The Dragon Hunt

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In the half light darkly the horse twisted and called into the night and the fireflame some shriek unknown to him or to any other, but perhaps at the heart of that call raged the feeling of torment and horror combined and no one needed to understand it to know it for what it was. Brack stood watching in the doorframe and smelling all about the rising smoke and seeing the men running in to grab those reins and finally one getting them and bringing the horse down and speaking to him and pulling him from the burning yard.

All about the smoke and darkness as one and a living thing within it, the fire and embers like tendrils of some evil tearing the fabric of the world and unleashing that hell upon the living.

His expression in that flickering light that cast all as orange and dusk did not change. He stood stark and silent and his chest just moving as he breathed. Heavy about him the leather and the breastplate of darkened steel and his hand raised above his shoulder and resting on the hilt of a blade he did not draw. Feeling the power within it just from that touch and knowing all else was futile and past. He wore beneath the plate his fur which had been for warmth in this blistering winter and was now too much as the world turned to fire, but he did not remove it or wipe the sweat glistening on his face. For this was nothing to pay.

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