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As he awoke suddenly, he glanced around his room. The candle was extinguished but let of a slightsmoke which was only visible by the faint moon light that echoed in. His eyes groped into thedarkness for the distinguishable features of his room to add assurance to his now awakened state.After familiarising himself, once again, with the room in which he had slept in the previous night hesolemnly dragged himself into a sitting position. Looking down at his palms he noticed they where

clammy and wet; a bead of sweat rolled down his wrist and followed the curvature of the contoursin his palm. He watched it as it caught the moonlight, trickled down his hand and dropped onto thebed. With this he abruptly wiped his hands on the sleepwear he had on and stood up, stretchingevery muscle in his body. He then stumbled in the darkness and flung open the window. The winterair came rushing in, biting at his neck as it swirled past him and filled the room. As he took a breath,it was like deaths icy grip was throt tling him, his throat grew so cold he almost choked. He widenedhis eyes slightly and let out a silent yawn. With the room now slightly better lit, he could make outits features. Its walls were bare, other than a reflecting glass hanging by the door, and they where apale beige colour; The floor was planked, unevenly in a very dark wood; There was a dresser to theright, old and damaged but on its shelf there were a many old, dusty tomes and scriptures. Hewalked over to the reflecting glass, his footsteps making each floor board creak in succession.

While he stared back at himself, he began thinking. He was quite a lean man, with jet black hair thatspiked downwards at his shoulders. He had big, dark eyes which seemed to always hold a saddenedgaze; this complimented his thin lips, which had not beheld a smile in too long for him to remember.He had slight stubble around his chin, but made sure it never grew past that. He was also fairly tall,which only exaggerated his lack of muscle and thinness. After thinking about all this he let out aneffortless sigh and crawled back onto his bed. He did not sleep the rest of the night.

It was not long before sun had risen, and given enough light into the room for him to read; so withthis, he had begun to read one of the many dusty tomes fore-mentioned. The title had worn off boththe cover and the spine, and all that was eligible was the name Eleanor lightly written onto thebottom left of the back cover. The writing was slender and delicate; the lead had barely made an

indentation of the now fragile leather cover. He was reading the tenth page now; each page wasnumbered by the same handwriting at the start of its writing. Each page contained a sketch of ananimal and a poem about them. When he turned to the eleventh page, having passed deer, rabbit,dog, cat and nu merous other animals he came to an extraordinary one. Draigone was sketchedacross the top in fairly jagged handwriting, not resembling the previous in any sense. Someone laterhad bracketed Dragon underneath in preparation for persons such as himself, he presumed. Thispage did not contain any beautiful sketch of the creature in question, nor did it contain a longflowing poem like the rest, This page just contained the words Hell fire rains, harder than steel,death await us all. With slight shock a s he read this, he threw the book to the floor.

As the book hit the floor, it threw up a thick cloud of dust. He lazily swayed his foot through thecloud, shortly dispersing it. He sat for a moment in silence. Knowing the loud slam of the book wouldnot go unnoticed, he quickly grabbed at it. The leathery cover of the book was almost identical to hispalm, he sat running his hand over the cover. The feel of something remotely like another personwas somewhat soothing. As he sat, dazed, tracing his finger through the maze of indentations andwrinkles in the cover he heard a creak. His back went into a spasm and became rigid. He quicklyfumbled the book back onto the shelf and sat neatly, like a child about to be scorned for wrong-doing. The creaking grew louder and sounded nearer. His eyes darted around the room, searchingfor his possessions. To the right of him on the floor were his boots. The boots were poorly made;their stitching was loose and irregular. The leather of the boots was also worn, like the cover of thebook, and its lacing was broken. They were also covered in mud; the musty smell of them hadseeped into the air surrounding them. Over to his right, on the dresser, his cloak was strewn. Hiscloak, on the other hand, was an impressive make. He was unsure of its exact origin but he knew itwas elvish. The stitching on this was almost perfect and in a goldweave. The material itself he did notknow, but from all the years he has owned it, it had not deteriorated in quality. Its shade was a dark

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green and despite its weight, it covered him completely when needed. Next to this were: His beltand hilt, both of fairly poor make; his coin sack, emptier than he wished it was; and on the floor washis knapsack. The knapsack was empty.

By the time he had quickly glanced at all of these things, a loud thud came on the door.

Opener up you! The voice was hoarse yet high in pitch. It belonged to Ruth-Claire. She was astout woman, fairly wide in build and with long and stringy hair. He did not know a lot else abouther, other than that she was not very fond of him.

I said open er up! Dunt make me knock this bloomin door down He was quickly startled by theidea of her smashing through the weak door and jumped up.

Uh Just a second! He stuttered as he r ushed around the room. The floorboards continuouslycreaked and moaned under the weight as he gathered his things. He hesitated for a moment overthe book shelf. Slipping the leathery book into his knapsack, and within seconds, he opened thedoor.

Sorry, I-His sentence was cut short by thick, sweaty fingers gripping his neck.Sorry? Bloody sorry! Ill ave your guts for garters I will! Ruth -Claire screamed as she threw himback onto the bed. He tried to talk but Ruth-Claire straddled him, throttling him. In an act of survivalhe wriggled his feet until they were under her and then with all his strength pushed. After a shortstrain, which felt like hours, Ruth-Claire was thrown from on top of him and landed on the floor. Acloud of dust, similar to that of the book, shot up into the air and almost concealed her completely.A heavy coughing and retching echoed through the small room. He sat back, massaging his reddenedthroat and gasping for air.

Wh -what the hell was that for?! He shouted in despair. He p eered down at the mess on the floor,coughing and heaving.

Two bloody weeks you been up here! Ruth -Claire shouted in between her dry heaving. If I hadntheard no banging I wouldve thought you dead!

Two weeks? I have only been here a night! He said in defiance of her madness.

Two weeks I swear by the lord! You owe me three -ten in gold for that!

I dont have three -ten! He said, glancing down at his coin sack and then back at her who was nowstanding. She held her sweaty palm out expectantly.

Three. Ten. She said slowly clutching at her breast; her breath still quick and irregular.

Before he even had a chance to talk, her grubby hands quickly snatched up his coin sack and pouredit out onto the floor. His eyes widened in shock with the clatter of coins but then looked back up tofocus on her finger which counted each one.

Two threefour She counted slowly. His face grew red and a bead of sweat dripped down hisforehead. I count five! She shouted firmly. Ill be taking this for payment. S he tucked the sackinto her stained apron and abruptly left the room, only turning back to say Out by noon, or else.

He fell back with a sigh of relief as she left; wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, hegrabbed his things and left the room. The hallway was equally as bare as the room. The walls werebare; the paper on them was peeling and looked as if they had been there for years. Much like theroom, the floor-boards were creaky and uneven and the air was musty. He attempted to creep downthe hall to the stairs that lay at its end. Every other floor-board let out a startling groan whichechoed into general chatter and movement from the doors he passed. As he reached the top of the

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stairs, he looked down. There he saw the door. A portal of light and fresh air; freedom. With onemove he swept his cloak over himself and darted down the stairs and out into the light.

The light of freedom, he realised, was that of the centre of Willowbridge. Willowbridge was one ofthe smaller towns in the province, yet due to its seemingly unimpressive dock it had slight traffic. Hedidnt know much about Willowbridge, and it had a fairly small population. It was also rumouredthat Willowbridge got its name from the Great Seventh War. How Lord Winston was surrounded byShadow Knights by the Old Clock Tower, just south from where he is now, with his claymore in onehand; he pushed over a Willow Tree with the other and escaped over the Mill River. He almostlaughed to himself at disbelief when he heard this myth.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and focus in the change of light.

. . .

I noticed Lucy was asleep, shards of auburn hair concealing her peaceful face. I smiled and closed thebook. Its cover was tattered but covered in paper; this was one of the forbidden texts. Who knowswhy it was forbidden, it was a nice enough book, although I have never reached the end. The

thought of this made me frown slightly. I noticed Lucy fidget and pulled the coat up over her, restingits collar on her shoulder. The winter air was harsh, it has been said that it killed millions every year(Although the news reports nowadays were hardly believably). I let out a steamy breath; a shivershot down my spine.