Speaking of Dragons...

...which we often do around here, for Christmas this year, I am writing several of my friends their own little fairy tales (I use the term 'fairy tale' very loosely, mind you).  This one, written for one of my very dear friends, involves a dragon.  But, *ahem* I haven't really finished it yet.  At all.  At first, it was going to be short, but then the story kept growing and I started writing it in first person, which always seems to make things longer (when I write them, anyway).

Anyway, here is the first little chunk of the story.  If you like it, I'll post more, but no pressure.

***

            I knelt in the dirt, running my hands through the loam of the field; the ground was still rough and wrinkled from the harvest.  The soil felt good as it slipped through my grip, falling into my lap.  I closed my eyes, smelling the damp earth.  Moisture from the ground soaked slowly and deliciously into the woven fabric of my skirt.  There was nowhere I felt more at home than in these fields.

            “Amber,” Ma called, ripping through the stillness of the moment.  My eyes snapped open, and I jumped up, shaking the lush dirt from my dress and apron.  I ran back to our homestead where Ma waited by the back door.  She held a carved, wooden ladle in her right hand and her left hand rested on her hip.

            “Mind you stomp the dirt off those boots before you come inside,” she said, crossing the kitchen to stir some soup, bubbling aromatically in the enormous soup pot hanging over the fire.

            I hung my dirty apron on a peg by the door, replacing it with a frilly, crisp white apron that Ma deemed ‘suitable for young ladies.’  Ma glanced over her shoulder.

            “You look a fright,” she said disapprovingly.  I smiled, hoping I looked apologetic and becoming.  “You had better go and clean up.  Pa and Rossin are preparing to leave with the men for the hunt tomorrow, and I need you to pick up some things in the village.”

              I went upstairs, glancing at myself in a mirror.  There was a smudge of dirt on my chin and my waist-length hair was tangled.  I had a narrow face with a pointed chin and a small mouth.  Pa had always told me that I’m the most beautiful girl in the village, but I knew that the only interesting things about me were my eyes.  They were dark, luminous green; everyone said they were the color of pine needles.  My brother, Rossin, had eyes of exactly the same color, and was much more handsome than I was lovely.

After I scrubbed my hands, wiped the dirt from my chin, and carefully plaited my newly detangled hair, Ma sent me into the village to gather supplies, but not until spending a copious amount of time despairing over the dirt that I could never quite get out from under my fingernails.

            I passed a crumbling building.  Crops of all kinds were piled in front of it, a beautiful collage.  In our village, people have always placed crops from their harvest in front of the ruins of the ancient building.  It is the only remnant of the people who inhabited the village before we came.  Inside the building there was a book, telling how the people starved during a great famine, and left the safety of the meadow to enter the woods, never returning.  I supposed it was our way of honoring them.  I suspected it was also a visual representation of all of our prayers – please, Lord, never let us starve like that.

            My first stop was the apothecary shop, where I picked up a parcel wrapped in brown paper.  Pa had already paid for the bundle, but had not had the time to wait for them to assemble the various salves and tinctures himself.  I could easily have spend hours gazing at the various bottles and jars displayed in the small shop – they were filled with fascinating ingredients and served so many strange uses.  I enjoyed the floral, earthy aroma of the shop as well.

At the tanner’s shop, I picked up freshly made leather.  Ma would carefully fashion the length of leather into large satchels, in the hope that they would soon be filled with enough meat to feed our family through the coming winter.

On my way home, I passed the Goat’s Tail, a shabby saloon housing the most colorful characters that my village has to offer.  Sitting in front of the saloon was One-Eye Steve, smoking a corn-cob pipe, one of his eyes covered by a dirty, worn patch of leather, his remaining eye fixed on something that none of the rest of us could see.

            “Ah, Little-Lady-Green-Eyes,” he called as I passed in front of him.  “Chilly weather we’re having, don’t yeh think?  But it’s going t’get colder – mark my words!  Ol’ Steve’s been aroun’ a long time, Lil’ Lady.”  His deep voice boomed in an authoritative way I had never heard before.  I nodded in his direction, but kept walking.  One-Eye Steve had always seemed harmless enough to me, but Pa had always warned me to keep my distance from him.

            “Queer sort of fella’,” Pa would say, tapping his left shoulder to ward off evil spirits.  “Always talkin’ big and tellin’ stories.  Keep your distance, Amber.”  I wasn’t superstitious, but I didn’t much fancy the idea of having an extended conversation with One-Eye Steve.  I found his timeless, glassy eye unnerving, and he spoke with a lilting accent that nobody else in our village possessed.  Nobody could remember where he came from or what he did for a living, either.  He was as permanent and dilapidated as the ruined building where we left our crop offerings.

            By the time I caught sight of our homestead again, I’d had plenty of time to ponder One-Eye Steve’s warning.  My fingers were numb; I hadn’t thought of dressing for more warmth when I had left the house.  The cold was coming much earlier than usual this year.  Ma tutted and fussed as soon as I walked through the door, quickly giving me a cup full of scalding soup to wrap my hands around.

            Ma sent me to bed early that night, and I was still too chilled and too full of One-Eye Steve’s warning to argue.

***

So, as you can see, it has kind of western feel to it, which was my intention for this particular friend.  I'm trying to kind of customize each one to suit the person who will be receiving it.  This is all sort of the set-up for the rest of the story.  Originally, I intended this story to be around 3500-6000 words, but I think it's probably going to end up somewhere in the 7500-13000 words category.

If all of the fairy tales go this way, then there is NO possible way that I'm getting this done before Christmas.  Gah.  (Gah?  Yeah, I'm reeeeally eloquent.)

I'm open for critque/questions/whatever you have to say on it.  Also, if you noticed any glaring grammatical mistakes or misspellings, plllleeease let me know.  Chances are these things are not going to be particularly well-edited.

Back to work!

Happy December,

Kiwi