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It was a perfect evening for fishing: a warm spring day had become a cool, breezeless and overcast evening as the sun crawled towards the far mountains. Hungry fish were nibbling at insects that had fallen into the lake, sending circular ripples across an otherwise flawless mirror of clouds set afire by the setting sun. Arddwyn had been waiting impatiently for this moment.
Only Arddwyn wasn’t fishing. She was far too busy running for her life. She skirted around a stand of reeds within a particularly marshy spot on the lake’s shore and headed for a granite outcropping that jutted out from a hill. Behind her, the scaly, semi-humanoid creature was gaining ground in a gait made more of leaps than steps.
The day had started so pleasantly too…
“The lake’s not far now,” Alder announced as he led Arddwyn up the narrow forest trail. The young man had seemed a little nervous today, by Arddwyn’s reckoning. She found it cute.
“Great! I’m looking forward to some fried silverfin for dinner!” she replied with a bright laugh. She was looking forward to seeing this supposedly great fishing hole of Alder’s. Spending more time with him was a bonus.
The two had met only a few weeks ago in the small town of Vabberly. Alder had struck up a conversation with the wandering bard after she played something at the local tavern one night, and they found that they got along well. Arddwyn’s roaming lifestyle meant she didn’t make a lot of friends, and she appreciated that Alder seemed to have a sharp mind – a rare commodity in any rural town.
Today they’d made a small escape from that rural town to go to Alder’s favorite fishing spot. The trail ahead of them rose along a wooded hill before dipping down into a depression that cradled a meadow, where a silvery-blue pool of water glinted lazily in the afternoon sun.
“There it is, Wyn! Mirror lake – and it’s living up to that name today.”
“It’s beautiful!” she agreed as they paused at the end of the trail to appreciate the scene. A mixed forest of dark fir trees and pale aspens hugged the surrounding hills like a calico blanket.
They set up their fishing gear up along a sandy section of shore, chit-chatting as they tied hooks to their lines and debated on which sort of bug might make the best bait. Alder nearly stuck himself with his hook, nervous as he was when he mentioned he had a friend living nearby.
Looking back, Wyn’s mistake from the start had been taking those jitters as the sort that boys tend to get when they want to impress a girl. His had actually been the sort that young cultists are prone to when trying to lure a sacrifice into the lair of their god, monster, or bloody effigy. It was a subtle but important difference that Wyn filed in the back of her mind for future reference.
She was still unsure what relation the scaly, amphibious thing chasing her was to the young man Alder. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to ask. Whatever it was, it was putting a damper on their friendship. Of course, once Wyn had found out about Alder’s role in luring her here to be a monster’s supper, she had shown her displeasure by giving him a swift kick in a sensitive place. That was usually a sudden end to most budding relationships. Alder was likely still rolling in the bushes crying.
The quasi-reptilian creature was slobbering now as it came around the stand of rushes towards Arddwyn’s position. Apparently, it had somehow gotten the idea that it was going to be eating her soon; Wyn had her own ideas that involved not being eaten today.
She retrieved an intricate wooden flute tied to one of her belt loops. Thankfully, she had decided not to leave it behind with her bulkier instruments. Its presence had originally meant to entertain and impress her companion, but now it was going to be turned to escaping him and his unpleasant acquaintance.
Still running, she put the instrument to her lips and her fingers found their place along the holes with practiced accuracy. A song burst to life with each exhaled breath; airy from her exertion but with a potent magic and life all its own:
I am the serenade of nightingales playing upon the sunlit meadows of spring, the song proclaimed in every bright, flowing succession of notes. Listen to my flight!
The still air rose in accompaniment to the instrument. A sudden wind sent a few delicate flower petals soaring as it whirled around the bard, making each step lighter and faster as she ran up the side of a hill. The monster was going to have to work for its dinner tonight...
Only Arddwyn wasn’t fishing. She was far too busy running for her life. She skirted around a stand of reeds within a particularly marshy spot on the lake’s shore and headed for a granite outcropping that jutted out from a hill. Behind her, the scaly, semi-humanoid creature was gaining ground in a gait made more of leaps than steps.
The day had started so pleasantly too…
-----------------
“The lake’s not far now,” Alder announced as he led Arddwyn up the narrow forest trail. The young man had seemed a little nervous today, by Arddwyn’s reckoning. She found it cute.
“Great! I’m looking forward to some fried silverfin for dinner!” she replied with a bright laugh. She was looking forward to seeing this supposedly great fishing hole of Alder’s. Spending more time with him was a bonus.
The two had met only a few weeks ago in the small town of Vabberly. Alder had struck up a conversation with the wandering bard after she played something at the local tavern one night, and they found that they got along well. Arddwyn’s roaming lifestyle meant she didn’t make a lot of friends, and she appreciated that Alder seemed to have a sharp mind – a rare commodity in any rural town.
Today they’d made a small escape from that rural town to go to Alder’s favorite fishing spot. The trail ahead of them rose along a wooded hill before dipping down into a depression that cradled a meadow, where a silvery-blue pool of water glinted lazily in the afternoon sun.
“There it is, Wyn! Mirror lake – and it’s living up to that name today.”
“It’s beautiful!” she agreed as they paused at the end of the trail to appreciate the scene. A mixed forest of dark fir trees and pale aspens hugged the surrounding hills like a calico blanket.
They set up their fishing gear up along a sandy section of shore, chit-chatting as they tied hooks to their lines and debated on which sort of bug might make the best bait. Alder nearly stuck himself with his hook, nervous as he was when he mentioned he had a friend living nearby.
Looking back, Wyn’s mistake from the start had been taking those jitters as the sort that boys tend to get when they want to impress a girl. His had actually been the sort that young cultists are prone to when trying to lure a sacrifice into the lair of their god, monster, or bloody effigy. It was a subtle but important difference that Wyn filed in the back of her mind for future reference.
She was still unsure what relation the scaly, amphibious thing chasing her was to the young man Alder. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to ask. Whatever it was, it was putting a damper on their friendship. Of course, once Wyn had found out about Alder’s role in luring her here to be a monster’s supper, she had shown her displeasure by giving him a swift kick in a sensitive place. That was usually a sudden end to most budding relationships. Alder was likely still rolling in the bushes crying.
The quasi-reptilian creature was slobbering now as it came around the stand of rushes towards Arddwyn’s position. Apparently, it had somehow gotten the idea that it was going to be eating her soon; Wyn had her own ideas that involved not being eaten today.
She retrieved an intricate wooden flute tied to one of her belt loops. Thankfully, she had decided not to leave it behind with her bulkier instruments. Its presence had originally meant to entertain and impress her companion, but now it was going to be turned to escaping him and his unpleasant acquaintance.
Still running, she put the instrument to her lips and her fingers found their place along the holes with practiced accuracy. A song burst to life with each exhaled breath; airy from her exertion but with a potent magic and life all its own:
I am the serenade of nightingales playing upon the sunlit meadows of spring, the song proclaimed in every bright, flowing succession of notes. Listen to my flight!
The still air rose in accompaniment to the instrument. A sudden wind sent a few delicate flower petals soaring as it whirled around the bard, making each step lighter and faster as she ran up the side of a hill. The monster was going to have to work for its dinner tonight...