Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

behind me as I skirted a newly plowed field, ignoring the calls of greeting from the serfs as I raced by, intent on my goal, greeting the dappled shade of the outer fringes of the forest with relief. I’d made it, no doubt due to the extra weight the warrior wore in the form of his armor. I risked a quick look behind me as I sped around an ancient birch tree. The warrior was about thirty feet behind me, but just beyond him, his guards approached on horseback, leading his horse.
    “By the rood!” I swore to myself as I leaped over a downed tree trunk, heading for the densest part of the forest.
    The sounds of pursuit were muted in the calm of the forest. Birdsong rose high above me as the swallows dipped and spun in the sunlight, making elegant arcs in the air. Patches of sunlight shone here, and I slowed down, trying to control my breathing, picking through the muffled noises of the animals of the forest as they went about their business. Somewhere near, a badger was snuffling along the ground, disturbing earth and fallen leaves. A woodpecker drilled a few yards away, while farther afield, foliage rustled and snapped as a large animal, probably a stag or hind, grazed. In the distance, the jangling of horses’ harnesses was audible. I smiled to myself at that, pleased that the growth was too thick for the warrior’s men to ride through.
    I was just looking around for a suitable tree that I could climb and hide myself in when a man’s voice sounded, uncomfortably near. “Where are you, chérie ? You do not need to be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.”
    I snorted to myself, trying to pinpoint the origin of the voice. Usually I had very good hearing, but the denseness of the trees and sounds of the forest combined to muffle the warrior’s voice, making it hard to judge where he was.
    “We want only to help you,” he continued. I moved around the tree, clutching the rough trunk as I peered into the depths in the direction I thought the voice came from. A branch moved, but before I had time to react, a wren popped out and gave me a curious look.
    “Are you frightened, chérie ?”
    I strained my ears, but it was impossible to pinpoint a direction. Which is the only reason I called out, “No.”
    Laughter edged his voice. “Then why do you run from me?”
    “Why are you chasing me?” I asked boldly, moving to the cover of another tree, peering intently around it for any signs of the man.
    “We only just learned of your existence from the mortals.”
    The scorn he put in the last words irritated me. “Those mortals are my family!” I yelled.
    “No, chérie . We are your family. We want to bring you home, where you will be taken care of and taught.”
    I didn’t think much of that statement.
    “I know you have no knowledge of us,” the man continued. Was his voice fainter? Had he been misled into moving away from me? “But we will correct that. We will teach you what it is to be a dragon.”
    His voice was softer. I smiled to myself as I hugged the tree. “I don’t wish to be a dragon, warrior. I wish simply to be myself.”
    Another man’s voice called in the distance. I smiled again and turned around, intent on making my way out of the forest while the intense dragon and his guard stumbled around it searching for me.
    The warrior was leaning on the tree behind me, watching me with a half smile that made my blood freeze. “That is all we wish for you, too—that you be yourself.”
    “How did you do that?” I asked, momentarily too intrigued to be incensed by his trick.
    He shrugged and strolled toward me, all long- legged grace and power. “There are many things you will learn.” He stopped before me, reaching out to touch my face. I slapped his hand. He laughed. “You have fire. You will learn well.”
    “And you are impertinent. What makes you think I’m who you think I am?”
    “You need proof?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, but there was still amusement in his onyx eyes.
    “That I’m a gigantic scaly beast who breathes fire? Yes, I think I’m going to need proof,” I said.
    “There is a way,” he said, taking my arm, and with a quick jerk, he ripped the laces from the wrists of my tunic. He bent over my wrist as if he were going to bite it, paused, and looked up at me, an odd expression on his face. “How old are you, chérie ?”
    “My name is Ysolde,” I said, trying to pull my arm free. His fingers tightened around it. “Ysolde de Bouchier, and I am not your chérie