Oh how lovely to once again feel the rush of the wind against my face.  There are the night sounds too, of course, but this of the rising air is intoxicating to me.  I had forgotten how much I loved to fly.

But I know that I do not fly, I but stand at the edge and hear and feel, though not with my true self.  This self I have chosen sighs of its own accord it almost seems.

I open my eyes in the Captain’s quarters.  I am only standing on his balcony hung on the side of the tallest tower of the capital city, not flying at all. I have hid myself in that damned cave too long.

A smile twists my lips as I turn and walk inside.  I confess, I’ve left the captain’s quarters a mess.  The dead whore in his bed will be particularly difficult for Allston Soulaucy to explain.  But it is all arranged. The madam will remember that the Captain of the City guard gazed at her with favor and that his man, me of course, paid the blood price for her.  Even in the capital city of the most righteous of kings the most disgusting perversions can be had for the right price.

There is a knock at the door.  “My Lord?  Do you have need of me?” calls a voice, quavering slightly.  I think the captain is not so kind to subordinates as he might be.  One wonders if they will miss him at all.  Likely they will easily believe the worst of a man they despised already.

“I don’t need you,” I croak, “Go away.” I catch my reflection in one of the captain’s many mirrors.  I am covered in the whore’s blood, literally from head to foot.  What if the man suspects?  What if he comes in?  I tense to deal with him like I did the woman, but relax as I hear retreating footfalls.

I must do something about all this blood.  There is a basin and water.  I wipe the gore from my body, the worst of it, I take more care with my face and hands.  I will need to presentable when I leave with the marvelous suit of armor I found treasured in an armoire.  Fit for the commander of the king’s personal guard unless I miss my guess.

Paladin are strange folk.  It may well be that it would please the captain to know that he will never face the disgrace of the allegations.  He will answer no more questions ever again.

More likely he would be tormented that he will never clear his name, not from where he lies in the belly of the wurm at the heart of Ashimura, not where his bright armor will lie in my horde when his flesh and bone have nourished me and only his armor is left intact to be eliminated.

I close my eyes to remember the delicious surprise.  “Enough of your games, Giard.  I will speak to the Wurm at the Heart of Ashimura myself.” He had said and when I begged him for patience he had run me through.  The cold steel of his sword had caused me such delicious agony.  His boot had shoved this poor shell into the soup of my resting place making the transition of my consciousness simultaneous.

I’m sure he thought he’d killed weak Giard.  Oh the delicious irony.  I saw the fear before I slipped beneath the water.  These poor eyes witnessed his shock and horror as the massive bulk of my true body rose from the depths and I beheld him through two sets of eyes, one above and one below, when a blast of fire from my maw crisped him to tasty deliciousness.

I don’t know where the idea that dragons enjoy virgins ever got started, I’ve always preferred my prey with more meat and wrapped in shiny metal.  Oh I had my fill when I ate two whole armies (Not really, I had my choice of the shiniest bits and left the rest to the crows,) but I imagine that’s how the legend went until this new king, calling himself the dragon, built his citadel upon the great volcanic rock that I crawled beneath to digest my meal.

I look at the whore, torn and bloody, on the bed.  A sad thing really, she looks more lovely dead than alive.  There is some recovery of innocence in death, I think.  When I choked the life out of her she did not fight as hard as her young body should have.  There was a sad resignation that made the killing so much less enjoyable than the arrogant captain.  Ah well, she is mere window dressing.

None will mourn you Allston Soulaucy, and when they hunt for you, they will not find you.

The girl hammered a stake into the ground with practiced grace and quickly tied her goat to it.  With that task complete she marched directly toward Lugh where he sat beneath the tree. 

Lugh felt certain she hadn’t seen him, but perhaps the shade of the tree was as inviting to her as it had been to him, she marched straight as an arrow toward him.  He began to wonder how he should greet her as it was quite certain that she was heading right toward his resting place.

Suddenly there was a rumbling.  The tree shook and he was so surprised that he let out a yelp of alarm.  Almost as soon as it began the quaking stopped.  When he looked back it was clear that the girl had heard his outburst and was now aware of him in the shadows.

“Who is that sitting on my giant?” yelled the girl.

Lugh got to his feet and reached up to pull down his pack and then down to gather his things.  “So this tree is yours is it?” offered Lugh.

The girl snorted, “Not the tree, its the Giant ‘neath that I’m hunting.  You’re not from around here then are you?”

“Pardon me, my dear little giant hunter, I had no idea.”

“Don’t believe I’m hunting a giant or that a woman can, huh?  That just shows what you know.  You’ve been sitting on one and I bet you didn’t know that either.  So who are you?”

“People call me many things,” began Lugh.

The girl laughed, “I’ll just bet.”

“You know, I think I’d sooner believe that you are hunting giants than that you are a woman.” Lugh answered the girl in her own tone as he stepped out of the shade.

“Blind too, good thing I ran into you or you wouldn’t stand a chance out here, especially with a giant fix’n to wake.”  The girl shrugged a bed roll off her shoulder and tossed it on the ground.  Then with a twitch and grab she took hold of her shift and dragged it off over her head, dumping it in a pile with her bedroll.  “Better get away from that giant if you know what’s good for you.”

She was bare to the waist before Lugh realized what she was doing.  He couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t exagerating her claim to womanhood.  She turned as if he wasn’t even there and untied what he’d taken for a bed roll.  She was sun brown on her torso and her legs and Lugh noticed what the shift had hidden, that she had the generous curves of a lovely woman. With a flip of the wrist she unrolled a small mat that held in it what looked like a threshing tool.  She grabbed it with practice hands and turned back to face Lugh.

“I’ve been called Fionn,” He said.

“Uh, huh”  said the young woman nonchalantly despite standing naked except for a beaded loincloth and her split staff. “Well, I’ve been called Oatey because of my hair.  Only difference is that it’s my name.  What’s your real name?” 

Lugh’s jaw probably dropped at her impertinence but with her dark brown eyes staring straight into his he answered though it wasn’t his intent, “It’s Lugh.”

“Lugh.” She seemed to roll the name around on her tongue to get the taste of it.”  Well, stand back, Lugh.  I’ve got work to do.”  And with out another word she began to dance, whirling the staff around her and smashing it rhythmically against the ground.  Lugh was forced to step back as the wooden links whirled very near his head hissing through the air as it passed him.

He stepped away to watch her dance.  The sun and her effort had put the sheen of sweat on her lithe form, she glowed, Lugh thought to himself.  He could not tear his eyes away from her and was totally unprepared for the earthquake that rocked him off his feet. Stunned, he looked over at the little hill and saw the old oak tree bending at an odd angle.  He looked back over at the girl, she was crouching and looking at the hill.  The quaking stopped and the girl stood up and gazed at the hill appraising. 

She began her dance again.  Faster and faster she stepped, her threshing staff raised a thin curtain of dust around her as she spun and leaped and thrashed the ground.  At the first sound of rumbling the girl smashed the staff once more against the ground and crouched, looking at the hill.

Lugh turned and looked at the hill,  the ground shaking was coming from the hill itself.  The tree bent even further, tipping toward them so that the lower branches nearest them already rested on the ground.  Lugh saw that parts of the hill were actually rising.

“Lugh!”  The girl shouted, “It’s time to go, now”

Lugh turned back and saw that the girl had grabbed up her things and, with only a glance to make sure he had heard, she ran back toward the goat that she’d staked out at the edge of the meadow.