The Academy of Alactria

The Choosing (Edited I)

"Duck!", I screamed helplessly as a black and purple blur swooped around, shooting something razor sharp, the sunlight glinting off of it as if it was fractured glass. I don't now who I was yelling too, but they seemed to listen as the pink mass I was sitting on peeled upwards, and I was upside down. For one terrifying moment I stared uncomprehendingly at the ground beneath me, the shades of green of the countryside spreader out like a patchwork quilt beneath me. The sound was immense, I had the wind rushing around me, and I could hear roars in the distance. Suddenly, I feel myself tipping forwards and I lunged for the pink thing  (was it a spike?) in front of me; my hand slid off of it and immediately I was plummeting downwards, the patchwork green distinguish into hedges and bushes, brown blobs distinguishing themselves as cows as a flash of gold expanded across my vision. A scream tore out of my throat as the wind rushed past me, the gold pouring down my body-

-as my eyes flashed open. The scene of my bedroom greeted me as a chill swept up my back. I'd never had a dream like that before. Did it mean something? The sheets crinkled as I pushed myself up to a seating position and glanced around my room. The sunlight was pouring through my window, giving the room an ethereal feel. Slowly, I rose, my eyes alighting on the open book on my chest of drawers - "The Night of the Dragons". Shivering at the cold air coming through my glass-less window, I pulled on my dark leggings and a T shirt before swinging out of the window. Glass was expensive in my humble little village, and as I was not interested in marrying, my mother had decided that I didn't need the clear complexion that would come from being warm. Or at least, a normal temperature. As I softly padded down the path, the creaky gate rocked on it's hinges, enabling me to slip past it without alerting my Mother that I had left. The sign on the gate was hanging by one rusty nail -

"Sunbeam Cottage,
owned by Fred Harry Lanstock (deceased), Eliza Grace Lanstock
and their daughters Macy Joanna Lanstock and Amy Lily Lanstock,".

If I were a boy, and became a rider, the sign would be changed to say 'Rider of-", followed by the name of my dragon, and element. But I wasn't. I was a girl. When I was younger I'd always thought I'd had a brother, emphasised by the suspicious gap between my Mother's name and the 'and', which looked as though something had been scrubbed off. To most people, it would be strange that my parents hadn't kept having children until they had a son and heir, but you can't have a son with only a widow.

My memories of my Father were hazy, but I remember he died protecting our house from robbers (they were caught and now they rot in prison - hopefully for the rest of their lives), and that he used to hold me above his head and swing me around, pretending I was flying a dragon, something my Mother had never approved of. She had always maintained the opinion that I was too headstrong, and that I should focus on becoming a perfect housewife. The ground beneath my fee changed to a muddy expanse as I pondered, not for the first time, what my future would hold. I couldn't imagine being trapped in the house, unable to leave except to buy items from the village market. Although, who knows, my dear betrothed may allow me out once a year for recreation. The fields came into view as I broke into run, my boots making a slapping sound against the mud track which the oxen plodded along in the days of harvest. The ground blurred beneath my feet as the wheat swayed in the breeze and kernels crunched as I stepped on them, only skidding to a stop when I reached the rotting door of the barn. It was an old thing, with creaky doors, blackened timber and a deeply ingrained smell of hay. I slipped past the steaming mound of manure, and squeezed between the two hay mangers to the loosened floorboard. My hand ran lovingly along the bow as I pulled it out, also retrieving the daggers and arrows. My daggers slid neatly into the sides of my boot, whilst my bow and quiver were slung across my shoulder as I quickly exited the barn, jogging until I was in the woods.