"You still could have gotten away."
"He knelt on me; I couldn't get up."
"Now, Azvyp," Harn sighed. "In the end, those children are scared of you. They don't know what to think about a cross-breed." And, he was sure, those children had overheard talk from their parents. Such a shame. "I'm sure they're even more scared of you after what you did to Deiga."
"Then maybe they'll leave me alone," Azvyp replied. His bottom lip began to quiver; the child didn't want to be alone - he wanted friends to laugh and play with.
"You can't be alone forever."
"I have you and mother and father."
"Yes, but," Harn sighed again. How could he solve this problem and make the boy understand? He grabbed an already well polished tomato and began shining it with his apron, wiping and spinning its smooth red hide under the fabric. Harn found that he did his best thinking when he polished his produce - so simple, repetitive, and calming.
"I need three of those," Azvyp derailed the man's train of thought.
Three of what? Oh, the tomato he was holding. Harn smiled and picked out the best that he had, which he always kept at the top of his crates. "One silver and twenty copper, lad," he handed over the luscious red spheres.
"Father said not to worry about the extra copper; he says that you charge so little for such great vegetables, and he really appreciates that," Azvyp smiled back, forgetting the small argument he just had. He traded his three silver and tomatoes, then began to wave good-bye before Harn dropped his smile and gave the boy a word of advice.
"You should find a friend close to your age, Azvyp; your parents and I won't be there for you forever. Once you meet that friend, don't let it go."
Azvyp turned around, unsure of how to respond to that. He shrugged it off and darted back across the market center, overhearing the Bard finish his story about the Hero and his monster.
The Beauty left the Beast.
His Darkness drowned the earth.
Where is the Hero we seek?
Lost in his chaos since birth.
Such a sad ending; Azvyp had always heard other visiting Bards sing amazing and humorous stories. He wondered where he had gotten this tragedy from, but figured it would be worth thinking about when he was safe at home. Azvyp entered the shadows of the back alleys, diligently cradling the tomatoes in his arms. Something stirred in his gut - a nervous feeling that he had felt several times before in his life. What was the reason behind them?
Rounding a corner of the buildings along his path, Azvyp remembered the meaning behind the funny feeling in his stomach - there was trouble afoot. He found himself face to face with about eight young Deimos, all with stones in their hands; the scowls carved into their eyebrows told Azvyp that they weren't intending to make peace with him; and their eyes - so dark, cold, glaring at him with evil intent.
"You can't sneak away from punishment," one girl said.
"Freaks like you belong in one of those traveling circuses," proclaimed an older boy.
A girl, the same age as Azvyp, stepped in front of the little mob. She was beautiful, for a female Deimos; her green and tan scales glimmered and blended together perfectly; her light-brown hair was silky and flawless in all of its curled glory. Azvyp admired her from afar for the two years he had known her. Mabree was her name, and she wasn't at all interested in Azvyp. "A Prince should be handsome and perfect," she spat. As the village leader's son, Azvyp was technically a Prince of sorts.
"No Prince of the Deimos should be such an abomination," the boy who suggested a traveling circus to Azvyp exclaimed. He then proceeded to chunk his stone at Azvyp, striking his arm, and knocking the tomatoes out of their safe holding.
Before Azvyp could check on his arm for any sort of serious wounding, he was bombarded by the other seven stones. Azvyp ducked his head and turned away, only to be shoved down and have the children kick dirt onto his fetal positioned body. His head ached; it felt warm and wet. Was he bleeding? If not now, he certainly would be when the mob was done. One of them jammed their foot into his ribs; something cracked - Azvyp hoped it was the attacker's foot.
"Get our filthy hands off of him!"
Who was that?
"No good, judgmental curs!"
Azvyp didn't recognize this voice; it had a strange gruff accent. Either way, the children panicked and scattered away like roaches from a lantern in the night. When Azvyp peeked from under his shielding arms, he was met with a familiar-looking scale. A pair of calloused hands reached under his armpits and lifted him up to his feet - painfully. He was sure that it was his ribs that cracked earlier, and his shin felt as if someone took a flame to it; hell, most of his body was battered from those stones. Azvyp looked up and found the Bard from the market dusting him off. Even if he was a foot taller than Azvyp, the Bard was still quite small for an adult.
“What a bunch of barbaric kids. Weren't young ones suppose to play together? I saw them get up and walk after you as you passed by; those little brats stank of trouble," he explained. Then, with a pitying, yet thoughtful eye, the Bard flashed a smile to Azvyp, "So, you're the little cross-breed that I've been hearing about." How silly; this child was nowhere near as hideous as the gossipers were describing. His eyes drifted over the boy and noticed the right arms' single claw. It was odd, sure, but that was a pathetic excuse to bully someone. "My name is Anster. Y'mind if I escort you home?" He began to fiddle with his goatee trinket as he finished looking over the boy.
"I can get there myself," Azvyp bent over to pick up his tomatoes, but found them squashed. What a waste.
"I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew you were safe," Anster grabbed one of the cross-breed's horns and tilted his head to get a better look at the glossy liquid that he had noticed. "You need to get that looked at."
Why was this man so concerned with Azvyp? Surely, he'd been told the horrible rumors about him. Azvyp hesitated, then quirked a brow as the short man let go of his horn; trusting such a stranger was probably dangerous, but at least he was nice to the boy - that was enough reason to trust him, right? With a nod, Azvyp walked passed Anster, knowing he would follow.
Instead of cowering in the shadows, Azvyp figured that with his "bodyguard" he could take the faster way home through the main paths. A few odd looks were thrown their way, but Azvyp was use to that; Anster wasn't so much, but didn't hinder himself over it. They soon reached the boy's house, to where they were greeted with gasps and questions by Gardru and Defrana. Information was sorted until everyone was on the same page, and as Anster turned to leave, Gardru stopped him.
"You're always welcome in our home, friend," the Deimos stated.
Anster smirked and turned away, shrugging his shoulders to adjust his instruments and backpack, and then walked down the main path leading to exit the village. His time to spread his tale was done, and he did all that he could do. Time would tell if his efforts were in vain.
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Months went by, and Azvyp wondered if he would ever get a visit from the Bard. His wounds had healed, though the scars of abuse would never go away; the other children still bullied him regularly, and Azvyp never could use that strange power he had summoned on Deiga again - he wondered if it was just a fluke. He was, however, finding it much more satisfying to fight back, which ended up, more often than not, with one of the children having a huge gash somewhere on their body due to Azvyp's claw. He didn't hide in the shadows, or try to avoid being ganged up on; he wanted to fight; he wanted the Deimos to fear him. Gardru and Defrana weren't too sure how to deal with their son's new lifestyle - they were happy that he could fend for himself, but the boy was getting into more and more fights. How does a parent tell their child not to fight against bullies?
Instead, they allowed it. The village leaders of the Deimos welcomed their son home each day, thanking the Heavens that he was alive. And soon, Gardru took Azvyp hunting.
They used a bow and arrows - effective when in thick brush, rather than chasing their prey. Slowly, father and son crept their way across the fallen autumn leaves that crunched under their leather-booted feet. It was early morning; cool and dry; the sun's rays only beginning to climb over the horizon; so quiet, each step almost echoing in the mountain forest. Gardru spotted a large flat stone protruding from the earth; it was just slanted, perfect to lay down on and get out of sight. He gestured Azvyp to it, and they set up. The two laid on their stomachs, bows half-drawn, and eyes peeking over the upper slant of the stone - watching, waiting, for a desirable creature to walk by.
Such silence, such solitude, such tranquility; Azvyp felt a strange, yet pleasing stir in his chest. The sounds of various animals waking from their nighttime slumber, the skittering and rustling of nocturnal creatures settling into their nests. So peaceful; no children throwing stones at Azvyp, no yelling, screaming, teasing, or beating. He could hear so little, and yet hear things he normally couldn't.
A couple of hours dragged by ever so slowly, but Azvyp didn't complain. Gardru spotted a young buck ahead of them, gradually edging closer to the Deimos as it nibbled at the leaves and searched for fresh grass. He tightened his bow and whispered, "Do you see it, Azvyp?" He received the sounds of Azvyp's bow string tightening - yes. "Take your time; remember to aim a little higher than your target when it's far away. Don't get upset if you miss," he said.
With a short inhale, Azvyp carefully angled his arrow above the animal's shoulder - aim for the heart. The buck raised its head and began scratching the tree next to it with its four-point antlers. At that moment, Azvyp pulled away his drawn fingers, releasing the arrow and his breath.
Thunk.
The buck leaped and kicked into the air, then dashed forward and tripped over its wounded front leg, clumsily tumbling forward. Gardru, lowered his bow, setting it to the side, and hopped off of his perch, dashing to the downed animal. Azvyp followed, drawing his dagger from his belt. Gardru snatched the buck's antlers with both hands and swiftly twisted its head until her heard a satisfying crack.
The forest was silent again as their prey stopped kicking its legs; the only thing Azvypheard was his and his father's heavy breathing. Oh, the rush he had!
Azvyp gazed up to his father, smiling; Gardru was more than happy to see that expression again - the shine in his boy's eyes. "Good job, son," he huffed. "Good job." They hoisted their catch onto his shoulders and carried it home to be skinned and cut.
Even cleaning the deer was peaceful to Azvyp; such tedious work behind his home. He watched in awe as he learned to gently slice away skin from muscle, how to separate meat from bone without tearing it, and how to dry the hide to preserve it for clothing and furnishing. The strong smell of blood made Azvyp's mouth water - he wasn't sure why, though. His father said it was just a reaction that everyone gets from their ancient predatory ways. Regardless, Azvyp fell in love with hunting; he loved the feeling of a clear, focused mind - something he hadn't felt in ages. He found himself spending much more time away from the village, and hunting in the woodlands. The boy took up selling furs, hides, and meats, keeping himself out of fights.
Gardru and Defrana supported their son, excited to know that things were looking up for him. With winter on its way, they knew that Azvyp would have plenty of business, too. It was a wonderful feeling to see one's own child changing for the better; for, with the Beauty, there can be no Beast.
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Blood, acid, fire, ashes, destruction; Freero hadn't seen such a disastrous sight in all his young life. Anger, sadness, all negative emotions filled him, replacing the hope and tea from the blacksmith and his wife. He charged on and sliced through the bellies of the Crimps, though not killing them instantly.
“Why have you returned?” Bremeg's voice called from behind Freero, so much fear and rage in his voice that it even roared over the towering flames.
“I had to help fight, father,” Freero flew to the King's side, finding him in his Human Form, and fought alongside him. Bremeg was naked, but who could blame him? There was no time to put on his robes in all of this chaos. His robe pouch covered his crotch, anyway, most likely from all of the moving about. “How could I take your seat as King and know that I ran away as a coward during such a time?”
This caused Bremeg to pause in awe and smile; he was proud of his son. A sign of bravery promised the King that he had unmistakably chosen his right heir.
Father and son, against the main threat of their people, protecting each other and killing off any foes who see it fit to attack them. They dodged, deflected, and attacked with fluid motion – almost as if they had been in battles all their lives. Bremeg was strong, just as the Sarachoo males should be, grabbing the open jaws of crimps as they attempted to swallow him whole, careful not to make connection with the teeth. Holding them open long enough to muster up further strength to push the Crimps back and strike their bellies with a sword he had grabbed in the training arena.
It was beyond boiling temperature within the Sarachoo village; one would expect the Sarachoo to die of hyperthermia. The will to live and fight is far stronger than one would believe, however, and this drives even the average person to do extraordinary things.
A strategy among the Sarachoo formed – the males would fight and distract the crimps while the females would swoop under the black Dragons’ bellies and create as many large and severe wounds as they could while dodging the blood and splashes of acid. Even this was difficult to accomplish, but it was far more efficient than simply attacking the impenetrable scales.
They fought for hours, dramatically decreasing each others’ numbers. Cyfro managed to snatch as many Sarachoo as he could before being annoyed with the tiny morsels attempting to attack him. “Bremeg,” he called out. The Sarachoo King and Prince turned their attention to Cyfro as their opponent Crimp ceased to attack them and targeted other Sarachoo instead. “Your people are dying quickly,” said Cyfro. “There are only five of them to each of mine, and we are still many! What drives you to fight?”
Such a question was insulting to Bremeg, and he didn’t take it lightly. “We fight to end this madness – this gore-fest – and to create an unending peace within this forest! We fight for honor and the right to be what we are without being killed for it!” He knew the training sword he wielded wouldn’t be enough to slice through the Crimp Lord’s belly. “We fight to end this God-forsaken curse.” He lunged forward, raising his sword to strike Cyfro’s neck. Bremeg didn’t care if it would cut or not; he didn’t care if he died in the process.
Cyfro laughed allowed and whipped his tail, snatching Bremeg in the air and bringing him close to his face. “My, my, Bremeg,” he sneered. “You seem to be far more brave than when we last met.” The Crimp watched his captive try to push himself out of the tail’s grip. "It's funny, though - your people are just too savory and useful to my own. The world can not feed us all; we're just far too large and numerous with even greater appetites; and this is why the Sarachoo were born - to feed the Crimps! Am I wrong?"
Cyfro was answered by a stab in the eye by Bremeg, Freero followed suit right after, but missed the other eye. The Crimp Lord screeched out and bit off Bremeg’s head, then held the Sarachoo King's limp body up to Freero, giving him a good look of the corpse's blood-sputtering neck, “This will be your fate soon enough!” He tossed Bremeg’s body into his mouth and gulped it down, flicking the tip of his tail in eagerness to snatch the Contle and devour him as well. The fear and shock and utter horror on Freero’s face was just too delicious, though, and he watched for a few long moments, taking in the wonderful image with his single good eye, then struck his mighty head forward and gobbled Freero whole.
The battle raged on for another hour; even with their King dead, the Sarachoo knew that it was not the end until they were all joining him in the afterlife. The only problem was – who escaped to become the Savior? Most merely figured that whomever was left had to escape as soon as possible – that Sarachoo didn’t succeed.
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“She’s waking up,” a deep male’s voice echoed in Honesah’s head as she came back to consciousness.
“Will she be all right, father?” A young boy’s voice questioned as he echoed in her head as well.
The Sarachoo's mind began to flood with questions of where she was and who was near her. She urged her eyes to open, her body to sit up, but she was too weak to move much, too exhausted from last night's flight.
“She should be fine,” the man’s voice answered.
Who is this? Where am I? Please, Honesah felt warm streaks begin to run down from the corners of her eyes, someone tell me what is going on.
“Father, she’s crying, “ the boy pointed out to the man as they sat at the Sarachoo’s bedside.
The man had long, dark blue hair and hard, dark green eyes that looked sturdy and full of wisdom. Dragon scales, the color of tanned human skin, covered his body. His fingernails were as claws and looked a little chipped from age and activity. He wore a long, brown, fur-trimmed cloak that buttoned down and strapped with a belt around his waist. Two black horns grew from just above his temples and slicked back with his waist length hair.
The boy was similar to his father, except his hair was shoulder length and a deep dark blue. Soft red eyes glowed slightly, and thick black horns protruded from above his temples and slicked back with his hair, too. The left half of his body was human skin, but patched with small areas of scales. The right side of his body was covered in the same scales, which were the same olive color as his skin. His right hand was a dragon claw, and his left hand was an average human hand. Over his body, he wore a cloak similar to his assumed father.
What is a Sarachoo this young doing so far from their village? The adult Deimos thought to himself. Worry covered his face, a deep scowl imitating his equally as deep thoughts. Who is she?
Small tears that glowed a light blue trickled down the Sarachoo’s cheeks as her body remained all but lifeless. The boy reached up to Honesah with his left hand and placed it on her forehead. Her eyes flashed open to reveal their soft pink color, causing the boy to jerk back his hand in fright. Honesah quickly sat up, only succeeding to make herself dizzy and fall forward.
The father caught her and lowered the girl onto her back. “Calm down,” he commanded softly. “You are in safe hands. Azvyp, find your mother.”
The boy, obviously known as Azvyp, stood up as he carefully watched Honesah, and then ran off to another room. He seemed to be just two years older than her, but somewhat shy now that she was awake.
“Where am I?” Honesah asked with a weak whisper.
“You are in the Village of Deimos. Our people have been living in these mountains for many years. My name is Gardru, and my son is Azvyp. May I ask for yours?” The man asked as he sat back in his chair.
“I am Honesah, from the Sarachoo Village - Princess of my people.”
“Well,” Gardru nodded with a gentle smile, “it seems that your destiny is in your favor. You are among the village Cheif of the Deimos and his family’s home.”
Honesah nodded her head in an attempt to politely bow from her position, then tiredly smiled up to Gardru.
Azvyp then walked into the room, his mother along with him, and her hand in his own as she carried a steaming bowl in the other. Her skin was fair and her straight jet black hair shined as it reflected the window and candle light. Her soft, green and brown eyes gazed over to the Sarachoo. A smooth green and gold dress hugged her elegant body, its sleeves loose at first, then tightening around the wrists to keep them from getting in the way. The two walked up to the bed, and Azvyp sat in his chair.
“I am Defrana,” the woman greeted with a warm motherly smile as she set the bowl on the table next to Honesah. “I trust my husband has told you about us by now.”
“Yes,” Honesah had finally gained the strength to speak in a normal tone, "I am so happy to meet all of you.”
Defrana placed a hand on the Cotly’s forehead and waited for a moment. She then took it away and smiled, “You have no fever. That is good. You should be full of energy soon enough. Be sure eat your soup so it'll warm you up.” The woman gestured to the bowl.
Honesah only smiled and nodded, and then dropped to a slight frown.
Gardru noticed this, along with Azvypand Defrana, but only said, “Make yourself comfortable and rest now.” The family then left, closing the bedroom door to give their guest some peace.
“What should we do with her? The village was attacked last night and there were no other survivors.” Gardru leaned against the wall of their small, and yet cozy living room as Defrana and Azvyp sat on their deer skinned couch. They obviously knew about the attack - with so much noise, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole world knew; who could possibly sleep through those horrid sounds?
All night, the Deimos village tossed in their beds as the cries that echoed in the air. Many of the people watched from their windows, ready to fight or escape to shelter if the Crimps were to show up. Not once did anyone imagine that the Feast was in progress.
“I see no harm in keeping her.” Defrana kept an arm around her son’s waist and held him close as he cuddled to her. “She would give Azvyp someone to be with.”
“All of the other children of this village are frightened by him.” Gardru folded his arms and glared to the closed door behind which Honesah was resting. “What makes you believe she is any different?”
“At least give her a chance.”
“I suppose. It wouldn’t be sane to just leave a child of such age on her own.” Gardru then stood and walked outside of their home in silence. He needed to send some willing villagers out to see if there are any other survivors of the Feast. No doubt, the Sarachoo village will be easy to find with the pillars of smoke still fuming to the sky.
“So, I have a sister now?” Azvyp finally spoke up. He stared into his mother’s eyes, full of hope and joy.
“Not exactly a sister, but she will be living with us.” Defrana smiled down to her son and stroked his cheek. I am sure that she will be different.
Azvyp smiled and stood up, eagerness swirling around him. “I'll pick flowers for her, so that she'll feel welcome to our home,” and ran outside, closing the door behind him.
The Human smiled gently as she stared after Azvyp. She then sighed, stood up, and walked into the kitchen; a stone table for preparing food, and a nice fire pit in the center of the room. Defrana loved her family; she had enjoyed being with other humans, sure, but Gardru's charm swept the woman off of her feet when he had visited her village one particular time out of many for political reasons.
They were young, beautiful (despite Gardru's scaly complexion), and silently looking for love. Both were being nagged by their parents that it was time that they get married - there were even people lined up for them to meet, but the two just weren't interested. Not that they weren't interested in love, itself, but the bachelors and bachelor girls just weren't what they were looking for.
When Gardru and Defrana met each other, though, it was the first day that engraved their futures into stone - and it was memorable.
-------------------------------#---------------------------------
Gardru raced down a cobblestone street of the Human village, known as Timberwood, as he begged the man several feet in front of him to stop running. "Please!" He cried. "I didn't mean to frighten you!" The Deimos grinned awkwardly as he recalled sneaking up on the man in an alley. He should have known that it was a bad idea to catch the man off guard, considering that Humans found the Deimos to be less attractive. How could he resist a light joke, though? Politics was a stressful job, and surely the man could use a laugh; however, he certainly wasn't laughing now. "My father sent me to speak with you!"
"Demon!" The well-dressed man cried out as he ran, "Demon!"
"No," Gardru couldn't help but to laugh, "Deimos! Deimos!"
"Deimos?" The name sounded familiar now. The man had gotten a letter recently describing that the Deimos village had wanted to ally with his own. He had recently gained ownership of the town, and the previous Duke, his father, was against allying with the Deimos for reasons unknown. So he stopped, cringing as he took another look at Gardru and his scaly skin, his protruding slick horns, and green eyes. "Right, I'm truly sorry. A lot of things going on lately, you know?" That was a total lie, but he didn't want to offend the creature any more than he probably already did by calling him a 'demon', so he just chuckled nervously and held out his hand.
Gardru eagerly shook the man's hand, still grinning, "It's all quite fine, my good man. Now how about we go somewhere to talk about the alliance?" He turned around, remembering where the village Duke's office was, as he was the one to attempt the alliance with the late Duke previous times. Gardru blindly took a step forward, only to bump into a beautiful young woman.
The fruit and bread scattered around her feet as the black haired Human stumbled back a couple of steps. Her cheeks puffed up and her eyes glared daggers at Gardru. "Watch where you're walking!"
"Oh my, Defrana," said the Duke, "we're so sorry." He began to crouch and pick up the goods, but Gardru's extended arm blocked him.
The Deimos gazed into Defrana's angry eyes, captured by her, it seemed, "What did you say her name is?"
"Defrana," the woman spat. "Are you going to just stand there like be a beast and leave my bruised fruit on the ground? There's no way it'll last long now. Are you going to pay for this?"
Before she could ramble on any further, Gardru grasped one of her hands, placed his other hand on the small of her back, and drew himself close to her, "A beautiful name for a beautiful creature. Your hair is more exquisite than silk, and your skin," he paused for effect, "looks as if the clouds themselves had given birth to you."
Never mind the fruit, if this man didn't last long in her life, then she'd be even more upset! Defrana brushed back a lock of hair as she blushed, unable to break eye contact with Gardru. No longer did she glare at him, but rather, her face softened to surprise and awe. Did this man actually just turn from a rude monster to a charming Prince in under a minute?
"Duke," Gardru called, holding eye contact with his new-found love. "If I marry this woman, will that be enough for our alliance?"
"Well," he pondered, glancing at the passersby who gave odd looks, "Defrana isn't related to me, but she does belong to the village."
"So that's a 'yes'?"
"I didn't say that."
"You can be a witness. We'll have a treaty signed and whatever else you need."
"Well . . ." the Duke trailed off in thought, but Gardru didn't need an answer.
"Great! We'll have the wedding as soon as I speak with her parents!" Gardru finally broke eye contact with the entranced Defrana, then whirled around, taking the Duke's hand and shaking it. "Glad to do business with you, good sir. I'll have a carriage here to retrieve your family, you, Defrana, and her family once everything is settled."
It all fell on the Duke so fast, he couldn't disagree with the Deimos. He only stammered about his words, trying to take it all in. One thing the Duke kept thinking in the back of his mind was, Thank goodness she's single.
-------------------------------#--------------------------------
Azvyp happily walked past Deimos of all ages as he traveled to the outside of his village. People stared at him and wondered to themselves what he was so proud of. Ignoring their curious gazes, the young Deimos only smiled more as he thought over the whole subject of having a friend who actually cared. He exited his village boundaries and looked around; snow covered much of the land and vegetation, and there seemed to be little hope for flowers. A thought crossed Azvyp’s mind as he remembered a small bush of roses that he would see all year ‘round. He ran straight ahead and into the thick forest, lost from the sight of all.
The Deimos and Human cross-breed stumbled and climbed over stones as he made his way down the mountain side. Eventually, he entered a field that almost blinded him with the light reflecting off of the thick snow as it blanketed the ground. He shielded his eyes with an arm and looked around. Squinting, he noticed something dark in the middle of the field far away. He lowered his arms and hobbled across the deep snow that reached his knees, almost tripping a few times, but keeping his balance from falling face first into the frozen rain. Finally reaching the dark area, he found that it was the bush of black roses. Azvyp smiled, proud of himself for finding the flowers. He reached to the bush with his left hand and placed his fingers onto the stem of a rose. A thorn pricked his thumb, sending a terrible sting up his arm. He gasped and retracted his hand from the bush, placing his thumb in his mouth. The boy wanted to give Honesah the flowers dearly, and stared at the bush of radiant roses and threatening thorns.
Gaining the courage to try again, Azvyp reached into the bush and placed his hand over the rose stem, trying to avoid being pricked and scratched. Thorns snatched and pierced his skin and sent waves of pain and desire to retract his hand straight to his mind, but he refused and plucked the rose from its hold. Finding that he wanted a few more, Azvyp placed the rose in his right hand’s claw and reached to the bush again. The thorns continued to scratch his hand, making it bleed quite well.
Soon after, the Deimos was happy with the quantity of roses he had. Five roses. Five roses and hundreds of pierces and scratches that now dripped with his thick crimson blood. Azvyp smiled as he ignored the icy pain and ran to his village.
Honesah sat on the doorstep of Gardru’s home, clothed in her robe with her waist pouch secured where it belonged, as villagers crowded around her, speaking among themselves over why a Sarachoo was in their village. The Cotly stared to the ground and pouted a little as young children played with her tail and ears. The adult Deimos only stared as they walked by and called for their children. Honesah sighed, wondering where Azvyp had gone and hoping he would be back soon. She closed her eyes as she pulled the neck of her robe down below her shoulder blades, and felt a pressure increasing in her upper back; a pair of snow white wings sprouted and grew from between her shoulders. She wrapped them around her body once they reached full size, making the infant Deimos gasp and back away in a sort of awed laughter. They gathered around the young Sarachoo and played with her wings; ruffling the feathers, poking them, playing peek-a-boo, and even plucking an out of place feather or two. Many of the children who plucked a feather ran off as the cheered and laughed that they had an 'Angel’s' feather.
Azvyp walked past the homes and people of his village and even a few children that cheered about some 'Angel'. He looked ahead and noticed the white wings that nearly blended into the snow as they sat on his doorstep. Confused with this sight, he ran to the scene and peeked into the small opening at the front of the wings. The children ran off to play, leaving Azvyp to the supposed 'Angel'. The young Deimos blinked as he tried to see what Honesah was hiding for; he knew it was Honesah, remembering when he found her in the woods. The wings slowly opened and revealed Honesah as they folded against her back and shriveled away. Azvyp stepped back at this and hid his hands behind his back, “Honesah. You are awake now.”
“Yes,” she smiled to him as she adjusted her robe to cover her shoulders again. “I feel better.” She lied, of course. Her chest was hurting; something was pressing right in the center of it, which she would have to look at later. Right now, all she wanted was to be with someone. She adjusted her robe to cover her shoulders again.
Azvyp smiled back and looked away. A hum of uncertainty escaped his lips as he then brought his still bleeding hand from behind him and held up the black roses to the Sarachoo, “I wanted to give you these. Mother and father said that you can stay with us, and I wanted to make you feel welcome.”
Honesah stared at the flowers - but those bleeding hands! She turned back to the roses – those poor, bleeding hands! She stood up and grabbed Azvyp’s hand, making him drop the roses that he worked so hard to gather for her. The Cotly held open his hand and stared at its wounds, “You are hurt!”
The Deimos gazed down to the roses in shock as tears began to prick at his eyes. He jerked away his hand and ran inside his home. So what if his hands were hurt? He wasn't worried about that; the roses were the important part, and Honesah simply ignored that they existed. How could she? How dare she? All that pain and hard work.
The Sarachoo watched him and wondered what was wrong. She then took full notice of the roses and crouched to pick them up, carefully placing her fingers in between the thorns. The blood-soaked stems rested in her hands, poking her skin, but not piercing it.
I wanted to make you feel welcome.
She sat on the doorstep and gazed at the roses. A finger ran over the roses’ black petals as the quote whispered in her head, and she whispered back, “I do feel welcome.”
Soon, her thoughts drifted to the frightful night before, her deep gaze into the dark petals reminding her of the sky she so dreaded. Smoldering ashes floating up, dancing violently in the various directions of the wind. The Crimps, themselves, were a storm on their own, and yet one followed them endlessly. The stories she had learned from past Feasts had made her wary of angry clouds, but now, Honesah trembled at every rogue gust of wind.
-------------------------------#---------------------------------
Azvyp sat alone in the middle of his small bedroom, and cried. How could she completely dismiss the present that he worked so hard to get for her? Why didn’t she accept the roses? Couldn’t Honesah see that he didn’t mind the pain and bleeding? At this point, he didn’t care if she was alone. He didn't care if she had just suffered a tragedy so great as the Feast.
The Feast.
Honesah had lost, most likely, everyone she held dear. She was truly alone. There was no one familiar to comfort the girl, and Azvyp was too selfish to see how small of a disaster his roses were. Did he actually care about the scratches? Admittedly, the pain was a bit irritating, but nothing compared to what the Cotly had suffered, right? He could always pick more roses. His scratches would always heal. The mental scars, however, would always remain, and Azvyp knew them well. He understood the undying pains that came from tragedy, from being hunted punished for what he was. Honesah had suffered great wounds from the Feast, though many could not see them as Azvyp did.
To be alone. To let the fury boil within. Azvyp didn't want the Sarachoo to suffer as he did. Perhaps the roses were nothing to cry about. Honesah's actions were in good reason, weren't they?
The young Deimos stumbled and ran out of his room and exited the house. When he didn't find Honesah on the doorstep, he used what he had learned from his father to track her footprins. They led him to the market circle, where the trampled dirt and busy feet mixed with the Sarachoo's. Azvyp paused to closed his eyes and inhaled as he tried to pick up the Sarachoo's scent.
Voices rattled in his head, carts clattered, children laughed – he even heard a couple of insults thrown his way; freshly mashed dirt and grass filled his nostrils, the faint smell of manure and hay trailed along with sweat, produce, melting snow; there was a lot to think through - smell through - in all of this commotion, but Deimos were exquisite for their heightened senses, and Azvyp could prove that. He quickly opened his eyes, catching a whiff, and sprinted toward the path that lead out of the village boundaries and into the forest.
After a few minutes of pushing away limbs and bushes, the nine-year-old stopped at the sound of whimpering and looked through the brush, finding Honesah kneeling with the roses in her grip.
The Sarachoo had her back to the Deimos and gazed blankly to the ground as tears fell from her eyes, still glowing that strange light blue. Everyone is gone; all I have left me; all have died. Honesah squeezed her her eyes closed as the thoughts replayed again and again in her head. She clenched her fingers around the rose stems, sinking the thorns deep into her skin and scratching her bones with such an irritating way, that it was churning her empty stomach. It seemed to help quiet the thoughts, but not enough.
Not enough.
Honesah didn't want to feel this way, but her mind continued to bring up the subject. Was it guilt? Should she have stayed within the village? Why did she get to escape without the others?
A twig snapped behind her, forcing Honesah out of her trance. She stood and faced the moving bush, sniffling to clean up her leaking nose.
Azvyp pushed through, his face still red from sobbing and the cold air biting his cheeks. “What gives you reason to cry,” he asked with a cocky attitude. Sure, he knew exactly what her reason was, but he wanted to hear it from her. He wanted to help her, and the best way to start was for Honesah to admit her problems.
“I cry because my friends and family are gone,” Honesah sniffled and wiped her nose with her wrist, showing the damage she had blindly done to herself. “All of my people have died.”
“Well,” tears pricked at the Deimos’ eyes again, stinging them and causing more tears to join, “I cry because you did not care about the flowers I gave you and made me drop them.” It still hurt his spirit that his gift was brushed away so casually, even though Azvyp knew his problem was no where near as great as Honesah's.
“I am sorry for that. I find the roses pretty.” Honesah ran up and hugged the young Deimos, “We are both crying.” Tears now flowed from her eyes as Azvyp eagerly wrapped his arms around the Cotly, and he, too, began to allow the tears to be set free.
The two mourned on each others’ shoulders as they hugged one another. Azvyp’s bloody hand smudged on the young Sarachoo’s back. Honesah’s own hands spotted the young Deimos’ cloak as she gripped the roses with one hand.
“One of us,” Azvyp sniffled, “need to stop crying.”
“I cannot stop – you are crying.” Honesah buried her face in the boy’s shoulder.
Azvyp took a deep, shaking breath and released his hug. “We need,” he sniffled and wiped his nose with his cloak collar, “to go home now. Mother will be worried.” He managed to force his tears to cease now as he held back the sobbing, and his face remained a lightly burnt red.
Honesah nodded and kept her head hanging low. She gripped his claw and began to walk through the brush. Azvyp walked after her and pushed the branches out of their path for the both of them. He forced a smile at the Cotly as he held a branch to the side and let her pass. The two remained silent for the remainder of the walk home. Though Azvyp felt this burning in his heart each time he looked to Honesah, he enjoyed the feeling of her presence – the knowing that she was there. Surely, she felt the same way, too.
Chapter 3
Some fifteen miles southwest of Deschanc Ka Blatru, a society of anthropic Dragons thrived in the low mountains. These people were known as Deimos. Scaly, horned, fire-breathing creatures whom used their unlimited intelligence to see far beyond what the Humans or Sarachoo could know. There were no metal buildings or enslaved electricity, but there was the wise understanding of the earth itself. The Deimos became familiar with what nature had supplied them, mending it through their own will. Of course, one single being couldn't dare command all of the elements; instead, each Deimos specialized in whatever single power they wished. All pure-breed Deimos could breathe fire, sure, but to be able to control and animate a power was something all too different. Adolescents would prove their maturity during annual spring festivals, performing a beautiful speculation of nature at its best - and sometimes, worst. Now, as hideous as an anthropic Dragon may sound, the Deimos were evolved into a fitting physique, though still odd to some.
Pure-breed Deimos had reptilian tails, and most only reached to their ankles, in which this appendage wasn't of much use to them other than balance. Their faces, covered in tiny scales, were slightly elongated at the snout, still baring traces of their four-legged brethren's features. Deimos had hair, yes, though commonly course and frayed, sharing its place on their heads with a pair of horns that varied from being curled as a ram's or straight as a gazelle's.
Finally, as fitting as it sounds, the Deimos constructed their buildings out of stone, furnishings were wooden or bone, and clothing was typically fashioned from furs or traded goods bought through traveling merchants. Not all crops could be grown on a mountain, so keeping a peaceful reputation was necessary; in which case, alliances were often made (if there already wasn't one formed) with neighboring communities. Even so, cross-breeding with a Deimos was extremely rare; so rare, in fact, that the only recorded half-Deimos was the son of the current village leaders due to an agreement between the Deimos and a Human town known as Timberwood.
The cross-breed Deimos was named Azvyp, taking on mostly his mother's features - human face, ears, body; the only things Deimos about him were the scales that covered the right side of his body and patched the left side, his single Dragon claw that formed his entire right hand, and his pair of black stubby horns. Azvyp had his father's soft red eyes and dark blue hair, too. So strange that a Human's traits were dominant, but Gardru and Defrana loved him all the same. The children of the Deimos village, however, weren't so willing to accept the heir to the throne as a cross-breed. He didn't even have a tail! So they bullied Azvyp; threatened him, threw rocks at him any time the adults weren't around.
Those children were cruel - constantly teasing and abusing Azvyp. The higher the age group, the worse his treatment; young adults and older weren't so mindful of the Human-Deimos' faults, however. They understood how Azvyp came to be and what wonderful benefits resulted from his parents' union. Even so, the older Deimos weren't all too fond of Azvyp's appearance. They cringed and averted their gaze when they saw him, pretending the young boy wasn't there.
How could they do this to him? What did Azvyp ever do to anger his people? It wasn't fair!
"Pirates only have one eye," a slightly older Deimos teased the five-year-old Azvyp. "Let me help you with that." He shoved the young Prince down onto the trampled ground and readied his scaly clawed hand as he knelt over the helpless boy. “Which eye should I cut out?” With such an ugly cross-breed face, the boy much preferred to scratch it up instead; but it would be so funny to see Azvyp with an eye-patch and that singly clawed hand - all he would need then is some sort of pet to sit on his weak little shoulders. The cheering of the other variously aged children brought him back to reality. He stared into Azvyp's wide red eyes as they gradually filled with tears. He smirked, feeling the adrenaline welling up inside him. The left eye seemed like a good choice.
A new voice joined in with the cheering, but it wasn't joyful or excited; no, this voice snatched away the Deimos' adrenaline and replaced it with an icy chill in his veins. He noticed Azvyp's mouth opened wide, but he couldn't detect any sound coming from it; no, wait - he couldn't detect anything. Why couldn't he feel his knees on the ground anymore? Or hear the cheering?
Then the world began to spin around until it soon jerked to a stop as the ground reached the corner of his eye. He strained to get up, but his body wouldn't respond. What happened? This wasn't right. And Azvyp was getting up, kicking dirt in the boy's face as he tried to get his boots to grip the earth - how dare he soil his face?
Azvyp scrambled to his feet, looking around for the source of lightning that zapped his offender. His eyes landed on the small group of Deimos children cowering away. Did Azvyp do this? How? He was far too young to use his elemental abilities. No matter, Azvyp would think it over once he was safe in his home. His feet dug into the grass-scattered dirt and carried him behind the buildings just in time to hear an adult Deimos scream out her injured son's name, "Deiga!" Azvyp was going to be in trouble - he could feel it.
The empty house was a relief for the young Prince, though at some point an angry mob was inevitable - or at least his parents - he certainly hoped his parents showed up first. In the meantime, Azvyp figured he should get himself cleaned up; a change of clothes, a moist rag to wipe off the dust and clean the scratches - it was nice to feel fresh again, but it certainly didn't erase the past. In fact, just as he finished putting on his new tunic, Gardru and Defrana came rushing into the house, calling for their son. He ashamedly walked into the main room, hanging his head and averting his eyes from his parents.
Defrana quickly took Azvyp into her arms, kneeling at the boy's level as she cooed to him, "We heard what happened and knew you would be here. Oh, Azvyp! I know you didn't mean to hurt the boy..."
"I wanted him dead," Azvyp blurted.
"Now, Azvyp," Gardru knelt beside his wife and son, resting a hand on the boy's head. "We understand that they bully you constantly, but killing isn't the answer. You're lucky he's still alive."
"I wish they were all dead!" The cross-breed burst out his burning tears and buried his face into Defrana's shoulder. His parents would never understand how he felt - they never could! Azvyp wished someone would protect him, but the only thing anyone has done for him is give advice and soothing words. Why should Azvyp always fight for himself?
A heavy sigh escaped Gardru's chest as Defrana looked to him, silently asking her husband what they should do. He slid his hand down to Azvyp's shoulder and gripped it tight, pondering just how to get through to the boy. It was so difficult to explain life and death to a child - they just didn't have the same reasoning as adults. "We're glad that you're safe, son. Deiga is being treated in the clinic right now; he's suffered severe burns and nerve damage; his body will never be the same again."
How ironic that Deiga wanted to change Azvyp's image, and then he himself was disfigured instead. A smirk formed in Azvyp's mind, too busy crying to make a contradicting facial expression.
"What I want to know is," Gardru hesitated, "how did you burn him? The other children said they saw a flash of light, and then Deiga was on the ground, fuming with smoke."
"I ho nuh," Azvyp mumbled from his mother's shoulder. In all honesty, he didn't know how he burned Deiga - it just happened.
Defrana eyed her husband and whispered, "Do you think he accidentally used an elemental ability?" With being bullied so often and staring into the face of death, she admitted that even she would fight back at some point - even go berserk. It was quite possible that Azvyp unconsciously summoned up lightning from his body and used it to stop the boy.
Gardru nodded and stood up, trying to hold back a lecture that wasn't necessary. He knew Azvyp was taught well, and he knew even better that the other Deimos children were the ones who needed the lecture. It was difficult to punish another parent's children, however; nor could he always follow Azvyp for protection - how else would he learn life's lessons? The best Gardru could do is continue to talk to the other adults of the village and hope they'll heed his words; and, of course, give his son all the advice he could muster. "I'm going to talk to the parents of all the children involved, and probably anyone else I run in to," he turned away and opened the house door. "The last thing we need is the mature to lose their competence."
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The very next day, Azvyp was sent to buy some tomatoes in the market circle. Gardru assured him that he wouldn't have to worry about the other children as long as Azvyp stayed in the back alleys; in the end, his father was correct, aside from the occasional moments of pretending he was a thief sneaking about in the shadows and peaking around corners in case of anyone who may notice him. It was fun, but certainly not one of Azvyp's perks.
The child entered the market circle, knowing that as long as adults were around, the other children wouldn't hurt him - physically; he was the village leader's son, after all, and the citizens could only go so far with the negative actions against him. Regardless, Azvypalready felt all eyes glaring daggers into him; not the best feeling in the world, but at least they weren't trying to kill him. He gripped the three silver coins that Gardru had given him, and strolled straight across the circle of worn and abused dirt lined with shops and merchant stands. In the middle of the circle stood a tall untouched stone that came to a mild point at the top; a ring of strategically placed, elongated stones lay out from its base as the main stone heaved its shadow on a select one. Azvyp had no idea what it was for, and genuinely didn't care, though he was curious of why there was some sort of acoustic music coming from it. Maybe a spell had been cast on it?
As he past by the stone, a man's voice spoke up from the rhythmic strumming, telling of a dark monster that was hidden inside an unwary hero. Azvyp noticed a group of children and a few adults paying their attention to a Bard. He looked Human, though small, and his ears were pointed. The Bard's cotton and leather clothes were decorated with bells and chains, even a few curious little trinkets were hooked to his shoulders; his brunette hair spiked out from under his playful brown cavalier hat, and his sideburns braided into his short goatee, where he had another interesting item neatly rested on the tail of his chin braid: a tear-drop-shaped scale, tied securely to his hair by a thick brown thread that laced through a neatly cut hole on the wider end of the green-gray reptilian trinket. As he rhymed and sang in quite a wonderful voice that was well in tune with his small stringed instrument, one verse caught Azvyp's attention:
With the Beauty,
There can be
No Beast.
Azvyp wondered what the Bard had meant, but staying near the children was practically a way of begging them to attack him. He shook off the thought and approached the vegetable stand - Azvyp's favorite one. Sure, the produce was well grown, but Azvyp appreciated this particular stand because of the owner; he was nice to Azvyp, and always gave him positive advice.
Harn G'Brul, a middle-aged Deimos who enjoyed gardening, children, and people in general, yet had no significant other. He didn't have trouble finding the right woman; it was simply that Harn much preferred to focus on everyone rather than a single woman. That was what Azvyp was told, anyway. Harn was, in all actuality, a Deimos who slept with any female who allowed him to - and wasn't already joined with someone else.
"Now here's a face I haven't seen in a while," Harn grinned a cheeky one at Azvyp. To him, the boy was special - a Deimos who would grow up to help create peace between, if not all, most races. After Gardru and Defrana were married, the alliance between Timberwood and the Deimos Village was settled. Most Deimos weren't against this; why should they be? They had more resources and one less neighboring community to fret over attacking them. Regardless of it being okay that a Human and Deimos were to interbreed, no one else was interested; in fact, Harn believed that those who ridiculed Azvyp were the ones most afraid of what their children would look like after a few generations of the breed mixing. Oh well, fear tended to fade away as people became more and more exposed to it.
Harn brushed back a lock of course red hair and dusted off his apron, "I heard you got into another fight." He knew Azvyp didn't start it, though.
That wasn't so much of what Azvyp wanted to first talk about with the man. Couldn't it all just be forgotten? He ashamedly nodded in response to Harn and scanned his eyes over the various clean and ripe vegetables sitting so neatly in the angled open crates for passerby’s to see.
"Did you do as I told you?"
"He pushed me down."
"You still could have gotten away."
"He knelt on me; I couldn't get up."
"Now, Azvyp," Harn sighed. "In the end, those children are scared of you. They don't know what to think about a cross-breed." And, he was sure, those children had overheard talk from their parents. Such a shame. "I'm sure they're even more scared of you after what you did to Deiga."
"Then maybe they'll leave me alone," Azvyp replied. His bottom lip began to quiver; the child didn't want to be alone - he wanted friends to laugh and play with.
"You can't be alone forever."
"I have you and mother and father."
"Yes, but," Harn sighed again. How could he solve this problem and make the boy understand? He grabbed an already well polished tomato and began shining it with his apron, wiping and spinning its smooth red hide under the fabric. Harn found that he did his best thinking when he polished his produce - so simple, repetitive, and calming.
"I need three of those," Azvyp derailed the man's train of thought.
Three of what? Oh, the tomato he was holding. Harn smiled and picked out the best that he had, which he always kept at the top of his crates. "One silver and twenty copper, lad," he handed over the luscious red spheres.
"Father said not to worry about the extra copper; he says that you charge so little for such great vegetables, and he really appreciates that," Azvyp smiled back, forgetting the small argument he just had. He traded his three silver and tomatoes, then began to wave good-bye before Harn dropped his smile and gave the boy a word of advice.
"You should find a friend close to your age, Azvyp; your parents and I won't be there for you forever. Once you meet that friend, don't let it go."
Azvyp turned around, unsure of how to respond to that. He shrugged it off and darted back across the market center, overhearing the Bard finish his story about the Hero and his monster.
The Beauty left the Beast.
His Darkness drowned the earth.
Where is the Hero we seek?
Lost in his chaos since birth.
Such a sad ending; Azvyp had always heard other visiting Bards sing amazing and humorous stories. He wondered where he had gotten this tragedy from, but figured it would be worth thinking about when he was safe at home. Azvyp entered the shadows of the back alleys, diligently cradling the tomatoes in his arms. Something stirred in his gut - a nervous feeling that he had felt several times before in his life. What was the reason behind them?
Rounding a corner of the buildings along his path, Azvyp remembered the meaning behind the funny feeling in his stomach - there was trouble afoot. He found himself face to face with about eight young Deimos, all with stones in their hands; the scowls carved into their eyebrows told Azvyp that they weren't intending to make peace with him; and their eyes - so dark, cold, glaring at him with evil intent.
"You can't sneak away from punishment," one girl said.
"Freaks like you belong in one of those traveling circuses," proclaimed an older boy.
A girl, the same age as Azvyp, stepped in front of the little mob. She was beautiful, for a female Deimos; her green and tan scales glimmered and blended together perfectly; her light-brown hair was silky and flawless in all of its curled glory. Azvyp admired her from afar for the two years he had known her. Mabree was her name, and she wasn't at all interested in Azvyp. "A Prince should be handsome and perfect," she spat. As the village leader's son, Azvyp was technically a Prince of sorts.
"No Prince of the Deimos should be such an abomination," the boy who suggested a traveling circus to Azvyp exclaimed. He then proceeded to chunk his stone at Azvyp, striking his arm, and knocking the tomatoes out of their safe holding.
Before Azvyp could check on his arm for any sort of serious wounding, he was bombarded by the other seven stones. Azvyp ducked his head and turned away, only to be shoved down and have the children kick dirt onto his fetal positioned body. His head ached; it felt warm and wet. Was he bleeding? If not now, he certainly would be when the mob was done. One of them jammed their foot into his ribs; something cracked - Azvyp hoped it was the attacker's foot.
"Get our filthy hands off of him!"
Who was that?
"No good, judgmental curs!"
Azvyp didn't recognize this voice; it had a strange gruff accent. Either way, the children panicked and scattered away like roaches from a lantern in the night. When Azvyp peeked from under his shielding arms, he was met with a familiar-looking scale. A pair of calloused hands reached under his armpits and lifted him up to his feet - painfully. He was sure that it was his ribs that cracked earlier, and his shin felt as if someone took a flame to it; hell, most of his body was battered from those stones. Azvyp looked up and found the Bard from the market dusting him off. Even if he was a foot taller than Azvyp, the Bard was still quite small for an adult.
“What a bunch of barbaric kids. Weren't young ones suppose to play together? I saw them get up and walk after you as you passed by; those little brats stank of trouble," he explained. Then, with a pitying, yet thoughtful eye, the Bard flashed a smile to Azvyp, "So, you're the little cross-breed that I've been hearing about." How silly; this child was nowhere near as hideous as the gossipers were describing. His eyes drifted over the boy and noticed the right arms' single claw. It was odd, sure, but that was a pathetic excuse to bully someone. "My name is Anster. Y'mind if I escort you home?" He began to fiddle with his goatee trinket as he finished looking over the boy.
"I can get there myself," Azvyp bent over to pick up his tomatoes, but found them squashed. What a waste.
"I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew you were safe," Anster grabbed one of the cross-breed's horns and tilted his head to get a better look at the glossy liquid that he had noticed. "You need to get that looked at."
Why was this man so concerned with Azvyp? Surely, he'd been told the horrible rumors about him. Azvyp hesitated, then quirked a brow as the short man let go of his horn; trusting such a stranger was probably dangerous, but at least he was nice to the boy - that was enough reason to trust him, right? With a nod, Azvyp walked passed Anster, knowing he would follow.
Instead of cowering in the shadows, Azvyp figured that with his "bodyguard" he could take the faster way home through the main paths. A few odd looks were thrown their way, but Azvyp was use to that; Anster wasn't so much, but didn't hinder himself over it. They soon reached the boy's house, to where they were greeted with gasps and questions by Gardru and Defrana. Information was sorted until everyone was on the same page, and as Anster turned to leave, Gardru stopped him.
"You're always welcome in our home, friend," the Deimos stated.
Anster smirked and turned away, shrugging his shoulders to adjust his instruments and backpack, and then walked down the main path leading to exit the village. His time to spread his tale was done, and he did all that he could do. Time would tell if his efforts were in vain.
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Months went by, and Azvyp wondered if he would ever get a visit from the Bard. His wounds had healed, though the scars of abuse would never go away; the other children still bullied him regularly, and Azvyp never could use that strange power he had summoned on Deiga again - he wondered if it was just a fluke. He was, however, finding it much more satisfying to fight back, which ended up, more often than not, with one of the children having a huge gash somewhere on their body due to Azvyp's claw. He didn't hide in the shadows, or try to avoid being ganged up on; he wanted to fight; he wanted the Deimos to fear him. Gardru and Defrana weren't too sure how to deal with their son's new lifestyle - they were happy that he could fend for himself, but the boy was getting into more and more fights. How does a parent tell their child not to fight against bullies?
Instead, they allowed it. The village leaders of the Deimos welcomed their son home each day, thanking the Heavens that he was alive. And soon, Gardru took Azvyp hunting.
They used a bow and arrows - effective when in thick brush, rather than chasing their prey. Slowly, father and son crept their way across the fallen autumn leaves that crunched under their leather-booted feet. It was early morning; cool and dry; the sun's rays only beginning to climb over the horizon; so quiet, each step almost echoing in the mountain forest. Gardru spotted a large flat stone protruding from the earth; it was just slanted, perfect to lay down on and get out of sight. He gestured Azvyp to it, and they set up. The two laid on their stomachs, bows half-drawn, and eyes peeking over the upper slant of the stone - watching, waiting, for a desirable creature to walk by.
Such silence, such solitude, such tranquility; Azvyp felt a strange, yet pleasing stir in his chest. The sounds of various animals waking from their nighttime slumber, the skittering and rustling of nocturnal creatures settling into their nests. So peaceful; no children throwing stones at Azvyp, no yelling, screaming, teasing, or beating. He could hear so little, and yet hear things he normally couldn't.
A couple of hours dragged by ever so slowly, but Azvyp didn't complain. Gardru spotted a young buck ahead of them, gradually edging closer to the Deimos as it nibbled at the leaves and searched for fresh grass. He tightened his bow and whispered, "Do you see it, Azvyp?" He received the sounds of Azvyp's bow string tightening - yes. "Take your time; remember to aim a little higher than your target when it's far away. Don't get upset if you miss," he said.
With a short inhale, Azvyp carefully angled his arrow above the animal's shoulder - aim for the heart. The buck raised its head and began scratching the tree next to it with its four-point antlers. At that moment, Azvyp pulled away his drawn fingers, releasing the arrow and his breath.
Thunk.
The buck leaped and kicked into the air, then dashed forward and tripped over its wounded front leg, clumsily tumbling forward. Gardru, lowered his bow, setting it to the side, and hopped off of his perch, dashing to the downed animal. Azvyp followed, drawing his dagger from his belt. Gardru snatched the buck's antlers with both hands and swiftly twisted its head until her heard a satisfying crack.
The forest was silent again as their prey stopped kicking its legs; the only thing Azvypheard was his and his father's heavy breathing. Oh, the rush he had!
Azvyp gazed up to his father, smiling; Gardru was more than happy to see that expression again - the shine in his boy's eyes. "Good job, son," he huffed. "Good job." They hoisted their catch onto his shoulders and carried it home to be skinned and cut.
Even cleaning the deer was peaceful to Azvyp; such tedious work behind his home. He watched in awe as he learned to gently slice away skin from muscle, how to separate meat from bone without tearing it, and how to dry the hide to preserve it for clothing and furnishing. The strong smell of blood made Azvyp's mouth water - he wasn't sure why, though. His father said it was just a reaction that everyone gets from their ancient predatory ways. Regardless, Azvyp fell in love with hunting; he loved the feeling of a clear, focused mind - something he hadn't felt in ages. He found himself spending much more time away from the village, and hunting in the woodlands. The boy took up selling furs, hides, and meats, keeping himself out of fights.
Gardru and Defrana supported their son, excited to know that things were looking up for him. With winter on its way, they knew that Azvyp would have plenty of business, too. It was a wonderful feeling to see one's own child changing for the better; for, with the Beauty, there can be no Beast.
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Blood, acid, fire, ashes, destruction; Freero hadn't seen such a disastrous sight in all his young life. Anger, sadness, all negative emotions filled him, replacing the hope and tea from the blacksmith and his wife. He charged on and sliced through the bellies of the Crimps, though not killing them instantly.
“Why have you returned?” Bremeg's voice called from behind Freero, so much fear and rage in his voice that it even roared over the towering flames.
“I had to help fight, father,” Freero flew to the King's side, finding him in his Human Form, and fought alongside him. Bremeg was naked, but who could blame him? There was no time to put on his robes in all of this chaos. His robe pouch covered his crotch, anyway, most likely from all of the moving about. “How could I take your seat as King and know that I ran away as a coward during such a time?”
This caused Bremeg to pause in awe and smile; he was proud of his son. A sign of bravery promised the King that he had unmistakably chosen his right heir.
Father and son, against the main threat of their people, protecting each other and killing off any foes who see it fit to attack them. They dodged, deflected, and attacked with fluid motion – almost as if they had been in battles all their lives. Bremeg was strong, just as the Sarachoo males should be, grabbing the open jaws of crimps as they attempted to swallow him whole, careful not to make connection with the teeth. Holding them open long enough to muster up further strength to push the Crimps back and strike their bellies with a sword he had grabbed in the training arena.
It was beyond boiling temperature within the Sarachoo village; one would expect the Sarachoo to die of hyperthermia. The will to live and fight is far stronger than one would believe, however, and this drives even the average person to do extraordinary things.
A strategy among the Sarachoo formed – the males would fight and distract the crimps while the females would swoop under the black Dragons’ bellies and create as many large and severe wounds as they could while dodging the blood and splashes of acid. Even this was difficult to accomplish, but it was far more efficient than simply attacking the impenetrable scales.
They fought for hours, dramatically decreasing each others’ numbers. Cyfro managed to snatch as many Sarachoo as he could before being annoyed with the tiny morsels attempting to attack him. “Bremeg,” he called out. The Sarachoo King and Prince turned their attention to Cyfro as their opponent Crimp ceased to attack them and targeted other Sarachoo instead. “Your people are dying quickly,” said Cyfro. “There are only five of them to each of mine, and we are still many! What drives you to fight?”
Such a question was insulting to Bremeg, and he didn’t take it lightly. “We fight to end this madness – this gore-fest – and to create an unending peace within this forest! We fight for honor and the right to be what we are without being killed for it!” He knew the training sword he wielded wouldn’t be enough to slice through the Crimp Lord’s belly. “We fight to end this God-forsaken curse.” He lunged forward, raising his sword to strike Cyfro’s neck. Bremeg didn’t care if it would cut or not; he didn’t care if he died in the process.
Cyfro laughed allowed and whipped his tail, snatching Bremeg in the air and bringing him close to his face. “My, my, Bremeg,” he sneered. “You seem to be far more brave than when we last met.” The Crimp watched his captive try to push himself out of the tail’s grip. "It's funny, though - your people are just too savory and useful to my own. The world can not feed us all; we're just far too large and numerous with even greater appetites; and this is why the Sarachoo were born - to feed the Crimps! Am I wrong?"
Cyfro was answered by a stab in the eye by Bremeg, Freero followed suit right after, but missed the other eye. The Crimp Lord screeched out and bit off Bremeg’s head, then held the Sarachoo King's limp body up to Freero, giving him a good look of the corpse's blood-sputtering neck, “This will be your fate soon enough!” He tossed Bremeg’s body into his mouth and gulped it down, flicking the tip of his tail in eagerness to snatch the Contle and devour him as well. The fear and shock and utter horror on Freero’s face was just too delicious, though, and he watched for a few long moments, taking in the wonderful image with his single good eye, then struck his mighty head forward and gobbled Freero whole.
The battle raged on for another hour; even with their King dead, the Sarachoo knew that it was not the end until they were all joining him in the afterlife. The only problem was – who escaped to become the Savior? Most merely figured that whomever was left had to escape as soon as possible – that Sarachoo didn’t succeed.
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“She’s waking up,” a deep male’s voice echoed in Honesah’s head as she came back to consciousness.
“Will she be all right, father?” A young boy’s voice questioned as he echoed in her head as well.
The Sarachoo's mind began to flood with questions of where she was and who was near her. She urged her eyes to open, her body to sit up, but she was too weak to move much, too exhausted from last night's flight.
“She should be fine,” the man’s voice answered.
Who is this? Where am I? Please, Honesah felt warm streaks begin to run down from the corners of her eyes, someone tell me what is going on.
“Father, she’s crying, “ the boy pointed out to the man as they sat at the Sarachoo’s bedside.
The man had long, dark blue hair and hard, dark green eyes that looked sturdy and full of wisdom. Dragon scales, the color of tanned human skin, covered his body. His fingernails were as claws and looked a little chipped from age and activity. He wore a long, brown, fur-trimmed cloak that buttoned down and strapped with a belt around his waist. Two black horns grew from just above his temples and slicked back with his waist length hair.
The boy was similar to his father, except his hair was shoulder length and a deep dark blue. Soft red eyes glowed slightly, and thick black horns protruded from above his temples and slicked back with his hair, too. The left half of his body was human skin, but patched with small areas of scales. The right side of his body was covered in the same scales, which were the same olive color as his skin. His right hand was a dragon claw, and his left hand was an average human hand. Over his body, he wore a cloak similar to his assumed father.
What is a Sarachoo this young doing so far from their village? The adult Deimos thought to himself. Worry covered his face, a deep scowl imitating his equally as deep thoughts. Who is she?
Small tears that glowed a light blue trickled down the Sarachoo’s cheeks as her body remained all but lifeless. The boy reached up to Honesah with his left hand and placed it on her forehead. Her eyes flashed open to reveal their soft pink color, causing the boy to jerk back his hand in fright. Honesah quickly sat up, only succeeding to make herself dizzy and fall forward.
The father caught her and lowered the girl onto her back. “Calm down,” he commanded softly. “You are in safe hands. Azvyp, find your mother.”
The boy, obviously known as Azvyp, stood up as he carefully watched Honesah, and then ran off to another room. He seemed to be just two years older than her, but somewhat shy now that she was awake.
“Where am I?” Honesah asked with a weak whisper.
“You are in the Village of Deimos. Our people have been living in these mountains for many years. My name is Gardru, and my son is Azvyp. May I ask for yours?” The man asked as he sat back in his chair.
“I am Honesah, from the Sarachoo Village - Princess of my people.”
“Well,” Gardru nodded with a gentle smile, “it seems that your destiny is in your favor. You are among the village Cheif of the Deimos and his family’s home.”
Honesah nodded her head in an attempt to politely bow from her position, then tiredly smiled up to Gardru.
Azvyp then walked into the room, his mother along with him, and her hand in his own as she carried a steaming bowl in the other. Her skin was fair and her straight jet black hair shined as it reflected the window and candle light. Her soft, green and brown eyes gazed over to the Sarachoo. A smooth green and gold dress hugged her elegant body, its sleeves loose at first, then tightening around the wrists to keep them from getting in the way. The two walked up to the bed, and Azvyp sat in his chair.
“I am Defrana,” the woman greeted with a warm motherly smile as she set the bowl on the table next to Honesah. “I trust my husband has told you about us by now.”
“Yes,” Honesah had finally gained the strength to speak in a normal tone, "I am so happy to meet all of you.”
Defrana placed a hand on the Cotly’s forehead and waited for a moment. She then took it away and smiled, “You have no fever. That is good. You should be full of energy soon enough. Be sure eat your soup so it'll warm you up.” The woman gestured to the bowl.
Honesah only smiled and nodded, and then dropped to a slight frown.
Gardru noticed this, along with Azvypand Defrana, but only said, “Make yourself comfortable and rest now.” The family then left, closing the bedroom door to give their guest some peace.
“What should we do with her? The village was attacked last night and there were no other survivors.” Gardru leaned against the wall of their small, and yet cozy living room as Defrana and Azvyp sat on their deer skinned couch. They obviously knew about the attack - with so much noise, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole world knew; who could possibly sleep through those horrid sounds?
All night, the Deimos village tossed in their beds as the cries that echoed in the air. Many of the people watched from their windows, ready to fight or escape to shelter if the Crimps were to show up. Not once did anyone imagine that the Feast was in progress.
“I see no harm in keeping her.” Defrana kept an arm around her son’s waist and held him close as he cuddled to her. “She would give Azvyp someone to be with.”
“All of the other children of this village are frightened by him.” Gardru folded his arms and glared to the closed door behind which Honesah was resting. “What makes you believe she is any different?”
“At least give her a chance.”
“I suppose. It wouldn’t be sane to just leave a child of such age on her own.” Gardru then stood and walked outside of their home in silence. He needed to send some willing villagers out to see if there are any other survivors of the Feast. No doubt, the Sarachoo village will be easy to find with the pillars of smoke still fuming to the sky.
“So, I have a sister now?” Azvyp finally spoke up. He stared into his mother’s eyes, full of hope and joy.
“Not exactly a sister, but she will be living with us.” Defrana smiled down to her son and stroked his cheek. I am sure that she will be different.
Azvyp smiled and stood up, eagerness swirling around him. “I'll pick flowers for her, so that she'll feel welcome to our home,” and ran outside, closing the door behind him.
The Human smiled gently as she stared after Azvyp. She then sighed, stood up, and walked into the kitchen; a stone table for preparing food, and a nice fire pit in the center of the room. Defrana loved her family; she had enjoyed being with other humans, sure, but Gardru's charm swept the woman off of her feet when he had visited her village one particular time out of many for political reasons.
They were young, beautiful (despite Gardru's scaly complexion), and silently looking for love. Both were being nagged by their parents that it was time that they get married - there were even people lined up for them to meet, but the two just weren't interested. Not that they weren't interested in love, itself, but the bachelors and bachelor girls just weren't what they were looking for.
When Gardru and Defrana met each other, though, it was the first day that engraved their futures into stone - and it was memorable.
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Gardru raced down a cobblestone street of the Human village, known as Timberwood, as he begged the man several feet in front of him to stop running. "Please!" He cried. "I didn't mean to frighten you!" The Deimos grinned awkwardly as he recalled sneaking up on the man in an alley. He should have known that it was a bad idea to catch the man off guard, considering that Humans found the Deimos to be less attractive. How could he resist a light joke, though? Politics was a stressful job, and surely the man could use a laugh; however, he certainly wasn't laughing now. "My father sent me to speak with you!"
"Demon!" The well-dressed man cried out as he ran, "Demon!"
"No," Gardru couldn't help but to laugh, "Deimos! Deimos!"
"Deimos?" The name sounded familiar now. The man had gotten a letter recently describing that the Deimos village had wanted to ally with his own. He had recently gained ownership of the town, and the previous Duke, his father, was against allying with the Deimos for reasons unknown. So he stopped, cringing as he took another look at Gardru and his scaly skin, his protruding slick horns, and green eyes. "Right, I'm truly sorry. A lot of things going on lately, you know?" That was a total lie, but he didn't want to offend the creature any more than he probably already did by calling him a 'demon', so he just chuckled nervously and held out his hand.
Gardru eagerly shook the man's hand, still grinning, "It's all quite fine, my good man. Now how about we go somewhere to talk about the alliance?" He turned around, remembering where the village Duke's office was, as he was the one to attempt the alliance with the late Duke previous times. Gardru blindly took a step forward, only to bump into a beautiful young woman.
The fruit and bread scattered around her feet as the black haired Human stumbled back a couple of steps. Her cheeks puffed up and her eyes glared daggers at Gardru. "Watch where you're walking!"
"Oh my, Defrana," said the Duke, "we're so sorry." He began to crouch and pick up the goods, but Gardru's extended arm blocked him.
The Deimos gazed into Defrana's angry eyes, captured by her, it seemed, "What did you say her name is?"
"Defrana," the woman spat. "Are you going to just stand there like be a beast and leave my bruised fruit on the ground? There's no way it'll last long now. Are you going to pay for this?"
Before she could ramble on any further, Gardru grasped one of her hands, placed his other hand on the small of her back, and drew himself close to her, "A beautiful name for a beautiful creature. Your hair is more exquisite than silk, and your skin," he paused for effect, "looks as if the clouds themselves had given birth to you."
Never mind the fruit, if this man didn't last long in her life, then she'd be even more upset! Defrana brushed back a lock of hair as she blushed, unable to break eye contact with Gardru. No longer did she glare at him, but rather, her face softened to surprise and awe. Did this man actually just turn from a rude monster to a charming Prince in under a minute?
"Duke," Gardru called, holding eye contact with his new-found love. "If I marry this woman, will that be enough for our alliance?"
"Well," he pondered, glancing at the passersby who gave odd looks, "Defrana isn't related to me, but she does belong to the village."
"So that's a 'yes'?"
"I didn't say that."
"You can be a witness. We'll have a treaty signed and whatever else you need."
"Well . . ." the Duke trailed off in thought, but Gardru didn't need an answer.
"Great! We'll have the wedding as soon as I speak with her parents!" Gardru finally broke eye contact with the entranced Defrana, then whirled around, taking the Duke's hand and shaking it. "Glad to do business with you, good sir. I'll have a carriage here to retrieve your family, you, Defrana, and her family once everything is settled."
It all fell on the Duke so fast, he couldn't disagree with the Deimos. He only stammered about his words, trying to take it all in. One thing the Duke kept thinking in the back of his mind was, Thank goodness she's single.
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Azvyp happily walked past Deimos of all ages as he traveled to the outside of his village. People stared at him and wondered to themselves what he was so proud of. Ignoring their curious gazes, the young Deimos only smiled more as he thought over the whole subject of having a friend who actually cared. He exited his village boundaries and looked around; snow covered much of the land and vegetation, and there seemed to be little hope for flowers. A thought crossed Azvyp’s mind as he remembered a small bush of roses that he would see all year ‘round. He ran straight ahead and into the thick forest, lost from the sight of all.
The Deimos and Human cross-breed stumbled and climbed over stones as he made his way down the mountain side. Eventually, he entered a field that almost blinded him with the light reflecting off of the thick snow as it blanketed the ground. He shielded his eyes with an arm and looked around. Squinting, he noticed something dark in the middle of the field far away. He lowered his arms and hobbled across the deep snow that reached his knees, almost tripping a few times, but keeping his balance from falling face first into the frozen rain. Finally reaching the dark area, he found that it was the bush of black roses. Azvyp smiled, proud of himself for finding the flowers. He reached to the bush with his left hand and placed his fingers onto the stem of a rose. A thorn pricked his thumb, sending a terrible sting up his arm. He gasped and retracted his hand from the bush, placing his thumb in his mouth. The boy wanted to give Honesah the flowers dearly, and stared at the bush of radiant roses and threatening thorns.
Gaining the courage to try again, Azvyp reached into the bush and placed his hand over the rose stem, trying to avoid being pricked and scratched. Thorns snatched and pierced his skin and sent waves of pain and desire to retract his hand straight to his mind, but he refused and plucked the rose from its hold. Finding that he wanted a few more, Azvyp placed the rose in his right hand’s claw and reached to the bush again. The thorns continued to scratch his hand, making it bleed quite well.
Soon after, the Deimos was happy with the quantity of roses he had. Five roses. Five roses and hundreds of pierces and scratches that now dripped with his thick crimson blood. Azvyp smiled as he ignored the icy pain and ran to his village.
Honesah sat on the doorstep of Gardru’s home, clothed in her robe with her waist pouch secured where it belonged, as villagers crowded around her, speaking among themselves over why a Sarachoo was in their village. The Cotly stared to the ground and pouted a little as young children played with her tail and ears. The adult Deimos only stared as they walked by and called for their children. Honesah sighed, wondering where Azvyp had gone and hoping he would be back soon. She closed her eyes as she pulled the neck of her robe down below her shoulder blades, and felt a pressure increasing in her upper back; a pair of snow white wings sprouted and grew from between her shoulders. She wrapped them around her body once they reached full size, making the infant Deimos gasp and back away in a sort of awed laughter. They gathered around the young Sarachoo and played with her wings; ruffling the feathers, poking them, playing peek-a-boo, and even plucking an out of place feather or two. Many of the children who plucked a feather ran off as the cheered and laughed that they had an 'Angel’s' feather.
Azvyp walked past the homes and people of his village and even a few children that cheered about some 'Angel'. He looked ahead and noticed the white wings that nearly blended into the snow as they sat on his doorstep. Confused with this sight, he ran to the scene and peeked into the small opening at the front of the wings. The children ran off to play, leaving Azvyp to the supposed 'Angel'. The young Deimos blinked as he tried to see what Honesah was hiding for; he knew it was Honesah, remembering when he found her in the woods. The wings slowly opened and revealed Honesah as they folded against her back and shriveled away. Azvyp stepped back at this and hid his hands behind his back, “Honesah. You are awake now.”
“Yes,” she smiled to him as she adjusted her robe to cover her shoulders again. “I feel better.” She lied, of course. Her chest was hurting; something was pressing right in the center of it, which she would have to look at later. Right now, all she wanted was to be with someone. She adjusted her robe to cover her shoulders again.
Azvyp smiled back and looked away. A hum of uncertainty escaped his lips as he then brought his still bleeding hand from behind him and held up the black roses to the Sarachoo, “I wanted to give you these. Mother and father said that you can stay with us, and I wanted to make you feel welcome.”
Honesah stared at the flowers - but those bleeding hands! She turned back to the roses – those poor, bleeding hands! She stood up and grabbed Azvyp’s hand, making him drop the roses that he worked so hard to gather for her. The Cotly held open his hand and stared at its wounds, “You are hurt!”
The Deimos gazed down to the roses in shock as tears began to prick at his eyes. He jerked away his hand and ran inside his home. So what if his hands were hurt? He wasn't worried about that; the roses were the important part, and Honesah simply ignored that they existed. How could she? How dare she? All that pain and hard work.
The Sarachoo watched him and wondered what was wrong. She then took full notice of the roses and crouched to pick them up, carefully placing her fingers in between the thorns. The blood-soaked stems rested in her hands, poking her skin, but not piercing it.
I wanted to make you feel welcome.
She sat on the doorstep and gazed at the roses. A finger ran over the roses’ black petals as the quote whispered in her head, and she whispered back, “I do feel welcome.”
Soon, her thoughts drifted to the frightful night before, her deep gaze into the dark petals reminding her of the sky she so dreaded. Smoldering ashes floating up, dancing violently in the various directions of the wind. The Crimps, themselves, were a storm on their own, and yet one followed them endlessly. The stories she had learned from past Feasts had made her wary of angry clouds, but now, Honesah trembled at every rogue gust of wind.
-------------------------------#---------------------------------
Azvyp sat alone in the middle of his small bedroom, and cried. How could she completely dismiss the present that he worked so hard to get for her? Why didn’t she accept the roses? Couldn’t Honesah see that he didn’t mind the pain and bleeding? At this point, he didn’t care if she was alone. He didn't care if she had just suffered a tragedy so great as the Feast.
The Feast.
Honesah had lost, most likely, everyone she held dear. She was truly alone. There was no one familiar to comfort the girl, and Azvyp was too selfish to see how small of a disaster his roses were. Did he actually care about the scratches? Admittedly, the pain was a bit irritating, but nothing compared to what the Cotly had suffered, right? He could always pick more roses. His scratches would always heal. The mental scars, however, would always remain, and Azvyp knew them well. He understood the undying pains that came from tragedy, from being hunted punished for what he was. Honesah had suffered great wounds from the Feast, though many could not see them as Azvyp did.
To be alone. To let the fury boil within. Azvyp didn't want the Sarachoo to suffer as he did. Perhaps the roses were nothing to cry about. Honesah's actions were in good reason, weren't they?
The young Deimos stumbled and ran out of his room and exited the house. When he didn't find Honesah on the doorstep, he used what he had learned from his father to track her footprins. They led him to the market circle, where the trampled dirt and busy feet mixed with the Sarachoo's. Azvyp paused to closed his eyes and inhaled as he tried to pick up the Sarachoo's scent.
Voices rattled in his head, carts clattered, children laughed – he even heard a couple of insults thrown his way; freshly mashed dirt and grass filled his nostrils, the faint smell of manure and hay trailed along with sweat, produce, melting snow; there was a lot to think through - smell through - in all of this commotion, but Deimos were exquisite for their heightened senses, and Azvyp could prove that. He quickly opened his eyes, catching a whiff, and sprinted toward the path that lead out of the village boundaries and into the forest.
After a few minutes of pushing away limbs and bushes, the nine-year-old stopped at the sound of whimpering and looked through the brush, finding Honesah kneeling with the roses in her grip.
The Sarachoo had her back to the Deimos and gazed blankly to the ground as tears fell from her eyes, still glowing that strange light blue. Everyone is gone; all I have left me; all have died. Honesah squeezed her her eyes closed as the thoughts replayed again and again in her head. She clenched her fingers around the rose stems, sinking the thorns deep into her skin and scratching her bones with such an irritating way, that it was churning her empty stomach. It seemed to help quiet the thoughts, but not enough.
Not enough.
Honesah didn't want to feel this way, but her mind continued to bring up the subject. Was it guilt? Should she have stayed within the village? Why did she get to escape without the others?
A twig snapped behind her, forcing Honesah out of her trance. She stood and faced the moving bush, sniffling to clean up her leaking nose.
Azvyp pushed through, his face still red from sobbing and the cold air biting his cheeks. “What gives you reason to cry,” he asked with a cocky attitude. Sure, he knew exactly what her reason was, but he wanted to hear it from her. He wanted to help her, and the best way to start was for Honesah to admit her problems.
“I cry because my friends and family are gone,” Honesah sniffled and wiped her nose with her wrist, showing the damage she had blindly done to herself. “All of my people have died.”
“Well,” tears pricked at the Deimos’ eyes again, stinging them and causing more tears to join, “I cry because you did not care about the flowers I gave you and made me drop them.” It still hurt his spirit that his gift was brushed away so casually, even though Azvyp knew his problem was no where near as great as Honesah's.
“I am sorry for that. I find the roses pretty.” Honesah ran up and hugged the young Deimos, “We are both crying.” Tears now flowed from her eyes as Azvyp eagerly wrapped his arms around the Cotly, and he, too, began to allow the tears to be set free.
The two mourned on each others’ shoulders as they hugged one another. Azvyp’s bloody hand smudged on the young Sarachoo’s back. Honesah’s own hands spotted the young Deimos’ cloak as she gripped the roses with one hand.
“One of us,” Azvyp sniffled, “need to stop crying.”
“I cannot stop – you are crying.” Honesah buried her face in the boy’s shoulder.
Azvyp took a deep, shaking breath and released his hug. “We need,” he sniffled and wiped his nose with his cloak collar, “to go home now. Mother will be worried.” He managed to force his tears to cease now as he held back the sobbing, and his face remained a lightly burnt red.
Honesah nodded and kept her head hanging low. She gripped his claw and began to walk through the brush. Azvyp walked after her and pushed the branches out of their path for the both of them. He forced a smile at the Cotly as he held a branch to the side and let her pass. The two remained silent for the remainder of the walk home. Though Azvyp felt this burning in his heart each time he looked to Honesah, he enjoyed the feeling of her presence – the knowing that she was there. Surely, she felt the same way, too.
