There are many beginnings. Each person starts new when they enter the story, for it is their beginning. And this....this was mine.
It was a decade ago when I first found Britania. I was wandering the rocky shores of my familial holdings when I saw her small, unmoving figure with the waves lapping at her form. I rushed over and turned her body so that I could see her face, from her size I had mistaken her for a child.
Seen from the front it was obvious she was no child, but she was hurt. There was blood, much blood in her blond hair, and a nasty looking head wound to explain it. Her flesh was cold to the touch but I could feel a pulse and she was breathing, if shallowly. I took her back to our estate and there Obaa-san, my grandmother, tended to the woman.
It was an hour before Obaa-san beckoned me to enter. The woman had been bathed, the blood washed away. She looked serene, almost as though she was simply asleep, but something told me that was not the case. Obaa-san lifted one arm out from beneath the thick covers and what I saw shocked me. There was a symbol of a dragon imprinted in her forearm, it was not a tattoo but rather a part of her, and I knew what that meant, for my clan had seen it before.
Obaa-san must have seen the disbelief in my gaze for she spoke then, "She is of the Western dragons. For now she will not wake, the injury to her head was dire. She may never wake."
"How....how can she be from that clan, she is..." I had been about to say tiny, but my frame was considered slight for a male, and I was, without a doubt, a member of the Eastern dragons.
Obaa-san did me the favor of not responding to my unfinished question. The woman did not stir as Obaa-san tucked the arm back under the covers. In the silence Obaa-san said, "There is one on her other forearm as well, magomusuko."
I found myself dropping to my knees, the wooden floor was unkind in its welcome. "Do you know her, Obaa-san?"
She shook her head at me and those dark, piercing eyes asked me loudly what I would do to or with this woman. Why had she washed up on our shores" What was her intent' Two....two dragons. I found myself staring down at my own covered forearms. Beneath the wrappings there I bore the symbol of the dragon, one on each forearm. My symbolic dragons were slender, agile-looking, black beasts, much like the form I take. The woman on the bed, her dragon had been of a silver-blue color and thick of body, it did not suit her human frame. More important was the fact that two meant royal, or old blood. Power, a lot of power in so small and unconscious a frame.
"I can not help but believe that the fates have washed her up on our shores for a reason, Obaa-san. We will care for her until she wakes. When she wakes, we will hope my belief has merit."
It was a difficult decision. One of the first I had to make as the head of my household, my parents having recently been assassinated. Perhaps I should have suspected that this woman had been sent to finish the job but something inside of me would not, mo, I could not kill her as she slept.
It was a decade ago when I first found Britania. I was wandering the rocky shores of my familial holdings when I saw her small, unmoving figure with the waves lapping at her form. I rushed over and turned her body so that I could see her face, from her size I had mistaken her for a child.
Seen from the front it was obvious she was no child, but she was hurt. There was blood, much blood in her blond hair, and a nasty looking head wound to explain it. Her flesh was cold to the touch but I could feel a pulse and she was breathing, if shallowly. I took her back to our estate and there Obaa-san, my grandmother, tended to the woman.
It was an hour before Obaa-san beckoned me to enter. The woman had been bathed, the blood washed away. She looked serene, almost as though she was simply asleep, but something told me that was not the case. Obaa-san lifted one arm out from beneath the thick covers and what I saw shocked me. There was a symbol of a dragon imprinted in her forearm, it was not a tattoo but rather a part of her, and I knew what that meant, for my clan had seen it before.
Obaa-san must have seen the disbelief in my gaze for she spoke then, "She is of the Western dragons. For now she will not wake, the injury to her head was dire. She may never wake."
"How....how can she be from that clan, she is..." I had been about to say tiny, but my frame was considered slight for a male, and I was, without a doubt, a member of the Eastern dragons.
Obaa-san did me the favor of not responding to my unfinished question. The woman did not stir as Obaa-san tucked the arm back under the covers. In the silence Obaa-san said, "There is one on her other forearm as well, magomusuko."
I found myself dropping to my knees, the wooden floor was unkind in its welcome. "Do you know her, Obaa-san?"
She shook her head at me and those dark, piercing eyes asked me loudly what I would do to or with this woman. Why had she washed up on our shores" What was her intent' Two....two dragons. I found myself staring down at my own covered forearms. Beneath the wrappings there I bore the symbol of the dragon, one on each forearm. My symbolic dragons were slender, agile-looking, black beasts, much like the form I take. The woman on the bed, her dragon had been of a silver-blue color and thick of body, it did not suit her human frame. More important was the fact that two meant royal, or old blood. Power, a lot of power in so small and unconscious a frame.
"I can not help but believe that the fates have washed her up on our shores for a reason, Obaa-san. We will care for her until she wakes. When she wakes, we will hope my belief has merit."
It was a difficult decision. One of the first I had to make as the head of my household, my parents having recently been assassinated. Perhaps I should have suspected that this woman had been sent to finish the job but something inside of me would not, mo, I could not kill her as she slept.