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[columns][center][item=swamp kelpie mane][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#73C4C4][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]water in the desert[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]5,019 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#4B4521]The tent appeared one morning, a splash of brightness against the drab, brown canvas of Dragonhome. It was a modest-sized, bell-shaped affair, striped in crimson and purple, its gold trim glinting brightly in the sun.
Windchimes rang cheerfully above the tent’s entrance, and from within glittered metal and crystal. It looked inviting, and so pleasantly warm — but the few dragons who saw it avoided it entirely. “Not for us,” they whispered, hurrying on past — and though they frequently looked back and wondered about what was inside, they knew there was nothing there for them. Nothing they wanted [i]that[/i] badly, anyway.
Sometime that morning, the [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49444298]proprietor[/url] of the tent appeared, standing by the entrance. He watched the passersby hurry away, making no attempt to entice them over. They were not whom he was waiting for.
They were not whom his magic had drawn him here for.
When the sun was nearly at its peak, he spied movement: a flicker of motion in the distance. He turned towards it, certain that his customer had arrived at last.
When she was within hailing distance, he turned towards the velvet depths of the tent. “[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=52199388]Tashbaan[/url],” he called out, “set another place at the table — our customer is here.” Even as he spoke, there came the sharp whistle of a teapot, then a clatter of porcelain as his assistant hurried to follow his instructions. The shop proprietor sighed. Tashbaan had made many mistakes already. If this continued, he’d have to find a new assistant soon.
The [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51905860]customer[/url] made straight for the tent, marching steadily across the dunes. Her blotchy fur was matted from days of hard travel, and her wings were drooping. Her eyes were bright and hard, though, glinting through her fringe of moss-colored hair.
She stopped to catch her breath, and the Mirror, at last, beckoned invitingly. “Welcome,” he greeted her, his voice quiet and warm. “I am Dumah, a djinn of Dragonhome.”
She didn’t speak, but the way her ears perked up confirmed Dumah’s suspicions. He continued, “There is something you seek, yes?”
“Yes,” the Tundra said in between huffs. “Water...”
“Of course. The heat of the sun has turned fierce already. We will fetch you something to drink.”
“No,” the Tundra objected, shaking her head. She straightened up. “I seek a way to draw up water from deep beneath the desert.”
Dumah paused, head tilted quizzically. His four eyes blinked, one pair after the other. “You will have to tell me more,” he admitted, and he motioned her inside.[/color]
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[color=#4B4521]Like Dumah, the Tundra was a native of Dragonhome. Her name was Kimoren, and she was heir to the chieftainship of the Clan of Hidden Waters.
The clan had long dwelled in the hottest, driest regions of Dragonhome. They owed their success to a system of wells, cunningly hidden along the routes the dragons followed. The wells had been established by the clan’s long-gone progenitors, a pair of powerful hydromancers. They had passed their powers on to their descendants, and the wells — and therefore the clan’s survival — were controlled by the leaders of the clan. The progenitors’ water-working magic had bred true for many centuries...until now.
In Dumah’s tearoom, Kimoren let out a low growl as she recounted her story. Growing up, she had failed to develop the skills she so desperately needed; even the harshest training hadn’t awakened any hydromancy within her.
“I trained so hard,” she whispered, her voice raspy with fatigue. “I learned the arts of fighting, of tracking and facing beasts, hoping that the challenges would awaken that magic within me. There are stories, you see, of that happening: A thaumaturge, finding themselves lacking, faces great peril and forces the needed magic to the surface. I had hoped it would happen to me....I faced many challenges, I surmounted them all. But the magic didn’t appear.”
Her face remained hard, her eyes glittering coldly as she looked past Dumah, into the mysterious depths of the shop. The djinn had seen that look before, and he said nothing, electing instead to pour another cup of tea for his guest.
Kimoren’s dark eyes fastened upon him. “Have you anything that might help me?”
“I can certainly take a look,” Dumah said, with a rather halfhearted chuckle — one that Kimoren didn’t return. She also didn’t touch her tea, and the Mirror suppressed a sigh and stood up. He turned, beckoning with his tail, and she padded after him down the velvet-walled passageway.
It opened up into the main body of the tent, a round room much bigger inside than it was outside. It seemed to stretch into the distance, shelves and tables partitioned off with drapes of silk and beads. There were aisles cutting through that ordered chaos, winding pathways lined with bric-a-brac.
A brown Spiral flitted among the curtains, trailing wisps of thick black smoke. Dumah nodded towards him, saying, “Tashbaan is searching for what you need. It shouldn’t take long...Ah, here he is now.”
The Spiral looped downwards, one forepaw extended, and he dropped a small, clear bottle into Dumah’s waiting claws. He gave Kimoren a rather uneasy grin and then retreated to hover near the ceiling.
“Kelpie blood.” Dumah held up the bottle. “A potent serum from a water-spawned beast, able to enhance the magic of even the feeblest hydromancer! No offense meant, of course.”
Kimoren automatically reached out to it — and then she remembered her manners and withdrew her paw. Dumah smiled wryly. “That will be a hundred thousand gold pieces, child. This serum was not harvested lightly.”
The Tundra snorted. From among her tattered cloak, she drew two leather pouches. They clunked heavily as she threw them onto a nearby table, and Dumah’s eyes shone as he scanned the gold within. “Yes...this amount is correct,” he murmured. Almost negligently, he flipped the bottle towards Kimoren.
She caught it with one soft paw. The liquid inside sloshed thickly, as clear as diamonds, and her nostrils flared as she inhaled its scent. Even through the glass, it stank of water and weeds: alien scents to someone born and raised in the desert.
“Kelpie blood.” It was almost a sigh. A faint smile touched Kimoren’s face as she murmured, “I’ve heard tales of this creature. It’s a beast of water, and quite vicious....It’s not hunted lightly. But still well worth it for the Water magic woven into its flesh.” She let out an indulgent chuckle. “Your reputation is well-earned, djinn. Your magic, indeed, has a way of guiding you and your wares to those who need them most; and curses be damned, I have what I require. Now, how do I use this?”
Dumah shrugged. “Drink it down, all in one gulp. It will enhance any latent hydromancy you have, and if you had none to begin with, it will give you that magic. Either way, from there you will find yourself progressing through your training with ease. A few more moons of practice, and you will have the mastery over water that you desire.”
He was speaking absently, counting the money into the till. He didn’t notice how Kimoren’s expression darkened, her ears flattening and drawing back. “A few more moons of...[i]training[/i]?” she growled in disbelief.
“That is what I said.” And Dumah looked up, seemingly unconcerned. “Come now, child...Did you really believe that a hundred thousand pieces of gold would buy you instant mastery over Water magic? Mind you, it’s still a bargain. The kelpie ichor will help you achieve in a few months what would otherwise take you decades.”
“But I don’t [i]have[/i] a few months,” Kimoren said, her face tight with frustration. She had to work hard to keep her voice level. “My grandfather and I are all that remain of the progenitors’ line, and he is ailing. If I do not find a way to control our water sources soon, I will lose chieftainship of the clan.”
“You have a few months,” Dumah repeated stubbornly. This was beyond him, and they both knew it. Kimoren’s mind raced; there was something else he had said....
“You told me this was [i]harvested[/i]. Does the creature you took it from still live, then?”
She shook the bottle in Dumah’s face. His expression hardened. “I’d rather not share information on my sources.”
“If it’s gold you desire, djinn, I can easily get you more. My clan has access to resources other dragons wouldn’t dare harvest — if you help me take control of our wells, I will grant you special trading privileges. This I promise you, as future chief of my clan.”
[i]“[/i]Future[i] chief?”[/i] Dumah scoffed inwardly. If there was one thing he’d learned from the long years of trading, it was that money quickly promised was money quickly lost — if, indeed, he was lucky enough to even see it in the first place.
He would not gamble on this wild-eyed huntress’ chieftainship, but he [i]would[/i] give her some advice. “I must decline your offer, and this, too, is for your own safety. The bottle you hold contains, as I said, a [i]serum[/i] — liquid processed and distilled from a kelpie. The raw ichor, freshly extracted, is incredibly dangerous — to say nothing of the entire living, breathing beast.”
“But there are stories; I told you that I [i]know[/i] about this beast! Even just a scrap of its flesh—”
[i]“You do not want that!”[/i] Dumah roared, his voice shaking the air. Everything around Kimoren quivered — and in that brief instant of uncertainty, even Dumah’s form was vague; suddenly there was a vast shadow in the lamplit dimness, a suggestion of burning eyes...
“You do not want that,” she heard him repeat, at a more normal level; and once again everything was still, and what haziness remained was due to the smoke drifting down from...somewhere. Kimoren heard a faint creak, and she looked up, saw Tashbaan wrapped around the central chandelier. It swung gently beneath his weight as he met her gaze with large, nervous eyes.
Dumah shut the till drawer. “Our transaction is complete — unless you would like to purchase anything else?” he asked. He’d regained his usual mild manner and appearance — but there was a warning glint in his brown eyes, and just behind him, the shadows shifted restlessly...
Kimoren scowled. “No, thank you, djinn. I...appreciate your aid.” Almost before she finished speaking, she was turning away, her fur still bristling in agitation.
“Come back soon,” Dumah called out. When her footsteps faded, he muttered, “Or don’t come back at all. Somehow, I doubt we’ll be seeing her again.”
Tashbaan looped down from the chandelier. “What now, sire? Wait for another customer?”
“There is no one else to wait for. We’ve done all we were wanted for here.” Dumah flicked his frills. “Besides, she’s a hunter, and she claims she’s familiar with the beast. If that’s so, she’ll know what she might get herself into.”
“Not going to stop her, I think.”
“No, Tashbaan, probably not. Let us be on our way.”[/color]
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[color=#4B4521]The moment Kimoren stepped out of the tent, it deflated behind her, collapsing into a soft, smoky black cloud. She looked back as it puffed skyward and then glided away, seeming like a flock of birds.
When the cloud had vanished beyond the dunes, she held up the vial, half-sneering at it. Her nostrils flared, and she drank deeply of that scent again. She held it in her memory, focusing her will on it...
This was not the first time Kimoren had sought magical aid. All those years growing up, and knowing she was desperately lacking, she had consulted shamans and hunters, worked with them to enhance her strength and senses.
She had not been born with hydromancy, but there were other ways to survive. She’d become a great hunter, trapper, and forager. She had grown up hunting vicious beasts and harvesting the rarest components, things found in the most desolate deserts, where only the fiercest dared tread. She’d brought prosperity to the clan....
[i]“But what good is prosperity, if we will not live to enjoy it? Without water, this clan is lost! Perhaps leaving is our only option, Kimoren. Or we could instead let a true hydromancer join our clan...”[/i]
Kimoren gnashed her teeth in frustration. She set out across the dunes.
Over the years, she’d come to know many traders and hunters. It was they who had told her about Dumah: a djinn who, along with his shop, supposedly appeared to those who wished hard enough. He was avoided, for it was said that those who did business with him got what they wanted, but ran into misfortune soon after.
Kimoren, however, figured that her gains would outweigh any curses the world could throw at her. And so she had lingered here, and she’d wished and [i]hoped[/i]... “Mastery in a few moons” wasn’t quite what she’d wanted, but perhaps she could still get the cure-all she craved.
Soon she reached the oasis where she’d been staying. Most of the dragons had retreated indoors to avoid the desert heat, but Kimoren strode straight to the travelers’ outpost. Here congregated all manner of dragons and vehicles, from small sand-skimmers to a couple of larger airships.
Kimoren had hired a pilot, [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/47616717]Tesai[/url], to take her here, and his vehicle was among the smaller ones. It resembled a scaled-down version of the blimps favored by Wind dragons; this one was powered by carefully controlled bursts of hot air from burning coals. Most of the pilots were drinking and chatting together, but Tesai sat alone, quiet and unobtrusive, his wings tightly hunched.
He looked up as Kimoren bustled towards him. “Oh. It...didn’t go well, I take it?” he asked timidly. Unlike many of the pilots, who were all swagger and bluster, he was a quiet, diffident Coatl. This suited Kimoren just fine: she preferred dealing with people who were quick to accept her orders.
She bared her teeth, and it took Tesai a moment to realize she was trying to grin. “I’ve concluded my business. Let us be away from here.”
The Coatl rose up, his wings unfurling, and trotted to his airship. He clicked at it, and there was an answering puff of smoke as the engine slowly roused itself.
Soon they were gliding away across the dunes. Their pace was slow but steady, for Kimoren didn’t have a destination in mind. Instead, she clutched the vial in one paw, occasionally sniffing it and then the air. Trying to catch whiffs of its source.
“This creature you’re hunting...Is it native to Dragonhome?” Tesai asked from behind her. Kimoren flicked her ears. “It is hard to say what world the kelpies are native to. Some say that they come from fairy lands....”
“Fairy lands?”
“I wouldn’t set much store by that. Kelpies are found all over Sornieth.” Her gaze momentarily grew distant. “My great-grandmother once said, ‘A kelpie must always have a loch.’ It would be better to search someplace with more water. Bear south, Tesai. We’ll head to the Tangled Wood. So long as we behave ourselves, the Shadowbinder will take no offense.”
“The...Shadowbinder?”
This time, Kimoren turned to give him a long, incredulous look. He was a [i]very[/i] strange Coatl, seemingly ignorant of even the most basic things. He lacked knowledge of the Beastclans, the other lands beyond Dragonhome...and even the Eleven?
Perhaps the long hours of breathing engine fumes had addled him, Kimoren decided. She said nothing, and Tesai mumbled, “Right, let’s bear south. Umm...”
The ship increased its speed, and they headed towards the Tangled Wood, in search of the djinn’s kelpie.[/color]
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[color=#4B4521]The search took many days. They lingered on the border, and there Kimoren tested the air and the land, searching with her skills and tracking spells. It was difficult, for the waters of the Tangled Wood were as labyrinthine as its trees, and it was difficult to separate the kelpie’s essence from them.
She used drops from the vial as samples. Day by day, the supply dwindled...
Then one afternoon, as the shadows stretched long fingers over the land, one drop slipped from the bottle, passing through the sieve of the tracking spell. It glowed as it fell through — and when it hit the stream below Kimoren, it flashed into a line of light that darted upstream, deeper into the Tangled Wood.
Her hair stood on end — at last, she’d found the right stream! All she had to do was follow the magic to its source...
She hurried back to where Tesai was parked. The ship wouldn’t be able to go deeper into the trees, and she instructed him to wait for her to return.
He looked up from his afternoon tea, suddenly apprehensive. “Ah, and how long will you be gone, madam?” he asked. The woods were alien territory to him, and he’d been on edge ever since they’d arrived.
“A week, perhaps two. The traces were faint, and there’s no telling what obstacles lie between it and me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Er, what shall I do if anything happens to you?”
“What?” The concept was incomprehensible to Kimoren. Tesai shivered, and tea splashed over the sides of his cup. “Only, um, you haven’t paid me, so if anything should happen to you...”
“Bah! I’ve spent my whole life dealing with monsters. This one will be no different. But if it’s any consolation to you, here’s enough gold for the next five days.” Kimoren counted out the pieces and flung the pouch at him. He caught it with his tail, and it sent coins tumbling over the ground as he struggled to mop up the tea.
Kimoren left him by his ship, a mess of tea and treasure and trepidation. She settled her supplies between her wings and marched into the swamp.[/color]
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[color=#4B4521]Kelpies rarely moved. They preferred to keep to their dens, waiting for unwary prey to draw within range. So there was no spoor for Kimoren to follow. She instead relied on her nose and spells, following those threads of scent and magic back to the creature’s lair.
[i]“This is the place,”[/i] her hunter’s senses whispered to her, on the day she found the loch. It was one of those rare bright days in the Tangled Wood, when shafts of light came through the trees, illuminating the loam and moss beneath. They failed to illuminate the depths of the loch, however, and Kimoren approached cautiously.
It was a deep body of water, dug straight into the earth like a mine shaft. Just below the surface sparkled motes of dust; there were a few fish and bugs skittering near the banks. They darted away as the Tundra whispered another spell and sent a drop of serum falling into the water. It plunged into the depths like a stone; its glow was visible for several seconds before the spell faded. No doubt about it: the beast was somewhere down there.
It didn’t take long for Kimoren to set up camp nearby. After that, she began preparing traps, including some bait. It was a small matter for her to find and dispatch a weasel; she wrapped cords of herbs and paper talismans around its body and then took to the trees.
She carefully inched out along one of the larger branches that jutted over the loch. From there, she was unnerved to see that no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see anything beneath the water.
She let the bait dangle towards the surface. Once she was safely back on the ground, she cast another spell. This one caused the paper talismans to glitter, and suddenly the bait was cocooned in cloudy light. To the beast beneath the loch, it would look and smell like an irresistible meal. She tied the end of the bait rope to a nearby branch. Now all she had to do was wait.
Hours passed. Kimoren crouched behind the hide she’d constructed, peering through the veil of moss. Insects buzzed around her, and small creatures scurried to and fro. Unseen birds called in the distance. The air hung heavy and humid, growing oppressively hot...then cool...as the sun rose and then sank overhead. The shadows began to deepen.
Light still shone through the canopy, but it was ghostly moonlight now, faint and silver. Beneath those veils, the loch was a fathomless pool of ink. The bubbles that rose from it glittered like diamonds....
Kimoren shivered to alertness. Her dark eyes gleamed, and she lifted her heavy cleaver. She crept slowly towards the loch, slinking behind the trees.
A few bubbles bobbed on the surface of the water. The bait remained untouched. Kimoren frowned. Had the beast descended again?
And suddenly the loch exploded into motion and [i]noise[/i]. The beast breached the surface, a dark, rushing mass of water and muscle and weeds, moonlight glinting off its teeth. It reared up, drawn to the ensorcelled bait—
Kimoren hauled on the rope. The kelpie turned to follow its meal, and as it did, Kimoren sent her cleaver flying. The blade spun through the air. It opened a gash along the creature’s shoulder, and dark blood spattered the water. The air was filled with the stench of the swamp and the kelpie’s enraged roar.
It landed hard, its two front hooves driving heavily into the dirt. It dragged itself out of the loch, trailing weeds and mud, and its head swung around. Kimoren couldn’t see its eyes, but she knew it was staring at her through its tangled mane.
She glared back, unafraid, and bared her teeth in a grin. This one would be a challenge — and the rewards very sweet.
She launched off the trees, kicking with her back legs, and her wings opened in a glide. She looped around the creature, striking with her heavy cleaver at its face, its nose. It backed away from her, towards the trees.
The next trap sprang: a snare that trapped one of the kelpie’s back hooves. There was a crash as the counterweight, a heavy log, fell to the ground, and the beast was towed backwards. It staggered, momentarily dumbfounded.
Kimoren darted to another trap. This, too, was connected to a snare, but she cut the rope. The counterweight came down, swinging against the kelpie’s body like a battering ram.
The kelpie toppled onto its side. Kimoren hurled another rope, lassoed its head. She dropped her cleaver; her wings flapped madly as she hauled on the rope with both paws. The kelpie struggled, bellowing all the while. Leaves and twigs cascaded from above as it thrashed madly, its hooves slamming into the trees.
Kimoren managed to tie the rope to a stouter tree. Her cleaver leaped back into her grasp, and she hurled herself forward. The kelpie managed to turn its head. Its teeth clashed onto empty air; its eyes were visible now, blazing like burning coals through its heavy mane. But Kimoren flung her cloak over its face. Its teeth gnashed through the drab green cloth, ripping it to shreds—
Its next roar died in a gurgle as the iron cleaver found its mark. The body shuddered and thrashed a second longer — and then everything was still.
Kimoren took a moment to catch her breath. She examined her bloodstained cleaver, and she smiled that vicious smile.
“I suppose the legends [i]were[/i] mostly true,” she said to the kelpie’s corpse. “Iron in the blood...But then again, fey or not, I suppose a blade across the throat would do you in.”
As she staggered forward, she tried to remember all the stories she’d heard from her elders. Kelpies were...beasts from fairy lands...and they had power over water...
[i]There was more[/i] — but so focused was Kimoren on her goal that she didn’t stop to think further than that, and her mind was too tired to dredge the memories up on its own. She took her knives and began harvesting what she needed.
By the light of the moon, in the stillness of the shadows, she took her first bite of kelpie flesh. She had expected it to taste of blood, but instead, it tasted like seawater: nothing but salt, mild and crisp and fresh. [i]“That was easier than I thought it would be. Why, I could get to like this!”[/i] she thought as she chewed. [i]“That greedy djinn sought to keep this a secret....If only I’d paid closer attention to Great-grandmother’s stories. Then I could have come here long ago...”[/i]
Her mind drifted back to the words she’d said to Tesai: “A kelpie must always have a loch.” And indeed, this one had. A loch so deep and dark that light didn’t penetrate it, even when the sun was directly overhead. So still and quiet that the silence was almost deafening...all-consuming...
[i]“A kelpie must always have a loch.”[/i] Kimoren remembered her great-grandmother’s voice again. [i]“It must always have...”
“This was easier than I thought it would be. Perhaps...[/i]too [i]easy...”[/i] Kimoren swallowed. Suddenly the kelpie meat tasted sour and dank, as though it had been left out in the sun too long. She turned to look at the body and was startled to see that it had shrunk so much. As she watched, it deflated visibly, the mane becoming indistinguishable from the weeds along the shore, and the black, slimy flesh merging with the mud. She retched. [i]“What did I just...?!”[/i]
She forced herself to turn away from the sickening sight — and again, she noticed the loch. It seemed to gaze back at her like a giant eye. That infinite black gaze caught her. [i]Held[/i] her.
[i]“A kelpie must always have...No. A[/i] loch[i] must always have—”[/i]
The hunter doubled over, groaning as her stomach twisted. Something grasped her from deep inside, and it would not let go. She felt its insidious strength flood her veins, taking control, seizing her, dragging her across the ground.
[i]Into the darkness of the loch.[/i]
“No!” Kimoren rasped. She reached for her cleaver; her feet had somehow gotten tangled in the weeds and she couldn’t pull herself free — and then she noticed that the weeds [i]were[/i] a part of her feet, tendrils bursting from her sodden fur. At the same time, she felt a searing pain against her paw.
She howled and dropped her cleaver, and stared in stupefaction at the burn the iron had left against her skin.
Behind her, the loch yawned and beckoned, cold and quiet and peaceful. Kimoren opened her mouth to scream — but instead, what burst forth was a hollow, animal roar. The bellow of a kelpie. She struggled to hold herself in place, digging into the ground with talons...then with hooves...
She lifted her head, but she couldn’t see the moon; her face was completely draped in tangled weeds and fur. And then the water closed over her head, water so impenetrably dark that light couldn’t pierce it....
Only the hunter’s possessions remained on the shore. In the tepid air of the swamp, they began to decay and rust. The loch paid them no attention, for now it was satisfied.
[i]A loch must always have a kelpie.[/i][/color]
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[color=#4B4521]Dumah reckoned it was time to move on. The dragons in this part of the desert knew of him, and there was nothing they needed from him. His magic didn’t seem to be guiding him in any particular direction — he supposed that this time, he could make his own decisions.
He heard the airship approaching and went out to hail the pilot. The ship coasted to a halt by the djinn’s tent.
“I’m not looking for a ride; I only need news and information, if you don’t mind. Hmm...” Dumah cocked his head. “You recently traveled with a Tundra of my acquaintance, did you not?”
“A Tundra? Oh...you mean one of the furry ones.” A very strange Coatl indeed — with his supernatural sight, Dumah could look beneath the lead-gray skin, see the creature Tesai had once been. A creature of stone and flame, birthed deep within Sornieth’s core.
He could also see the impressions Kimoren had left upon this Coatl-creature: her shadow flitted briefly around him; Dumah heard snatches of her voice. Just memories, really, called to the surface by his idle-seeming question.
“She was...Kimoren, I believe.” Tesai shook his head. “She went away, into the Tangled Wood. I waited for five days, like she said....She didn’t come back. Well, I got paid. Er...”
“If she paid you, then everything’s all right,” Dumah interjected smoothly. He ignored his own misgivings and said, “I believe it’s time I found other customers. How is the weather on the coast this time of year?”
“Hmm. A bit windy, but nothing the dragons...we...can’t handle. I could take you there...maybe?” Tesai stretched forward eagerly.
“No, that won’t be necessary. We have our own way of traveling. But take this for your trouble.” Dumah flipped a gold coin to him.
As the airship puttered away, Tashbaan slithered out from the shadows of the tent. “Another one gone.”
“Yes, well, I [i]did[/i] warn her,” Dumah grunted. Perhaps it [i]was[/i] time he did something about that....
The merchant and his assistant moved on. They would certainly be back...and meanwhile, the desert shifted and changed, its borders slowly expanding as its inhabitants gained dominance. The edges of neighboring lands were pushed back: Thus the Tangled Wood found itself shrinking ever so slightly, its swamplands slowly retreating. Plants withered, streams and lakes dried up...all except one.
In the encroaching glare of the desert sun, the loch gleamed like a well, round and dark and deep. As night descended, the water’s surface was broken by a face heavily wreathed in weeds.
The kelpie rose from the water, and it wrapped around her as a slimy green cloak, leaving nothing but an empty hollow. It would soon fill up with sand — and by then, the kelpie would be far away.
Beneath that enchanted skin, too, was the creature she once had been. She remembered dragons. She remembered water buried deep beneath the sand. Wells. A clan.
The desert ahead was vast, but she was determined. She was patient. She would find her quarry — as she always had.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#73C4C4][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
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water in the desert
written by Disillusionist
5,019 words
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The tent appeared one morning, a splash of brightness against the drab, brown canvas of Dragonhome. It was a modest-sized, bell-shaped affair, striped in crimson and purple, its gold trim glinting brightly in the sun.
Windchimes rang cheerfully above the tent’s entrance, and from within glittered metal and crystal. It looked inviting, and so pleasantly warm — but the few dragons who saw it avoided it entirely. “Not for us,” they whispered, hurrying on past — and though they frequently looked back and wondered about what was inside, they knew there was nothing there for them. Nothing they wanted that badly, anyway.
Sometime that morning, the proprietor of the tent appeared, standing by the entrance. He watched the passersby hurry away, making no attempt to entice them over. They were not whom he was waiting for.
They were not whom his magic had drawn him here for.
When the sun was nearly at its peak, he spied movement: a flicker of motion in the distance. He turned towards it, certain that his customer had arrived at last.
When she was within hailing distance, he turned towards the velvet depths of the tent. “Tashbaan,” he called out, “set another place at the table — our customer is here.” Even as he spoke, there came the sharp whistle of a teapot, then a clatter of porcelain as his assistant hurried to follow his instructions. The shop proprietor sighed. Tashbaan had made many mistakes already. If this continued, he’d have to find a new assistant soon.
The customer made straight for the tent, marching steadily across the dunes. Her blotchy fur was matted from days of hard travel, and her wings were drooping. Her eyes were bright and hard, though, glinting through her fringe of moss-colored hair.
She stopped to catch her breath, and the Mirror, at last, beckoned invitingly. “Welcome,” he greeted her, his voice quiet and warm. “I am Dumah, a djinn of Dragonhome.”
She didn’t speak, but the way her ears perked up confirmed Dumah’s suspicions. He continued, “There is something you seek, yes?”
“Yes,” the Tundra said in between huffs. “Water...”
“Of course. The heat of the sun has turned fierce already. We will fetch you something to drink.”
“No,” the Tundra objected, shaking her head. She straightened up. “I seek a way to draw up water from deep beneath the desert.”
Dumah paused, head tilted quizzically. His four eyes blinked, one pair after the other. “You will have to tell me more,” he admitted, and he motioned her inside.
Like Dumah, the Tundra was a native of Dragonhome. Her name was Kimoren, and she was heir to the chieftainship of the Clan of Hidden Waters.
The clan had long dwelled in the hottest, driest regions of Dragonhome. They owed their success to a system of wells, cunningly hidden along the routes the dragons followed. The wells had been established by the clan’s long-gone progenitors, a pair of powerful hydromancers. They had passed their powers on to their descendants, and the wells — and therefore the clan’s survival — were controlled by the leaders of the clan. The progenitors’ water-working magic had bred true for many centuries...until now.
In Dumah’s tearoom, Kimoren let out a low growl as she recounted her story. Growing up, she had failed to develop the skills she so desperately needed; even the harshest training hadn’t awakened any hydromancy within her.
“I trained so hard,” she whispered, her voice raspy with fatigue. “I learned the arts of fighting, of tracking and facing beasts, hoping that the challenges would awaken that magic within me. There are stories, you see, of that happening: A thaumaturge, finding themselves lacking, faces great peril and forces the needed magic to the surface. I had hoped it would happen to me....I faced many challenges, I surmounted them all. But the magic didn’t appear.”
Her face remained hard, her eyes glittering coldly as she looked past Dumah, into the mysterious depths of the shop. The djinn had seen that look before, and he said nothing, electing instead to pour another cup of tea for his guest.
Kimoren’s dark eyes fastened upon him. “Have you anything that might help me?”
“I can certainly take a look,” Dumah said, with a rather halfhearted chuckle — one that Kimoren didn’t return. She also didn’t touch her tea, and the Mirror suppressed a sigh and stood up. He turned, beckoning with his tail, and she padded after him down the velvet-walled passageway.
It opened up into the main body of the tent, a round room much bigger inside than it was outside. It seemed to stretch into the distance, shelves and tables partitioned off with drapes of silk and beads. There were aisles cutting through that ordered chaos, winding pathways lined with bric-a-brac.
A brown Spiral flitted among the curtains, trailing wisps of thick black smoke. Dumah nodded towards him, saying, “Tashbaan is searching for what you need. It shouldn’t take long...Ah, here he is now.”
The Spiral looped downwards, one forepaw extended, and he dropped a small, clear bottle into Dumah’s waiting claws. He gave Kimoren a rather uneasy grin and then retreated to hover near the ceiling.
“Kelpie blood.” Dumah held up the bottle. “A potent serum from a water-spawned beast, able to enhance the magic of even the feeblest hydromancer! No offense meant, of course.”
Kimoren automatically reached out to it — and then she remembered her manners and withdrew her paw. Dumah smiled wryly. “That will be a hundred thousand gold pieces, child. This serum was not harvested lightly.”
The Tundra snorted. From among her tattered cloak, she drew two leather pouches. They clunked heavily as she threw them onto a nearby table, and Dumah’s eyes shone as he scanned the gold within. “Yes...this amount is correct,” he murmured. Almost negligently, he flipped the bottle towards Kimoren.
She caught it with one soft paw. The liquid inside sloshed thickly, as clear as diamonds, and her nostrils flared as she inhaled its scent. Even through the glass, it stank of water and weeds: alien scents to someone born and raised in the desert.
“Kelpie blood.” It was almost a sigh. A faint smile touched Kimoren’s face as she murmured, “I’ve heard tales of this creature. It’s a beast of water, and quite vicious....It’s not hunted lightly. But still well worth it for the Water magic woven into its flesh.” She let out an indulgent chuckle. “Your reputation is well-earned, djinn. Your magic, indeed, has a way of guiding you and your wares to those who need them most; and curses be damned, I have what I require. Now, how do I use this?”
Dumah shrugged. “Drink it down, all in one gulp. It will enhance any latent hydromancy you have, and if you had none to begin with, it will give you that magic. Either way, from there you will find yourself progressing through your training with ease. A few more moons of practice, and you will have the mastery over water that you desire.”
He was speaking absently, counting the money into the till. He didn’t notice how Kimoren’s expression darkened, her ears flattening and drawing back. “A few more moons of...training?” she growled in disbelief.
“That is what I said.” And Dumah looked up, seemingly unconcerned. “Come now, child...Did you really believe that a hundred thousand pieces of gold would buy you instant mastery over Water magic? Mind you, it’s still a bargain. The kelpie ichor will help you achieve in a few months what would otherwise take you decades.”
“But I don’t have a few months,” Kimoren said, her face tight with frustration. She had to work hard to keep her voice level. “My grandfather and I are all that remain of the progenitors’ line, and he is ailing. If I do not find a way to control our water sources soon, I will lose chieftainship of the clan.”
“You have a few months,” Dumah repeated stubbornly. This was beyond him, and they both knew it. Kimoren’s mind raced; there was something else he had said....
“You told me this was harvested. Does the creature you took it from still live, then?”
She shook the bottle in Dumah’s face. His expression hardened. “I’d rather not share information on my sources.”
“If it’s gold you desire, djinn, I can easily get you more. My clan has access to resources other dragons wouldn’t dare harvest — if you help me take control of our wells, I will grant you special trading privileges. This I promise you, as future chief of my clan.”
“Future chief?” Dumah scoffed inwardly. If there was one thing he’d learned from the long years of trading, it was that money quickly promised was money quickly lost — if, indeed, he was lucky enough to even see it in the first place.
He would not gamble on this wild-eyed huntress’ chieftainship, but he would give her some advice. “I must decline your offer, and this, too, is for your own safety. The bottle you hold contains, as I said, a serum — liquid processed and distilled from a kelpie. The raw ichor, freshly extracted, is incredibly dangerous — to say nothing of the entire living, breathing beast.”
“But there are stories; I told you that I know about this beast! Even just a scrap of its flesh—”
“You do not want that!” Dumah roared, his voice shaking the air. Everything around Kimoren quivered — and in that brief instant of uncertainty, even Dumah’s form was vague; suddenly there was a vast shadow in the lamplit dimness, a suggestion of burning eyes...
“You do not want that,” she heard him repeat, at a more normal level; and once again everything was still, and what haziness remained was due to the smoke drifting down from...somewhere. Kimoren heard a faint creak, and she looked up, saw Tashbaan wrapped around the central chandelier. It swung gently beneath his weight as he met her gaze with large, nervous eyes.
Dumah shut the till drawer. “Our transaction is complete — unless you would like to purchase anything else?” he asked. He’d regained his usual mild manner and appearance — but there was a warning glint in his brown eyes, and just behind him, the shadows shifted restlessly...
Kimoren scowled. “No, thank you, djinn. I...appreciate your aid.” Almost before she finished speaking, she was turning away, her fur still bristling in agitation.
“Come back soon,” Dumah called out. When her footsteps faded, he muttered, “Or don’t come back at all. Somehow, I doubt we’ll be seeing her again.”
Tashbaan looped down from the chandelier. “What now, sire? Wait for another customer?”
“There is no one else to wait for. We’ve done all we were wanted for here.” Dumah flicked his frills. “Besides, she’s a hunter, and she claims she’s familiar with the beast. If that’s so, she’ll know what she might get herself into.”
“Not going to stop her, I think.”
“No, Tashbaan, probably not. Let us be on our way.”
The moment Kimoren stepped out of the tent, it deflated behind her, collapsing into a soft, smoky black cloud. She looked back as it puffed skyward and then glided away, seeming like a flock of birds.
When the cloud had vanished beyond the dunes, she held up the vial, half-sneering at it. Her nostrils flared, and she drank deeply of that scent again. She held it in her memory, focusing her will on it...
This was not the first time Kimoren had sought magical aid. All those years growing up, and knowing she was desperately lacking, she had consulted shamans and hunters, worked with them to enhance her strength and senses.
She had not been born with hydromancy, but there were other ways to survive. She’d become a great hunter, trapper, and forager. She had grown up hunting vicious beasts and harvesting the rarest components, things found in the most desolate deserts, where only the fiercest dared tread. She’d brought prosperity to the clan....
“But what good is prosperity, if we will not live to enjoy it? Without water, this clan is lost! Perhaps leaving is our only option, Kimoren. Or we could instead let a true hydromancer join our clan...”
Kimoren gnashed her teeth in frustration. She set out across the dunes.
Over the years, she’d come to know many traders and hunters. It was they who had told her about Dumah: a djinn who, along with his shop, supposedly appeared to those who wished hard enough. He was avoided, for it was said that those who did business with him got what they wanted, but ran into misfortune soon after.
Kimoren, however, figured that her gains would outweigh any curses the world could throw at her. And so she had lingered here, and she’d wished and hoped... “Mastery in a few moons” wasn’t quite what she’d wanted, but perhaps she could still get the cure-all she craved.
Soon she reached the oasis where she’d been staying. Most of the dragons had retreated indoors to avoid the desert heat, but Kimoren strode straight to the travelers’ outpost. Here congregated all manner of dragons and vehicles, from small sand-skimmers to a couple of larger airships.
Kimoren had hired a pilot, Tesai, to take her here, and his vehicle was among the smaller ones. It resembled a scaled-down version of the blimps favored by Wind dragons; this one was powered by carefully controlled bursts of hot air from burning coals. Most of the pilots were drinking and chatting together, but Tesai sat alone, quiet and unobtrusive, his wings tightly hunched.
He looked up as Kimoren bustled towards him. “Oh. It...didn’t go well, I take it?” he asked timidly. Unlike many of the pilots, who were all swagger and bluster, he was a quiet, diffident Coatl. This suited Kimoren just fine: she preferred dealing with people who were quick to accept her orders.
She bared her teeth, and it took Tesai a moment to realize she was trying to grin. “I’ve concluded my business. Let us be away from here.”
The Coatl rose up, his wings unfurling, and trotted to his airship. He clicked at it, and there was an answering puff of smoke as the engine slowly roused itself.
Soon they were gliding away across the dunes. Their pace was slow but steady, for Kimoren didn’t have a destination in mind. Instead, she clutched the vial in one paw, occasionally sniffing it and then the air. Trying to catch whiffs of its source.
“This creature you’re hunting...Is it native to Dragonhome?” Tesai asked from behind her. Kimoren flicked her ears. “It is hard to say what world the kelpies are native to. Some say that they come from fairy lands....”
“Fairy lands?”
“I wouldn’t set much store by that. Kelpies are found all over Sornieth.” Her gaze momentarily grew distant. “My great-grandmother once said, ‘A kelpie must always have a loch.’ It would be better to search someplace with more water. Bear south, Tesai. We’ll head to the Tangled Wood. So long as we behave ourselves, the Shadowbinder will take no offense.”
“The...Shadowbinder?”
This time, Kimoren turned to give him a long, incredulous look. He was a very strange Coatl, seemingly ignorant of even the most basic things. He lacked knowledge of the Beastclans, the other lands beyond Dragonhome...and even the Eleven?
Perhaps the long hours of breathing engine fumes had addled him, Kimoren decided. She said nothing, and Tesai mumbled, “Right, let’s bear south. Umm...”
The ship increased its speed, and they headed towards the Tangled Wood, in search of the djinn’s kelpie.
The search took many days. They lingered on the border, and there Kimoren tested the air and the land, searching with her skills and tracking spells. It was difficult, for the waters of the Tangled Wood were as labyrinthine as its trees, and it was difficult to separate the kelpie’s essence from them.
She used drops from the vial as samples. Day by day, the supply dwindled...
Then one afternoon, as the shadows stretched long fingers over the land, one drop slipped from the bottle, passing through the sieve of the tracking spell. It glowed as it fell through — and when it hit the stream below Kimoren, it flashed into a line of light that darted upstream, deeper into the Tangled Wood.
Her hair stood on end — at last, she’d found the right stream! All she had to do was follow the magic to its source...
She hurried back to where Tesai was parked. The ship wouldn’t be able to go deeper into the trees, and she instructed him to wait for her to return.
He looked up from his afternoon tea, suddenly apprehensive. “Ah, and how long will you be gone, madam?” he asked. The woods were alien territory to him, and he’d been on edge ever since they’d arrived.
“A week, perhaps two. The traces were faint, and there’s no telling what obstacles lie between it and me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Er, what shall I do if anything happens to you?”
“What?” The concept was incomprehensible to Kimoren. Tesai shivered, and tea splashed over the sides of his cup. “Only, um, you haven’t paid me, so if anything should happen to you...”
“Bah! I’ve spent my whole life dealing with monsters. This one will be no different. But if it’s any consolation to you, here’s enough gold for the next five days.” Kimoren counted out the pieces and flung the pouch at him. He caught it with his tail, and it sent coins tumbling over the ground as he struggled to mop up the tea.
Kimoren left him by his ship, a mess of tea and treasure and trepidation. She settled her supplies between her wings and marched into the swamp.
Kelpies rarely moved. They preferred to keep to their dens, waiting for unwary prey to draw within range. So there was no spoor for Kimoren to follow. She instead relied on her nose and spells, following those threads of scent and magic back to the creature’s lair.
“This is the place,” her hunter’s senses whispered to her, on the day she found the loch. It was one of those rare bright days in the Tangled Wood, when shafts of light came through the trees, illuminating the loam and moss beneath. They failed to illuminate the depths of the loch, however, and Kimoren approached cautiously.
It was a deep body of water, dug straight into the earth like a mine shaft. Just below the surface sparkled motes of dust; there were a few fish and bugs skittering near the banks. They darted away as the Tundra whispered another spell and sent a drop of serum falling into the water. It plunged into the depths like a stone; its glow was visible for several seconds before the spell faded. No doubt about it: the beast was somewhere down there.
It didn’t take long for Kimoren to set up camp nearby. After that, she began preparing traps, including some bait. It was a small matter for her to find and dispatch a weasel; she wrapped cords of herbs and paper talismans around its body and then took to the trees.
She carefully inched out along one of the larger branches that jutted over the loch. From there, she was unnerved to see that no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see anything beneath the water.
She let the bait dangle towards the surface. Once she was safely back on the ground, she cast another spell. This one caused the paper talismans to glitter, and suddenly the bait was cocooned in cloudy light. To the beast beneath the loch, it would look and smell like an irresistible meal. She tied the end of the bait rope to a nearby branch. Now all she had to do was wait.
Hours passed. Kimoren crouched behind the hide she’d constructed, peering through the veil of moss. Insects buzzed around her, and small creatures scurried to and fro. Unseen birds called in the distance. The air hung heavy and humid, growing oppressively hot...then cool...as the sun rose and then sank overhead. The shadows began to deepen.
Light still shone through the canopy, but it was ghostly moonlight now, faint and silver. Beneath those veils, the loch was a fathomless pool of ink. The bubbles that rose from it glittered like diamonds....
Kimoren shivered to alertness. Her dark eyes gleamed, and she lifted her heavy cleaver. She crept slowly towards the loch, slinking behind the trees.
A few bubbles bobbed on the surface of the water. The bait remained untouched. Kimoren frowned. Had the beast descended again?
And suddenly the loch exploded into motion and noise. The beast breached the surface, a dark, rushing mass of water and muscle and weeds, moonlight glinting off its teeth. It reared up, drawn to the ensorcelled bait—
Kimoren hauled on the rope. The kelpie turned to follow its meal, and as it did, Kimoren sent her cleaver flying. The blade spun through the air. It opened a gash along the creature’s shoulder, and dark blood spattered the water. The air was filled with the stench of the swamp and the kelpie’s enraged roar.
It landed hard, its two front hooves driving heavily into the dirt. It dragged itself out of the loch, trailing weeds and mud, and its head swung around. Kimoren couldn’t see its eyes, but she knew it was staring at her through its tangled mane.
She glared back, unafraid, and bared her teeth in a grin. This one would be a challenge — and the rewards very sweet.
She launched off the trees, kicking with her back legs, and her wings opened in a glide. She looped around the creature, striking with her heavy cleaver at its face, its nose. It backed away from her, towards the trees.
The next trap sprang: a snare that trapped one of the kelpie’s back hooves. There was a crash as the counterweight, a heavy log, fell to the ground, and the beast was towed backwards. It staggered, momentarily dumbfounded.
Kimoren darted to another trap. This, too, was connected to a snare, but she cut the rope. The counterweight came down, swinging against the kelpie’s body like a battering ram.
The kelpie toppled onto its side. Kimoren hurled another rope, lassoed its head. She dropped her cleaver; her wings flapped madly as she hauled on the rope with both paws. The kelpie struggled, bellowing all the while. Leaves and twigs cascaded from above as it thrashed madly, its hooves slamming into the trees.
Kimoren managed to tie the rope to a stouter tree. Her cleaver leaped back into her grasp, and she hurled herself forward. The kelpie managed to turn its head. Its teeth clashed onto empty air; its eyes were visible now, blazing like burning coals through its heavy mane. But Kimoren flung her cloak over its face. Its teeth gnashed through the drab green cloth, ripping it to shreds—
Its next roar died in a gurgle as the iron cleaver found its mark. The body shuddered and thrashed a second longer — and then everything was still.
Kimoren took a moment to catch her breath. She examined her bloodstained cleaver, and she smiled that vicious smile.
“I suppose the legends were mostly true,” she said to the kelpie’s corpse. “Iron in the blood...But then again, fey or not, I suppose a blade across the throat would do you in.”
As she staggered forward, she tried to remember all the stories she’d heard from her elders. Kelpies were...beasts from fairy lands...and they had power over water...
There was more — but so focused was Kimoren on her goal that she didn’t stop to think further than that, and her mind was too tired to dredge the memories up on its own. She took her knives and began harvesting what she needed.
By the light of the moon, in the stillness of the shadows, she took her first bite of kelpie flesh. She had expected it to taste of blood, but instead, it tasted like seawater: nothing but salt, mild and crisp and fresh. “That was easier than I thought it would be. Why, I could get to like this!” she thought as she chewed. “That greedy djinn sought to keep this a secret....If only I’d paid closer attention to Great-grandmother’s stories. Then I could have come here long ago...”
Her mind drifted back to the words she’d said to Tesai: “A kelpie must always have a loch.” And indeed, this one had. A loch so deep and dark that light didn’t penetrate it, even when the sun was directly overhead. So still and quiet that the silence was almost deafening...all-consuming...
“A kelpie must always have a loch.” Kimoren remembered her great-grandmother’s voice again. “It must always have...”
“This was easier than I thought it would be. Perhaps...too easy...” Kimoren swallowed. Suddenly the kelpie meat tasted sour and dank, as though it had been left out in the sun too long. She turned to look at the body and was startled to see that it had shrunk so much. As she watched, it deflated visibly, the mane becoming indistinguishable from the weeds along the shore, and the black, slimy flesh merging with the mud. She retched. “What did I just...?!”
She forced herself to turn away from the sickening sight — and again, she noticed the loch. It seemed to gaze back at her like a giant eye. That infinite black gaze caught her. Held her.
“A kelpie must always have...No. A loch must always have—”
The hunter doubled over, groaning as her stomach twisted. Something grasped her from deep inside, and it would not let go. She felt its insidious strength flood her veins, taking control, seizing her, dragging her across the ground.
Into the darkness of the loch.
“No!” Kimoren rasped. She reached for her cleaver; her feet had somehow gotten tangled in the weeds and she couldn’t pull herself free — and then she noticed that the weeds were a part of her feet, tendrils bursting from her sodden fur. At the same time, she felt a searing pain against her paw.
She howled and dropped her cleaver, and stared in stupefaction at the burn the iron had left against her skin.
Behind her, the loch yawned and beckoned, cold and quiet and peaceful. Kimoren opened her mouth to scream — but instead, what burst forth was a hollow, animal roar. The bellow of a kelpie. She struggled to hold herself in place, digging into the ground with talons...then with hooves...
She lifted her head, but she couldn’t see the moon; her face was completely draped in tangled weeds and fur. And then the water closed over her head, water so impenetrably dark that light couldn’t pierce it....
Only the hunter’s possessions remained on the shore. In the tepid air of the swamp, they began to decay and rust. The loch paid them no attention, for now it was satisfied.
A loch must always have a kelpie.
Dumah reckoned it was time to move on. The dragons in this part of the desert knew of him, and there was nothing they needed from him. His magic didn’t seem to be guiding him in any particular direction — he supposed that this time, he could make his own decisions.
He heard the airship approaching and went out to hail the pilot. The ship coasted to a halt by the djinn’s tent.
“I’m not looking for a ride; I only need news and information, if you don’t mind. Hmm...” Dumah cocked his head. “You recently traveled with a Tundra of my acquaintance, did you not?”
“A Tundra? Oh...you mean one of the furry ones.” A very strange Coatl indeed — with his supernatural sight, Dumah could look beneath the lead-gray skin, see the creature Tesai had once been. A creature of stone and flame, birthed deep within Sornieth’s core.
He could also see the impressions Kimoren had left upon this Coatl-creature: her shadow flitted briefly around him; Dumah heard snatches of her voice. Just memories, really, called to the surface by his idle-seeming question.
“She was...Kimoren, I believe.” Tesai shook his head. “She went away, into the Tangled Wood. I waited for five days, like she said....She didn’t come back. Well, I got paid. Er...”
“If she paid you, then everything’s all right,” Dumah interjected smoothly. He ignored his own misgivings and said, “I believe it’s time I found other customers. How is the weather on the coast this time of year?”
“Hmm. A bit windy, but nothing the dragons...we...can’t handle. I could take you there...maybe?” Tesai stretched forward eagerly.
“No, that won’t be necessary. We have our own way of traveling. But take this for your trouble.” Dumah flipped a gold coin to him.
As the airship puttered away, Tashbaan slithered out from the shadows of the tent. “Another one gone.”
“Yes, well, I did warn her,” Dumah grunted. Perhaps it was time he did something about that....
The merchant and his assistant moved on. They would certainly be back...and meanwhile, the desert shifted and changed, its borders slowly expanding as its inhabitants gained dominance. The edges of neighboring lands were pushed back: Thus the Tangled Wood found itself shrinking ever so slightly, its swamplands slowly retreating. Plants withered, streams and lakes dried up...all except one.
In the encroaching glare of the desert sun, the loch gleamed like a well, round and dark and deep. As night descended, the water’s surface was broken by a face heavily wreathed in weeds.
The kelpie rose from the water, and it wrapped around her as a slimy green cloak, leaving nothing but an empty hollow. It would soon fill up with sand — and by then, the kelpie would be far away.
Beneath that enchanted skin, too, was the creature she once had been. She remembered dragons. She remembered water buried deep beneath the sand. Wells. A clan.
The desert ahead was vast, but she was determined. She was patient. She would find her quarry — as she always had.
~ The End
