The Dragon Has Wings - Available now on Amazon!
The Dragon Has Wings - Amazon UK
The leaves littering the forest floor were slowly freezing, their veins picked out in silver lines where ice began to form. The night sky showing between the trees was a deep shade of blue, the air still and somehow expectant. A pale moon shone on the girl’s long black hair.
The rope binding Crystin’s hands to the stake bit cruelly into her soft skin, rubbing it raw and bloody. She had long given up struggling, the knot too tight and too well made, all her efforts now concentrated upon survival in place of escape.
She shivered violently beneath the thinning cotton of the over-large tunic that had once belonged to her brother. It was soaked a deep red around the neck and chest, where it too was beginning to stiffen with the cold. At least the bitter air had muted the scent of his blood. She closed her eyes against the memory of his death, the violence she had suffered at the hands of his murderers since. The ache between her legs was still painful. Hard on the heels of her grief came rage. She welcomed it; it gave her strength, but now was not the time to let it to consume her.
Unable to stand any longer, she sagged against the stake. Her arms took the strain. She bit her lips as fresh agony tore into her wrists. It wouldn’t be long before she would be forced to stand again, but she had to find some relief, however fleeting, for her bruised and aching lower body. Near desperate, she fought against the tears that welled, knowing that to give into them would undo her completely.
Something stirred beyond. Tears checked, Crystin held her breath. She scanned the trees that bordered the clearing for any sign of movement.
There were wolves in this forest, she knew. Boar and bear, not to mention the monsters she had been warned of since her earliest childhood. The sound came again; she let out a mixed sigh of relief and frustration. That was no forest animal nor fantastical beast; that was nothing more than the snoring of one of her captors.
She glanced over at the makeshift covers the men had made with their hides and skins, draping them over low hanging branches. Warm beneath them, cosy next to the embers of a fire, they slept soundly. Their horses were nearby, tethered and calm. That they had not taken fright was a small comfort; it confirmed that there was nothing dangerous lurking in the shadows.
Crystin shivered, her body spasming painfully. She could not prevent a small cry escaping as she struggled back to her feet, her arms now crying out for rest. She hoped exhaustion would overtake her soon, that she might sleep regardless of the torture her body was forced to endure.
Another sound, not snoring this time.
She tensed, as frozen as if the ice had caught her up. Helpless, unable to fight or to run, she warily watched the edge of the clearing, a sense of foreboding growing ever stronger. The air seemed thicker, more alive; a palpable tension weighing it down. She glanced back at the sleeping men, wondering for the first time if what approached might be her salvation.
Someone stepped from the cover of the trees into the faint light at the clearing’s farthest reach. A man; tall, broad in the shoulder, well-muscled beneath his rough smock and bearskin vest. He looked at her, a faint trace of amusement in his features. He took a step closer, raising a finger to his lips, bidding her remain silent. Then, to her amazement, he winked.
S. P Oldham
Want more? Available on Amazon now!
Fabulous cover by Viergacht on SelfPubBookCovers.com/ Viergacht
