The sun was setting, the mountais were bathed in an orangy-pink colour. Cromthal was sitting on a rock staring at the land, his land, his home. He didn' hear the feet running up behind him.
"Cromthal! Is it true? You are going away?" Cromthal looked up to see Brona, his master's daughter. Why does she have to be here now? Can she not see I want to be alone? he thought to himself.
"Yes, Brona, I leave tommorow." he was thinking about how this may be the last time he saw the sun bathe these mountains in an unearthly light. the wind sighed soft over the foothills where he sat. Brona plopped down beside him.
"I'll never forget you." Brona said sweetly. Cromthal smiled, Brona was but half his age, and rarely did she say anything to him that meant anything. He merely nodded. He looked away for a moment to hide the tears filling his eyes. He looked back toward Brona, but Brona had changed. Next to Cromthal sat a twisted old man with a dark scowl on his face and murder in his eyes. He held a sharp knife in his hand.
"Death to you! Betrayer!" the figure shrieked. Cromthal tuned to run, but the man sized his wrist with a tight claw-like grip....And Cromthal sat up. In the room in the Green Dragon, with Rirrym in the chair and their dog visitor in his lap.
[ February 14, 2003: Message edited by: Frodo Baggins ]
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"I'm your huckleberry....that's just my game."
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