Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Changelings - Part Six

Haha! Here I am! Just squeaking past the deadline! And I have here with me part six! (Here's where things start get interesting.)

Part Six -

Sabine blinked in surprise and unrolled the top of the scroll enough to see the title. In neat, thick script, it said, “The Tale of the Half-Changed – As recorded by Oren Fleethoof”

“Oh!” She said in surprise. “It was written by Oren!”

Lady Fontaine eyed her coldly. “Of course it was. Did you think I was just making things up?”

“No. I'm sorry.” Sabine said, smiling and bowing gracefully. “Thank you for finding it for me.”

Fontaine ruffled her feathers and answered primly, “You're very welcome. Now, if you're going to read it, you'd better get started. It's certainly not the shortest tale I have here.”

Sabine nodded and slipped away. In one corner of the room, a fireplace crackled, surrounded by fluffy chairs, a soft rug, and a deep couch. Draped across the full length of the couch was a black panther with a book tucked under it's chin, drowsing. Sabine sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. The panther's tail flicked over and curled across her shoulder. She reached up and scratched it's jaw absently. It began to purr, a deep, vibrating rumble.

Sabine unrolled the first ten inches of the scroll and began to read...

The Tale of the Half-Changed – As recorded by Oren Fleethoof

Changelings did not always reside in a comfortable castle as they do now. Once, not so long ago, they lived in a hole. It was miles wide, and really, it was less of a hole than a round cliff surrounding them, but it was far from comfortable, or hospitable. The most fortunate had an actual hut to shelter them from the rain, and that could accommodate them both changed and unchanged. But there were very few such structures. Most were forced to burrow through the rock walls, or if you were especially lucky, you could find a dirt patch, which was much more comfortable. The only way out of their sub-level fortress was a steep, dangerous stairway that curved up the east side. Otherwise, the inhabitants had to change into something with wings and fly out. This was much easier, as, because of the positioning of their colony, the wind that blew overhead would catch on the lip of the cliffs and swirl down and then back up again in the summer, creating a lift that was extraordinarily easy to ride to the top. In the winter, the wind blew in the opposite direction, and the frigid winds rarely disturbed the warm air generated by all the changelings below.

A little shorter than usual, but I got excited when I started writing this part of the story, so the next (last) two parts are a little beefier. 

Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!

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