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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | A vignette of Oranna's early childhood of what Oranna used to daydream about becoming. 1100 words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Prompt Responses
The black dragon roared an inferno of fire, the flames twisting reds and oranges – no! Wait! – blues and whites, hotter than any ordinary fire. It spouted across the field like a storm of fire. There, Oranna thrust out her shield, catching the flames perfectly, as they rushed all around her fluttering her cloak out – which did not catch fire because it was magical — dramatically.
She leapt through the air doing a double flip cartwheel, until she was within sword range of the mighty beast.
"Oh, help me, Oranna! Only you can save me!" Her brothers cried out in unison from where they were tied up in a lot of rope with a lot of knots at the dragon's feet, having been taken prisoner when they had left Oranna behind to go try to slay the dragon on their own because they thought she was too little to help.
"I'll save you!" Oranna shouted, striking a mighty blow with her sword on the big moss covered rock dragon. She did not wince at the impact of the sword because she hit it too hard, and did, in fact, yell something very heroic as she plunged her sword into the dragon's heart. It died instantly. And exploded into flames. But not too big of an explosion. It was like magic. Leaving behind a set of perfect dragon bones that Oranna would forge into a new sword later.
"Oh, thank you brave sister, we were so wrong to leave you behind, only you could slay the great – "
"What are you doing?" Coperun's voice cut through the glade, the scorn in his voice palpable. Oranna whirled, feeling her face go hot with embarrassment. She hid her wooden practice sword behind her for a moment, before changing her mind, holding it out in front of her and tilting her chin up.
"Obviously I was practicing the sword," she said confidently, ignoring her burning cheeks. Her brother scoffed and approached, his comparatively long legs eating up the distance between them.
"You're still holding it wrong," he sneered. He flicked a finger on her knuckles, and she gasped in pain, dropping her sword. "It's not a club. You hold it with purpose, like this." He snatched it off the ground, showing the expert grip he held it in, and swished it through the air, coming uncomfortably close to Oranna's face. "If you think for even one second you'd be anything but a nuisance in a fight, you're delusional," he paused and forced his voice into a falsetto, "Oh, brave sister!"
Oranna glared at her brother as her hands clenched into fists. "You don't know! I could be really good. Mother says that women make better warriors! I'm going to be a lot better than you, just you watch!" She stomped away for several steps before turning back and holding out a hand, her best forbidding expression she could force her six-year-old face to make. "Give me back my sword."
Coperun's eyes narrowed, and he smirked, holding the sword above his head. "Oh really? I thought you were going to be better than me." His voice dripped with sarcasm, and underneath it, some small amount of true malice. "You want it, come get it."
She stared up at the sword. It was a pointless endeavor to try. She already knew how this would end. Coperun was nearly forty, fully grown, and Oranna was still short even for her age. There was no way for her to succeed.
Naturally, this meant she stepped back a few paces, then ran at him full tilt, yelling something about Stormbreakers never give up, never surrender, and leapt at his body with all her strength.
She bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. Coperun laughed, an unkind sound, and nudged her with his boot.
"Pathetic," he said, while Oranna tried to catch her breath. The fall had only hurt a little, really, and those weren't tears in her eyes because warriors didn't cry, but she hadn't expected to land on so many rocks so they were just extra watery in case she got something in her eyes.
"What's pathetic is watching a grown dwarf taunt a child," a new voice said, his tone cold and hard. Sylvano strode into the glen, his gray eyes flinty as he regarded his younger brother. He glanced at Oranna. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, looking down at the ground, her face flushing again. Sylvano raised one dark brown brow at Coperun, who made a tch sound, tossing the sword on the ground. He held his hands up in a mocking surrender, before walking away, looking back only once to glare with barely concealed dislike at Oranna behind their eldest brother's back.
"You know you shouldn't let him goad you like that," Sylvano chided, bending down to pick up the sword. He knelt near Oranna, holding it out to her as he clasped her shoulder. "Part of what makes mother so incredible is that she never lets the other fighter push her into making a mistake. 'Control the rage, accept the pain, follow the training.'" He smiled at Oranna. "You'll get there, soon enough."
"But I want to do it now," Oranna said, not quite in a whine, taking the sword he offered. "I'm ready. I know I am."
Sylvano's smile grew a little. "I'll talk to Mother. Maybe we can get you started on some early basics training. But, I'll only speak to her if you can promise me you won't let Coperun antagonize you into making a mistake like that foolhardy rush. Deal?" She nodded vigorously.
"Deal. Absolutely." Her eyes shone brightly as she beamed at her brother. "I'm going to be the best warrior. Just wait and see."
"I know you will, Ora," he said, some shadow passing across his face before he covered it with an inhale as he stood. "Now. Let's get back, and see if maybe Mother will allow you to come with us on this circuit to the wendigos this year." He offered her his hand, which she took eagerly.
"You mean it?" She bounced in place as he nodded. They walked back to their cousin's home that they were staying at for the late fall months, Oranna nearly skipping with joy, thinking ahead of all the wonderful things she would soon get to see and do. She was going to show them all how useful she'd be, especially with her new super powered dragon bone sword that was also always on fire, but not a bad burning fire, a good one that one only ever burned bad people —