Prologue

Far, far away, in a land imagined by ours, lies a vast kingdom as old as time. The kingdom is peaceful, prosperous, enduring; but our story is not about this kingdom, or how it came to be, no, our story, as with many great story, is about a journey; the journey of a not so amazing man, with one particular talent...

So as our story starts out, we find our hero sitting on a rock, in a valley, at the eastern edge of our kingdom. His eyes shimmered against the tempered night skies, scanning the surrounding woods. Maybe he was looking for food, maybe a home for the night. Maybe it was at the pack of wolves approaching him.

A piercing howl ripped through the night, and the pack emerged from the surrounding trees, trapping him against the rock. Their razor teeth bared, growling in intimidation. Strangely calm, our hero stared straight on, at the biggest amongst the pack. Unblinking, staring at the beast, this was a battle of alpha males. He stood erect, in a fighters stance, a small rusted dagger held before him in one hand, the other held up to cover his face. It seems the dagger was too small, its edge too rough. It was chipped all over its edge, the dagger appeared useless. But our hero was unfazed by his lack of a real weapon, staring on, daring the beast to make the first move.

A gust of wind broke the silence, throwing long strands of hair in our hero's face, yet he remained unmoving, unblinking. He was clearly in control of his body, nothing could faze him. The beast growled, ever in an attacking stance, but it did not pounce. Almost as tall as our hero, it must outweigh him by several hundred pounds, yet it dared not attack. This was fear, the fear only a great man like our hero could cause. Why did it not attack?

The beast stopped growling, sniffed the air the wind brought it, howled, and it backed away, still staring at our hero. The others moved back into the blanket of the night, leaving our hero alone. He had prevailed, He stared into the face of the beast, and it had back down, not him. If only people could see this feat, no one would believe it, yet it happened. Such an amazing event happened, this showcase of bravery, but no one to witness it. Alas, that is the tragedy of many heroes; their deeds not appreciated in their lifetime.

Fortunately for our hero, his feat was indeed witnessed by someone. That person kept an eye on our hero as he approached from behind the rocks. Our hero remained still, perhaps posing in heroic victory. What a man. The man walked up to our hero, but our hero did not seem to hear the man, as he remained in his stance. His awareness was obviously pique by the previous encounter, he was ready for anything.

The man looked upon our hero, it was just a kid, no more than six or seven. What a pretty face, eyes bright, dainty nose, dimpled cheeks. The man had never seen grey eyes so bright, but it seemed to illuminate the child's face. She will grow up to be a heartbreaker the man thought. The man thought our hero was a girl. Such a travesty! The man continued to stare, our hero's face so alluring under the monolith night. The man could not help it, there was a pull on him to this girl child he felt a bond, and stared at her for what seemed like hours. As he stared at our hero, our hero remained calmly still in the same battle stance, staring back. What were the two thinking at that time? Time, time seemed to pass, and another gush of wind blew from behind the child, long hair flowing with the wind. The man broke from his reverie, sniffed and air and cringe his nose. It was only then that he noticed a dark spot forming on the child's leg. He glanced over the rest of the child. A thinly child, probably malnourished, wearing what must be a sack. Yes must be one of those large brown rice sacks. Even then, the sack had seen better days, as it was ragged and torn. Dirt cover it and the boy.

The man stepped closer, approaching our hero, and he reached out, daring to touch that face, such perfection. Slowly, his hands edged closer, could this be a dream? Did someone this perfect exist? If he touched it, would she disappear? These thoughts jumped around the man's head, slowing his hands progress. Trembling, his hands pressed on. Our hero still stood there, stood still, was our hero going to let this man touch his face? His hand crept closer ever so slowly. The night grew quiet, nothing disturbed this moment. The hand moved closer and closer, approaching the dagger, and he touched it, but at that moment, a gust of wind blew past the man, the child fell over, folding to the ground. The dagger dropped from his hands, falling, falling flipping in the air, time seemed to slow down as the dagger flipped and flipped, down and down...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!