Yellowhair: An Elf Hollow Prequel

ELEVEN | New Lands

There is a moment when dragons take to flight, rising on the sun's last waves of heat, their huge wings held high, wide and silent as the tiniest owl hunts voles, they soar skyward, lifted by the earth's subtle upward currents; their fearsome gaze, from piercing orbs observe all motion below them. Only the still escape their view. Those who would seek out dragons for power or to harm others hasten their own fiery demise! And yet, some have called on dragons in terrible times, to take up a human cause, to ward off evil, to end a war inflicted by force on souls too rare.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

New Lands

Qello peered, intently. Where is he? She focused her eyes, sharp, into every nook and cranny at the edge of her view. She still could not discern the boy's movements. Perhaps the creature is already upon him!

Muma told in her story, "Dragons know the difference, having no tolerance for those who wield evil." Would he be spared, if that's what this was? Qello shivered. Were there truly real dragons? Not stories? The boy was wearing bright colours, so, if he had moved, I would have seen him again. He did not appear, at all.

After a long measure of continuing to stumble downward, Qello came to a field on a ridge marked by boulders. At the farthest edge, along the crest overlooking a view, where the grasses met the rocky rim of the shelf, she could make out another faraway dot, this one larger and grey. Curiously, it shifted. It was a man blurred in with the rocks. It clearly looked like a man of some bulk. And, yes. She stopped and stared. It did. It looked much like the trader—exploring there, and now sitting, watching the distance, sun-rimmed and peaceful!

It is. Is it him? Is it? Qello stumbled faster. Is he Trader Joe? She grew closer, trying hard to lift her legs up over the tall grasses to keep from tripping. Help was now entirely in sight!

She tumbled, so weak, and when getting up, found herself compelled again in the direction of the faraway shape of a man.

Oh. Her hopes fell. No! He is different—another man. And then, still somehow, she continued towards the stranger. She could barely stop. She kept tipping forwards—propelled by wings of momentum and loss filling her.

Qello was consumed by fear for herself, her mother and, in part, for the boy—and now, for this man down below, so her need took her over. Falling, getting up, again and falling, she struggled and lurched headlong, searching for breath. Might I not reach him? Should I hide? She tried to stay upright, to look at the forest—to make a new plan!

Qello's head swam and, in her agony, she was far past fear of any single thing or a person. She could see now. It was not Trader Joe, but embracing the fact she was long beyond a good chance of survival—or any means of sustaining herself, the All that Is took over and kept her thin form moving toward the man.

My waning is close, now, or so she thought. And she had seen the creature. The boy! The boy is about to be eaten!

Qello could see the man ahead did look like Trader Joe, his beard and grey-brown cloak spread all around him. He sat in the warm sparkling sunlight.

She came alongside the strange man, with hardly a whisper. He might be fatter. It is Trader Joe, but not him. The tiny, thin thread of energy that still held her to life was shared through necessity now by the All That Was, and the All itself felt thin, as she was.

The ringing in her head grew so loud it seemed to stop. All was One—quiet as the whispers she floated upon. She could have drifted right past the calm, burly man, in slow motion, but as an afterthought, she tried to make her tiny drum sound—a beat in mid-stumble—so he might hear and not be alarmed. Her drum. Ah, Eldrid, my drum. Eldrid, I'm so sorry. I'm falling.