As the heavy primitive club came full force, aiming at him to strike his head to kill him, he brought his sword up and parried.  As he did so he caught a glimpse of what he was after, his niece sitting there on the top of the hill, deep in thought as the swarm of trolls barred his men from reaching her.  Her thoughts were mainly of her pet Manxz and her little brother. Oh how she longed for her little brother and his playful laughter.  Not even his whining seemed bothersome to her at this moment as she cried inside for him.

She cried out in anguish.  She saw what she had only heard from legends, told by the people passing through Hinowinn.  There stood her Uncle, a Reigaaall.  His deep purple wings clear in the daylight, deathly black head thrashing, nine inch long claws where his fingernails would be, foot long teeth and split purple tongue.  He roared.  Trolls scattered, but it was too late as the red and yellow fire burst from her uncle’s mouth, incinerating everything it touched.  Trolls turned to ash.

The archer’s volley of arrows flew, screaming, like harpies from the land of the dead. The arrows soared with perfect accuracy, toward his scale covered head, and found their way into part of his nose.  He reared up in pain, arrows flying out as he did so, and once again the red and yellow fire burst from his mouth, this time with a tint of blue.  The blood from his nose gave the fire that third color.

He slowly turned back into an elf, as every little detail, bit by bit, became more of his true form.  Thin but sturdy frame, muscular arms and shoulders, piercing emerald eyes, and pointed chin.  The men were of course terrified by the sight of their king Jeril as a Reigaaall.  It shook them to their core.  It was as if an icy hand had gripped their heart, refusing to let go or let them run.  It had paralyzed them.  Fearless as they were, all the training in the world could not prepare them for what they had just seen.  No one would believe what the king’s men had seen and they certainly would not be able to explain it. The king himself didn’t believe the stories. In time they would learn to accept it.

As her uncle began to change back, Lorienn flew down the hill like a hawk after its prey, determined not to slow or stop no matter how many movements it made.  The leather vest she wore flapped furiously in the sheer amount of wind she made while running, tears flowing backwards out of her eyes as she ran for what seemed to her hours. Hopping over piles of ash and dodging pools of blood and fire, she finally reached him.

No matter how dazed and confused he was, she rejoiced, as she had never felt happier in her life.  She held on to her uncle and she thought that she would never let go.  His hand came down on her shoulder and she looked up and she saw it was not her uncle.  Instead, she was hugging the leg of the Reigaaall.  She had only imagined him changing back, and now it was just her and this thing she used to call her uncle.

She slowly backed away, hoping it would not see her, and then she made a mad dash for the trees.  Unfortunately there was no chance that she would make it.  He reared up and she screamed.  The most haunting shriek you could ever hear, ear splitting and high pitched, it was echoing with fear and dripping with terror as the red and yellow flames engulfed the lady Lorienn.

Then all was still.

Marianne woke up and felt herself trying to scream but found there was no noise coming from her mouth.  “That was the most amazing dream I have ever had,” she thought to herself, as she heard her mother yell from downstairs.  “Honey, time for breakfast.”
“Uh-oh,” said Marianne, and quickly threw on the clothes she had laid out the night before and ran downstairs.  She sat as her mother served chocolate chip pancakes with strawberry jam, and said “Its your favorite.”  Marianne took a bite and was amazed at how real the jam tasted, like liquid strawberries, she felt like she was in heaven.

“Mom”
“Yes, Honey?”
“I have an idea for my story.”

Dylan Griggs, 2009