Great Begining

Am I ready? Of course; I know I am. I’ve been dreaming of taking this journey since I was very small.

I hoist myself into the saddle – a leather brown one – and take the reins in my leather-clad hands as if I am holding a teacup at a formal lunch. Feathered wings flex either side of me, leisurely getting ready for take off. I thrust my booted feet into the stirrups.

The winged horse, Dero, was a pure black stallion with a mane and tail of spun gold and sunshine-coloured hooves. His bridle matches his saddle with that deep ochre colour, soft and yielding to my hands. The wings that flex lazily grown out from his withers, jet black feathers mingling with golden ones.

I am dressed in my usual training clothes – a pair of brown leather boots, beige trousers, a greying shirt and a windbreaker jacket of a warm vomit colouration. My dark hair is pulled back in a painfully tight ponytail, the strong wind making my blue eyes sting and water.

The scent of the pine trees fills my nose, fresh and clean in the air. It combines with the musty smell of the undergrowth and pollen.

Sunbeams shine through the gaps in the browning trees of autumn, not too hot or cold. Just in time for the Summer colours of the half misted forest to wither and fade to browns, auburns and reds. Following beloved Autumn is cold, bitter Winter, white and blue.

Dero grows impatient, doing nothing but listening to migrating bird-like beings and woodland creatures twittering, squeaking and conferring in their own unique tongues.

I smile at his behaviour and click my tongue at him, the signal for him to walk. But he doesn’t walk.

Dero gallops forward abruptly, causing me to jerk back on the soft leather. Sky, sky, sky the beat of his hooves seem to pound out. His wings spread, flapping strongly to gain height rapidly. The rush of cold air stings my eyes further.

Breaking through the canopy is a strange experience – the air is becoming thinner, the horizon clearer. The scent of ultra fresh air replaces the pollen and undergrowth smell like fresh linen masking a dirty cloth.

I laugh and struggle to pull my confounded goggles over my eyes, the scarf up over my gasping mouth. Through the scarf, a royal blue cashmere one my mother made me, I can breathe in the unimaginably exciting rush of air as we soar into the skies over my hometown’s hunting forest.

Once the water has left my eyes, I can see that I am so high up I feel a lick of fear that I may fall. But I know in my heart Dero would never allow me to fall – he is too faithful a friend to do that.

He swoops low over my hometown of Dyrok Village, a small farming place on the outskirts of the Garnian City and bordering the Purring Mountains. I can see my family’s little sunken hut’s roof, the only one with the thatching straw dyed green, and the butcher’s next door where my brother works. From so high up, I can barely see the people, like small Ferrangails in the earth.

I can remember a time from my childhood when Ferrangails were the height of fashion and everyone was trying to catch the little blighters to steal their skins to make into shoes and fancy hats. When I was six, almost twelve years ago, I found an abandoned nest of the little lizards and taken them home for my sisters and I to have one each. When they hatched, I immediately laid claim to the smallest, darkest red one.

Being small, lizard-like things with a feathered plumage and soft, transparent wings like a fairy, Ferrangails were very sweet, but very troublesome.

I smiled at the memory as Dero flew us over the Clock Tower were my grandfather had helped the king’s army beat back the Elfin armies trying to take over our province and past the Village Spire to symbolise that some of the lands greatest warriors had been born here, like my father and brothers.

And now me. Dero and I were invincible together. With the silver-brushed sword I possessed and his powerful magic from the gold in his genes, we could summon the world to our feet but chose to fight the good fight against the non-humans.

Although, I sometimes feel that all the Elves, Dwarves, Merpeople and Fair Folk we humans have slain is a waste of energy. They were here first, not us, and only wished to take back their land. Still, all the while, I felt that human fear is the deadliest weapon.

End