Friday Flash: The Hands of the Healer

Fain gingerly opened his eyes, he saw a pair of dark brown eyes and a brown face, framed by a tumble of black locks. His eyes wandered down to her lips.

I am dead or dying, one or the other, it makes no difference. His muscles ached and complained as he raised himself and kissed her soft lips. Her hands, rough and strong, pushed him back down.

“Rest now, court me later.” Her smile was teasing; he longed to even feel the brush of her lips against his, but fatigue claimed him. His dreams were filled with her.

“Shapeshifters can choke.” Her eyes watched intently as Fain drank the mixture of water and Healing Tree resin. “Drink slower. You are not going anywhere for a while.”

I don’t want to go anywhere, he thought; the sweet, syrupy liquid stuck to his throat and he started coughing. She patted him gently on the back and gave him a knowing look.

“I suppose you should know the name of your saviour. Alhena saw you wading through the snow all alone.” She cocked her head, dark eyes full of questions. “I’ll take you to her later, so you can thank her.”

“I will.” Fain smiled; he would have surely died if the dragon had not led members of the Ruby Scales to him. But wandering the woods and nearly starving to death was worth finding her.

“Alhena is not your typical dragon,” she chuckled, her hand pushing a stray hair off his face. “She’s a very mothering type. You’d do well to be groomed and well-fed before seeing her.”

Fain flattened some of his unruly hair, but she grabbed his hand and laid it down on the bed. She sat next to him and began combing his hair with her slender fingers. Her mouth was agonizingly close as she spoke, “She will nag the warriors to no end if you don’t seem well cared for.”

“I am well cared for! I’ve never felt better in my life.”

“You are still weak, yet you’ve never felt better?” Her nose nuzzled against his neck. “I wonder why that is.”

Fain felt his face flush red. He tried to change his colour back, but his emotions were in a tangle.

“I am Nuria of the Ruby Scales. My mother is Kartane of the lands beyond the Stormy Sea. My father flew with the dragons and came back with my mother.”

“I am Fain of the Leather Wings. Duro is my father, Taly my mother. Her mother—”

“I know. Veetra flew with the dragons.” Her hand touched his cheek lightly, turning his head to face hers. Red scales adorned the curves of her cheek bones. Fain drew back his hair, revealing black scales running down the nape of his neck. “We both have dragon seducers in our family.”  

He ran the tips of his fingers along the smooth scales on her cheek. They felt warm to the touch, warmer than her soft skin. They seemed to radiate the fire of the dragons. Nuria’s fingers caressed the black scales that adorned his neck. Her hand cupped the back of his head, drawing him closer. He froze for a moment, but her lips upon his quickly melted away any fear that resided in his mind.

The story continues: Alhena

Creatures of Verannia: Meet Cricri - and her tails

Her thoughts were interrupted by snoring; she had found who she sought. Puppy or Cricri as she preferred, was resting under a Healing Tree when Siri finally came. Cricri yawned and stretched her furry body before rising to her legs and padding over to the fellow hunter. Her appearance was canine except for the colouring: her underside was white as snow and her back blue as a lake, with darker stripes running over her ribs. She greeted Siri with a look only puppies and small girls mastered.

Cricri is a wurmtail hound – a canine creature with two snakes for tails, originally born out of a magical mishap. The legend goes that a young wizard wanted a unique pet and tried to dye his dog blue with a simple spell. Something went wrong and instead he found himself the proud owner of something even more unique: a snake-tailed talking blue dog. The first wurmtail hound was born.

Since then the hounds have bred stubbornly in the woods of Verannia, despite the obstacles. Reproduction has never been easy for wurmtail hounds, since each individual houses three personalities in one body. On top of that the personalities of the tails are often completely opposite: atheist-true believer, social butterfly-hermit, chaste-lecherous etc. Cricri’s tails Pink and Blue are a bimbo-scholar pair:

“I didn’t hear anything,” Siri searched her memories for something she might have heard, but found nothing worth notice.

“You're human,” Blue noted. “That's near deaf.”

“I thought snakes were near deaf,” Pink interrupted.

“Just because we don't have outer ears doesn't mean we can't hear, Pinkie.” Blue rolled her eyes, and gave Pink a sidelong glance of embarrassment.

“How could I know that!” She protested. “We're a woodland creature, not a biology student.”

“Well how then can I hear you ask about most obvious things, and question, and question and question my answers until I'm insane!” Blue hissed with fury.

Pink answered by sticking her pink, forked tongue at her.

---

“Technically, I've got three persons in one body,” Cricri said and glanced over her shoulder at Pink and Blue, “though it feels like I'm mothering two morons.”

“Oi!” Blue snapped.

“Huh?” Pink lifted her head from a patch of ice. “Sorry, but what did she say? I was busy admiring me eyelashes.”

“We don't have eyelashes.” Blue hung her head in chagrin, then added: “We don't even have eyelids.”

“Stop that!” Cricri bellowed, before giving chase to her tails.

So it is not very difficult to understand why wurmtail hounds usually prefer a solitary life. Every spring they gather to the annual Wurmtail Hound Courtship Gathering, an event the Elder Hounds have created to ensure the survival of the species. After two weeks of pairing up, the hounds sigh in relief and return to their solitary lives.

Wurmtail hounds never consent to become pets, even though they may sometimes outsource hunting to a Foodmaster in return for their services. Cricri’s Foodmaster Siri provides her with leftovers and in return the hound protects Siri from possible threats and warns if either of her uncles is searching for her. Though Cricri is no one’s pet, she has become attached to her young Foodmaster.

She was distracted by a cold, wet touch on her shoulder, followed by a warm body curling against her back.

“Stop eavesdropping and go to sleep,” Cricri muttered. “You know you can’t look tired if you’ve been sleeping.”

Why I write fantasy

Morning was leaving and the world began to wake from its grogginess. Birds crisscrossed the sky, their chirruping interrupted by a passing dragon. The sun’s rays danced upon its black skin, reflecting in a rainbow of colours.

Above is an excerpt from the story I am currently focusing on. Like most of the stories I’m writing, this one contains magical beings; dragons, shapeshifters, monsters and some of my own creations. The presence of creatures and magic is what sets fantasy apart from other genres. That is one reason why I chose fantasy.

When I was little I listened to my mother read stories with talking foxes and rabbits with clothes, who lead very human lives. I loved animals, in the stories and in the real world; henceforth I wanted to write stories with human-like animals and creatures. There are few genres which allow me non-human characters: horror, children’s stories and fantasy. I haven’t entirely forsaken the other two, but the themes of my stories often require the character to go through hardships and emotional turmoil that has no place in a small child’s story. As for horror, I’m too squeamish.

The other aspect of fantasy that drew me in is magic, the power to shape reality. Magic allows dragons to breathe fire, shapeshifters to alter their appearance and some humans to wield the elements to a degree. It also allows for magical mishaps such as pink, polka dot shrew with butterfly antennas. It also raises the obstacles the protagonist must face; demons, evil gods, monsters and other dark things that exist only in the depths of our nightmares. As a writer I long to wield these elements into something awe inspiring, opening the reader a door into a new world.

Which brings me to the third reason, the worlds. I have much more freedom in creating the stage of my story. With the aid of magic the inhabitants can build huge castles and other constructions that defy the laws of nature. There can be places where to reach to the sprits with a word, and old dark halls guarded by creatures whose stare or bite will turn the unwary traveller to stone. The imagination is the only limit.

As well as writing, I draw. I love drawing strange and exotic places such as ice causeways, fiery pits and dark tunnels infested with demons. I also love describing those places, never mind a picture says more than a thousand words, I can instil the feel of the place in the readers mind, describe the deep, raspy breaths of a monster lurking in the shadow and how the cold seeps beneath the skin. Or the sun’s rays, warmly caressing the face of the character standing in the picture, his elation at the prospect of returning home.

I feel like home when I enter a bookstore or library, surrounded by friends. When I pick up a book I sometimes hold my breath as I read the back of the book to learn some of its secrets and decide whether to carry it home with me. When I read, I travel to another realm of reality and learn of human nature.

Emilia Quill