#jastee

Just outside the city a boy that looked to be about the age of six wandered by the benches and planters under the small bridge that led to the city. In his arms was a well loved stuffed dragon toy, worn out and somewhat discoloured near its feet, evident that it was often dragged on the ground beside him at times. He was alone, there was no sign of his parents nearby though he seemed to be talking to himself, or his toy dragon in fact. His hair was feathered and only had slight length to them, having a ruffled look. He was behaving oddly as he followed alongside a hedge he would pause and open his mouth with a heavy exhale, bent forward a bit in strain. When he ran out of air he looked disappointed and lifted his toy dragon level with his blue and green heterochromatic eyes. “Come on, you have to help me out here, I can’t do it by myself!” Like any child he saw an imaginary friend in his stuffed dragon and would imagine up responses that it would have given him.

The little blonde boy then pressed his dragon’s face to the side of his cheek to cheek, lifting a small hand to pull its lower jaw down, making it open its mouth. Again he did the same thing, a heavy exhale with a strain in his face, he let out a growl to try and amplify his effort… to whatever it was he was doing. A dragonfly flew up to his face out of nowhere with a near deafening buzz of its wings, making the boy startled with a yelp. When he yelped a small burst of flame shot from his mouth, burning the unsuspecting dragonfly, killing it.

He blinked a few times as he bent down to look at the burnt bug. Though he didn’t seem to care for it, he smiled and lifted his toy dragon in the air triumphantly. “I did it! I told you I can be a dragon too! I need to try again!” That one time could have been a fluke because he was surprised, but the idea that he managed to breathe even a flicker of flame from his mouth sent the boy jogging about as if it was such a victory.

"Why does she have to have red hair…."

"I wonder if she knows how well those leathers work for her."

"Can she have a -worse- grip on a sword?"

"What are you, 12? Sneaking up on someone when they’re working on molten metal is NOT okay."

He couldn’t remember why they were even there. The cold was biting at his fingers and face, and the commotion of battle surrounding them made it hard to think. If only he’d remembered to bring his first aid kit! Jastee Dawnsear lay in his arms, body limp and breathing shallow. Blood was pooling around a stab wound that had gone straight through her heart, and she was running out of time. “Just hold on!” he shouted down at her, and when she tried to respond, all that came up was a blood-filled cough.

He’d been in a similar situation once before, when Lydianah had died. Somehow, some way he’d managed to grip her very essence and tear it back into her body. He didn’t know if he could do that again, but he damn well was going to try! The redhead went limp, eyes closing and body growing cold. “No!!” the blacksmith roared and, with every vestige of strength left in him, reached. He reached so far, stretched and tried so hard…but she was gone. The months of torture and psychological torment she’d gone through were too much…she was gone.