Part 1
The Writer
Prologue
W ind from his wings blasted back the needles of nearby pine trees when he landed in the clearing. The hunters’ cries for justice faded into the night, bringing the assurance that he’d lost them. His sigh of relief burst from his nostrils in flames the color of the setting sun.
He surveyed his surroundings, trying to figure out exactly where he’d landed. They’d never chased him that far into the forest before. Each tree felt unfamiliar as he backed into them, hoping for shelter from the open air. Their branches bent from the impact of his entrance and a flash of embarrassment rumbled with a purr in his throat.
For the first time in several hours, his thoughts wandered. The hunters had never been so persistent and angry before. What had he done to deserve the arrows that whizzed past his wings?
Sunlight peeked through the canopy of trees.
Morning, he mused, closing his eyes and resigning himself to the change once again.
Magic tingled in his talons and circled up his legs, wrapping around each scale and scattering into the air in a puff smoke the shade of lavenders. The candy-like smoke sweetened his taste buds before the tingling sensations enveloped his whole body and turned the world black for an instant.
Her voice came to him again . . . beckoning in an alluring tone. Whispering his name. She seemed dangerous. Tantalizing. Yet, he found himself drawn to her in spite of himself. She sounded beautiful. He’d never seen the lady behind the voice, but her song comforted him through the change.
He opened his eyes again to a world vibrant with colors other than the silvery-red tint of the world he saw through the eyes of a dragon.
The vibrant leaves welcomed a fresh morning where he found himself lying in a heap of leaves and dirt. He often awoke this way. Blinking away the haze of sleepless rest, he surveyed the clearing, taken aback by its unfamiliarity. He sat up, muscles groaning and sore from the change from dragon to man.
“Gah,” he gasped, gripping a spot in the center of his spine and finally realizing how far he’d strayed from the palace.
The vast forest swallowed the world beyond its thick pine trees and aspens. Something seemed odd about these trees. They clumped together as if hiding something. His eyes scanned down the long line of pines, stretching as far as he could see. They formed a wall, too thick to see through to the other side, their branches only allowing tiny peeks into the world beyond it.
A few paces away, an ancient looking aspen had fallen, its thick trunk uprooted on his side of the forest and smashed between two of the pines. Limping past the soreness in his knees and brushing off branches, dirt, and leaves from his tunic, he approached it, using its trunk as a sort of crutch. Part of the aspen jutted into the air on the other side. He couldn’t see another way around climbing onto the tree and walking across it like a tightrope.
Shaking off his tense limbs, he hoisted himself onto the tree, pushing away pine needles away with a wince. Nothing looked too different on the other side.
He hopped onto the ground, instantly encompassed in the same magic that changed him into a dragon every night. When he opened his eyes again, his tunic and knickers had been replaced with strange clothing that hugged his body too tightly. The course fabric of his trousers felt foreign and uncomfortable. The sleek shirt felt smooth in contrast, but still foreign and strange.
He hadn’t seen magic outside of his own curse since it was cast.
Curiosity slid a grin across his face with the promise of adventure.
Chapter 1
“Scales itched his skin as they crawled quickly across the back of his hand. He was changing again.”
~ Ellie’s Story
W ords fell recklessly onto my notebook’s pages, bending and swaying against each other with every graceful stroke of my pen. I hungered for more, trying to hold myself back long enough for my hand to keep up with my imagination. Intoxicated by their spell, I watched each word appear, smearing beauty across the pages. Every piece of it enthralled me.
I couldn’t stop. I let myself be carried away by them . . . Until hands covered my face, blocking my vision of the words following my pen on paper. I flinched as Brock laughed behind me.
“Brock,” I scolded, my smile seeping through as I pushed him away with an elbow in the ribs. “Isn’t that getting a little old?”
“Never. You’re totally asking for it.”
Hugging my notebook across my chest and leering playfully at him, I leaned against the locker beside me. “How so?”
“You were so focused on that notebook.” He flung an apple from his backpack and chomped. “It’s my responsibility to drag you back into reality. I’m doing you a favor, Ellie.”
I nearly had to dodge the chewed-up apple peel launching from his lip and onto the floor.
Turning toward the crowd in search of Jennica, I shook my head. “You’ve done it since the fourth grade,” I retorted, pulling my bag higher onto my shoulder and shutting my locker.
“Like I said, you need rescuing,” he said, biting his apple again and running his fingers through his spikey, blonde hair.
I turned back to him, subconsciously describing his stance.
He leaned against the lockers beside me, emerald eyes scanning the crowd of teenagers. One leg crossed over the other and rested on the tip of his Converse shoe.
My focus vaguely wandered to the words “Taylor’s Grove Archery Team” strewn across the chest in chipped letters and I smiled to myself. He’d worn that nearly every day since freshman year when he joined the school’s team. Small holes dotted the hoodie from the bleach his sister spilled on it. Brock swore it gave him some sort of superpower during archery tournaments.
“Well, I guess I should thank you for saving the damsel in distress from her stupor of thought. Keep in mind though that you’re interrupting a writer at work and she could write you into the story. That could end very badly for you.”
“You love me too much to do that,” he scoffed, glancing warily at me.
“Try me,” I played, knowing he was right. I’d never really have the heart to kill off a character to spite him.
The bell rang, demanding my full attention with its persistent screeching. Shutting my locker, I tucked away the handcrafted notebook Dad made for me into my purple shoulder bag.
“Where’s Jennica?” Brock moaned, exasperated. “My mom’s making lasagna tonight and I’m starving.”
I turned back to the crowd. “Knowing Jennica, she’s probably with Jason.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Typical. Let’s go.”
He dragged me into the crowd, towing me behind him in the flow of teenagers heading for the buses outside. I hated when he forced his way into crowds like that, especially when he dragged me behind him. I cringed away from the shoulders and elbows shoving past me, trying to hold onto Brock’s hand for my life. The world felt smaller cramped between hot, sweaty bodies and I couldn’t help but cringe and try hiding from it. I closed my eyes, trying to distract myself until I could breathe properly. The only way I knew how to do that was letting words weave into my thoughts. Then, I could relax a bit more.
Immediately, I missed my writing solitude. My fingertips tingled with words yearning to be released onto paper.