Golden motes of dust wheeled and floated dizzyingly in the hot summer air. It was nearing sunset but the heat of the day lingered on still, would not relent until the hours just before sunrise. Bitter relief for the many who would toss and turn in their beds that night. One of Summer’s many cruel games. face streaked with pale rivulets where exhausted tears had only recently coursed, young Annean; daughter of Haradin reflected on the events of the day.
The smithy across the way from their home had but recently taken on a new apprentice. A bright lad, for the blacksmith could not abide stupidity, but one who had often proven himself to be easily distracted by the sight of a pretty face passing by. Up until today however it had never been much call for concern
A thinly beaten blade red-hot from the fires dropped on the cobblestone floor and misshapen beyond repair. The smithy cat with her singed tail when a wayward pair of tongs were brandished jauntily to capture the admiration of a particularly bonny young lass. A feat which bought much merriment and teasing jest from more than one quarter.
On this luckless day however the return of the town’s brightest star had caused a great stir. Mixed feelings drifted through town as the Rosque Caravan rolled laboriously through the town’s gates. As the last carriage cleared the two heavily barred doors, several of the town’s guardsmen heaved the great doors closed. From the reared carriage a lithe form jumped down, the liquid movements of her slender body attracting more than one admiring eye.
Hair as dark as a moonless sky, glints as of starlight catching in the unfettered curls that tumbled about her shoulders. A light gown of midnight blue, pale white embroidery accented about her neckline and hem, clung to her smooth, gently curved frame. Though it was clear to see the rough pants of a good peasant would have been the garb she would have preferred.
A gentle sigh rippled through the gathered townsfolk like a warm breeze as the girl-woman stepped lightly through the gathered crowd into the open, waiting arms of her father. Tears of joy and gladness streamed down his cheeks as Haradin held his eldest child close. Amelie, Annean’s twin sister had come home.
It was her lissom frame that had caught the Blacksmith’s young apprentice’s eye. The sight of her wandering the gardens of her home as she reacquainted herself with favourite childhood haunts making the blood that coursed through his very being boil and burn with desire.
In his haste to be free of his chores he was careless in his work. Let a smouldering coal fall amongst the kindling unmarked. Failed to smell or see the curling black folds of smoke until they had drawn his Master into the smithy with a bellow of rage. By then it was too late. Fire had already taken its hold. The last he saw of fair Amelie before his senses take control was a face set in grim determination as the young woman raced to sound the town’s bell. Fire could spread quickly amongst the houses of Waituril, especially in the summer’s oppressive heat
Already Haradin, accompanied by the household’s servants, the weary travellers taking lodgings within his home and his two remaining children; Annean and his youngest Harnen; had already come to lend their aide. Falling into the well rehearsed water chains with the other neighbours that had already begun to arrive at great haste.
The Blacksmith, his face dark with grief and rage stalked about the enclosure he used to shoe horses, bellowing and raging as though he were a wounded bull. The sight set the knees of the most stalwart a-trembling for the brawny straw-haired man was renowned for his rages and the strength that rippled through his muscles and sinews. It was said that, once he had halted a stallion in its terrified rage when it had panicked at the sight of a child’s pet monkey. The stallion was said to be one of the famed steed’s of the royal guard itself. Strong, swift, volatile.
His eyes red with grief he frantically searched the growing crowd of water bearers for his poor apprentice. Many a soul present was grateful not to be the source of the great man’s ire. Still others prayed silently for the lad’s safety once the danger had passed. Those few who battled the fire at its source, drowning flames and sparks in water and wetting what wood the fire had not yet touched could not help but marvel as the boy fought valiantly by their side. Annean, sweat dripping from her body watching him with ever-increasing admiration, was the first to notice when the hungry flames licked at his dry clothing, catching hold as though they were but kindling. Her voice rang out a hoarse warning as she barrelled into him.
The force of her body connecting with his tumbled him out the open doorway. Those standing at the doorway expounding bitter oaths as they barely dodge the hungered flames eating through the lad’s clothes as a starved beast would take to any proffered nourishment.
Buckets of water were thrown over the convulsing body, then men bent, lifting him upon the town’s healer’s stretcher before bearing him swiftly away, steam rising eerily from he strangely rigid body. Shaking her head to clear her senses, Annean remembered the duty at hand and plunged back into the smoke-choked den of the warring fire.. Ready to meet it in battle once more.
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Wiping her face upon the blackened sleeves of her shirt, Annean tried to clear away as much of the grime as she could. As her thoughts drifted from the task at hand tears of relief began to run anew down her cheeks. The battle had been a long one, and hard fought. The fire a fierce and bitter enemy. Not long after the apprentice had been borne away, missing the Blacksmith’s searching gaze, the fire had leapt from its confines. The malevolent Beast still hungering for more, sweeter flesh as it tore through the Blacksmith’s home standing next door. The rugged man’s grief was uncontrollable as he fled down the street shedding tears of ill-concealed anger.
Annean fought on stoically though the acrid smoke burned her lungs and the strain on her body burned her muscles as though the fire raged within her own body, threatening to consume. Through blurred eyes she beat at sparks with damp Hessian bags. With blistered hands she threw buckets laden with water over cruel flames licking rich tapestries as though trying to torment her. Her voice lay in ruins, made hoarse by heat and smoke. Feverishly shouted warnings at her companions.
They lost but two men that day; servants of her family the pair of them. One a newly appointed gardener, fresh from an extensive apprenticeship in the city. The other, their faithful butler. Her father’s man through and through. And their longest serving man to date, Annean could not recall a time when he had not been there. Even now she knew her whole household had been plunged into mourning. Her father’s grief especially palpable.
This evening, however her path led her to the healer’s house. She finding herself desperate for news of the boy’s wellbeing. To find out what went so horribly wrong. It turned out she was not the only one with such plans. Most noticeable, she observed, was the Mayor himself. Soot staining his finery. Annean could not recall seeing him at the fire. Her lip wrinkled in distaste. Weariness did not tug at the lines of his face as it did the others, dazed shock was not glittering dully in his eyes. As she strode passed him she muttered hoarsely,
”Fake.”
Pallid eyes flashed threateningly in her direction as his face swivelled to face her. Tired, steadfast, she returned his gaze resolutely. He wavered first, flustered and barking commands at his men to fall out. Battle-tired themselves from battling the fire and embarrassed to be seen ‘protecting’ an abject coward the retreated swiftly. Eager for a bath, a meal and sleep. Eager to escape. The Mayor threw one last word at the Healer’s daughter.
”I shall return on the morrow, tell your mother I -will- see the boy. ’til then, let none interfere.”
This last that he issued with a poisonous glance aimed carefully in Annean’s direction. Feigning not to notice she turned her back on him. Leaving him to seethe in his fetid pit of rage. As he departed the door swung closed viciously, panes of glass rattling in their frames.
”That soot was rubbed on from the filth of his own grill I’ll warrant.” Merrow, the Healer’s daughter remarked cheerfully, though Annean sensed the brittleness in the girl’s voice. Noted the girl’s soft downy fur bristling. With a smile for her friend that didn’t quite meet her eyes, Merrow spoke in a softer voice,
”And you, I’ll warrant are here about the lad whose life you saved, eh”
Annean nodded wearily, in no mood to try and dissuade her friend from believing what she would. Tiredness gripped her then and, like a wilting flower, she slid gracelessly to the floor. The last thing she remembered being the sound of Merrow’s voice remonstrating her gently.
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Softly spoken voices cut like a knife through the fog of sleep. Cutting swathes of consciousness through the darkness. Gummed eyes fought to open, letting in flood of morning light that swiftly washed away the last remaining vestiges of sleep. Blinking blearily at the harsh invasion of light and groaned. Laughter, not unlike her own rippled through the hushed voices that had roused her.. There was a brief swish, a light gust of air being buffeted and then blessed dimness.
As her eyes adjusted to the light she took in her surroundings. She was faintly surprised to discover herself in the good Healer’s wards. From the angle at which she viewed the room she could only surmise that she had somehow become a patient instead of the intended visitor. As her eyes drank
and now that I have my Sammeh ^_^).
) and ) because by the time I do finish the housework I’ll procrastinate again about doing anything else. At least this will only take a few minutes of my time. And I can dig into the housework feeling good about myself for getting this done 
