inaam (inaam) wrote in writing_wrkshop,

  • Mood:
*Testing, Testing. One Two three. Can You Hear Me? Ok, Lets Go*

I'm hoping this will work - it probably wont - but hey! This is my first submission to the Writers Workshop and its a story i started quite a long time ago because a fanfiction i was writing woulndt write, and i only added to it occasionaly. I sort of stopped writing it now, which is a pity, because i think it had some potential. I'm thinking of starting writing it again soon. Please note that this story isnt finish - heck, its barely even STARTED - so the ending of it doesnt count. However, any help AT ALL with this story will be greatly appreciated. Even if its just a word that could be replaced by a better one. Oh yeah, and its not fanfiction, its an original.

A flurry of rocks bombarded the walls. The very foundations seemed to shake. He fell backwards, and cracked his head. Was the wall cracking? Or was it his vision fading?

A rock flew over the wall and crashed into his head. He lost consciousness at once.


‘Wake up lad!’ A familiar voice sounded close to the young boy’s head. He noticed that his head was hurting. The taste of blood was in his mouth. He struggled to prise open his sluggish eyes, still drowsy from the short rest they had had.

‘There ya go lad! That’s the way! C’mon we’re not safe here.’ A small groan came from the youth’s lips. He was aching all over. With a small flutter, and another moan he opened his eyes.

A large head obscured his vision. A large grin was etched into it.

‘Well done lad!’ The child looked at the sky. It was night. The stars above twinkled and smiled at him. They comforted him. The large moon watching over the land gave him strength.

He raised himself onto his elbows, and looked around. They were in a small clearing, not large, but not tiny either. By estimate the boy reckoned (quite correctly) that seven grown men could sleep in there comfortably.

The man who had awoken him now had his back to him, tending to a small fire. There were a few bags and sacks placed in the clearing.

That guy must be strong. He thought. To carry me and all those bags too. He voiced his opinion. The man smiled at him again, quite like an uncle smiling at a favourite nephew.

‘A lot of people might say so laddie, but my main strength lies up here’ he pointed to his head. The young man nodded, and raised himself onto his feet.

‘Whoa, whoa there laddie, don’t move! You’ve just had a nasty knock to your head, and another one like that might do you! You need rest, lie down again.’ But the boy was stubborn, and he shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, almost surprised to hear the voice coming out of his mouth. ‘I’m fine thanks.’ He staggered to the nearest tree, and, choosing an appropriate branch which looked both strong and sturdy.

A staff and a weapon.

He leant on it to help him walk back to the man.

‘You see? I’m fine!’ the man laughed merrily.

‘Well ‘course you are! But that doesn’t mean that you don’t need rest to help you recover!’ the boy sighed knowing that the man was going to be just as stubborn as he was. He nodded.

‘Ok I suppose.’ He said. He lay down on the floor, piling up a small bundle of leaves to serve as a pillow. A slight night breeze danced round the trees, cooling his face, but not disturbing his make-shift pillow.

‘What an idea lad! Well done, where did you come up with the idea for that from eh?’ He gestured at the leaves.

‘Oh…I dunno.’ The boy replied. ‘It just seemed logical.’

‘Well you’re right lad, that’s good logic, aye, a very good idea.’ The man smiled and turned back to the fire. He placed a small pan on a small makeshift oven consisting of the fire and some wood. That was all.

A clear wholesome smell wafted from the fire. Its scent was clear, and it cleared his mind, and the pain lessened slightly when he smelled it. The boy breathed in the aroma deeply, and smiled. His pains lessened with every breath he took, refreshing him and clearing his mind.

He tried to collect his thoughts, and then realised that he couldn’t remember anything other than what had happened in this clearing. He didn’t panic, but instead, he took in a few more breaths and then thought of what must have happened.

He concentrated on the fragrance that came from the pan, now it was very strong; the smell of it was very deep and refreshing. Something stirred in his memory, but it wouldn’t come out. A curious sense of dejavu took him.

‘Hello…erm…I don’t know your name, I’m sorry.’ He spoke, referring to the man. The man looked at the boy sadly.

‘I can’t tell you.’ He replied. The response surprised the child and he wondered why. He was about to ask this question, but before he could the man spoke again.

‘But…I suppose it’d be awkward to refer to me as ‘man’’ he laughed. ‘You can call me Winterhill.’

‘Ok,’ the child replied, and asked his next question. ‘Do you know who I am? I can’t remember…I can’t remember anything except what’s happened in this place,’ he gestured at the clearing. The man nodded sadly, but his reply was the same as the last.

‘I can’t tell you lad. I’m sorry.’ Somehow the child understood, and he nodded as though he understood, then he wondered why he was doing so.

‘And again, the same thing!’ the man laughed. ‘I don’t know what to call you!’ the boy smiled; Winterhill’s enthusiasm was certainly catching. ‘But I think its only fitting that you choose your name.’

The boy thought hard about this. Many names came to his mind, but none of them seemed to fit.

‘I can’t think of any names.’ He admitted eventually. ‘I’ll think about it…something is bound to make sense.’ The man nodded, but continued to make the thing in the pot.

‘There! It’s finished! C’mon lad, drink up. It should make you feel better.’

The man poured something into a small wooden bowl. He passed it to the boy, who took it gratefully: his mouth and throat were both very dry.

The liquid was white, but with a hint of yellow. It looked a lot like milk, but it seemed to have more to it. The liquid was both warm and refreshing at the same time.

As his throat was refreshed, he felt his muscles being soothed too. A part of his locked memory flashed, and a vision came to his mind.

The sky was dark, very dark. There was no moon, no stars, no light whatsoever. He could see nothing clearly. Something far above where the sky should be was moving.

A huge dark figure was moving above. The stars were there but they were behind this huge thing…

It was a cloud.

Lightning flashed, and in that very small moment, everything was illuminated. It came to his mind that he was in a forest. Lush green trees and plants were all over. The ground was dark. Not black, but still dark.

All this was taken in at the small second in which the lightning revealed everything. And in that single moment a single word came to his head.


The rain began to fall.


‘Lad! Laddie!’ Winterhill’s voice sounded again, not far from his face. This time his eyes opened instantly.

The bowl was lying empty on the floor to his right; Winterhill’s face was in front of him.

‘What happened lad? One second you was drinking, and the next second you were on the floor!’

‘I – I don’t know.’ The reply came quickly. ‘But I do understand something.’ He subconsciously traced a shape on his left cheek with his left fore-finger. Then the moment was finished, and the young child snapped out of his trance like stance. He took a deep breath.

‘But I do know who I am. I’m storm.’


Storm was asleep. Winterhill was watching for any attack. It was unlikely, but it was better safe then sorry. Winterhill had learned his lesson a long time ago. Since then he had barely slept.

He was crouched low near the fire, cooking yet another potion. This one was currently colourless, but when it was finished it would be a rich yellow. It would keep him awake, but in a sense of semi-sleep, he would be immediately alert to anything that entered his vicinity, and it would give him the energy as though he had slept.

His thoughts were occupied by storm. Who was this child?

Winterhill thought for a second, remembering when he had been about to leave the child. But he hadn’t. Something, something had compelled him to stay. And he had.

He remembered nursing the child’s wounds…amazing things, handsome bruises all over his arms and body, and cuts and wounds everywhere. A month and a day today he had looked after this child.

How long did he lay? How long had he been there, unconscious, before Winterhill had found him? He still had no idea.

But he did have a small idea of the child’s history. He had spoken often in his sleep, only when there was somebody near. Repeating many things, reciting things which went on for hours, whole battles, a lot of things. But the same line came back again and again.

‘My name is Storm! I cannot forget…my name is Storm! Do not tell me that my name is storm!’

Winterhill had heard that line again and again, most often when he was closest to waking, but then he would fall back into deep sleep, and silence for a while. Then Winterhill would urge him to wake, and storm would begin his tales again.

And then again he would come close to waking, with a groan, his brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration and he would recite his name. This was how Storm had awoken. Winterhill had been making him an elixir, thinking that Storm had not drank for a long while. This smell had been what had awoken Storm.

He knew that storm needed time to sleep and repair his wounds in sleep; his body repairing itself, regenerating. From what Winterhill had seen, this would be quick. He had seen bone-deep wounds vanish overnight on this miraculous person. Either his potions were better than he thought or…

He looked at the child. He was lying on the floor, but he looked comfortable, bathed in moonlight; the stars above him; the trees behind him. It was a glorious sight.

The drink was ready. Winterhill took it in his right hand, and took a deep swig. He sat down ear the fire, and prepared for another sleepless night.


Storm opened his eyes to see the blue sky above him, birds flew high above; huge things, and white, pure white. It was a warm day. He stood up to find that his wounds had more or less totally healed.

His keen blue eyes studied his arms and his body. His body was quite muscled, along with his arms and legs. He ran his hands through his hairs, straightening and un-knotting them. His mouth was parched. He looked around for some water and saw Winterhill sitting on the floor with his back to a tree, with his eyes closed.

He studied Winterhill’s features, from his face, to the bare and extremely powerful looking arms. His face was scarred, some very deep, others not much so. His nose was squat and round, but fitted on Winterhill’s face. He would have been quite handsome.

His arms were muscled, but not bulging. They looked natural, and like his legs they seemed very powerful.

Winterhill wore black garments with a brown leather jacket. His feet were covered in a black material.

‘Winterhill,’ Storm spoke softly, but Winterhill stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Is there any water nearby? I think I need a wash.’ Winterhill nodded.

‘There’s a small stream there,’ he pointed straight ahead of him, and slightly toward to the right. Storm nodded, and spoke his thanks. He headed toward the water.

It was not very far. He heard it before he saw it. The water was crystal clear, and clean. Storm cleaned his clothes and himself. When he had bathed, he put on his pants, and carried his clothes.

Now he studied his clothes. Not a single smear or stain remained on his clothes. His clothes were white, startlingly bright. On top of them he wore a vivid electric-blue cloak.

He looked at his eyes, keen blue, and intelligent. His hair was a beautiful gold, and it waved slightly in the breeze.

He walked slowly back to the clearing, taking in the surroundings: bright lush green trees, nervous small animals came close curiously, watching this new person, but never coming too close. A small fox cub came close to him sniffing his hand, and then it looked at Storm’s face. Storm smiled at it as it ran back into the trees.

He felt a sudden burst of strength, and leapt up to the trees, and, grabbing the lowest one, he climbed his way to the top. He felt the warm heat of the sun on his bare body. He stood on the tree tops and looked all around him.

A hill surrounded his position. It rose just above the tree-tops, starting toward Storm’s left, and curving round behind him and ending to his right and slightly in front of him. Ahead of him was a gap in the hill line.

It was no very far, and not very wide either. It looked almost like a gate. A thought come into his mind, and somehow he knew that there was where he needed to go.

He made his way down the tree again, and went back to Winterhill’s clearing. Winterhill was there, packing all the things that had been in the clearing, which was not much.

The pot was lying on the ground. The various ingredients had disappeared. There was a bag lying next to Winterhill’s feet. Winterhill looked at Storm.

‘Wow lad! How did you manage to get your clothes so clean?’

Storm shrugged. ‘I don’t know…I just washed them in the stream.’

‘Well anyway, I’m afraid we’re going to have to get out of here laddie. It is too dangerous to stay in the same place for a long while,’ he hesitated for a second, then, ‘but you’re welcome to come with me if you want.’

Storm nodded. ‘Thank you. I’d like to come if I wouldn’t be a burden.’

‘You wouldn’t be lad!’ Winterhill laughed. ‘In fact, I’d be proud to have you come along.’ He’s healed quickly. He thought. He looks completely healed…

Storm smiled. ‘Thanks again. Where are we going to go?’

‘I don’t truly know. I just usually sort of set off to get to where I get to, and settle there for a bit.’

‘If that’s the case, then is it ok if I suggest something?’ Winterhill nodded. ‘I climbed a tree when I was coming back from my wash. Anyway I looked around and I spotted a gap in the surrounding hills. When I saw that gap, I somehow knew that that was where I needed to go. I’d be happy if you came with me, but I’d go on my own if I needed to.’

‘How do you know lad? And where to after that?’ Winterhill asked.

‘I don’t know. But what I do know is that I will find out when I get there. So what do you say?’

‘I say that it’s better than just wandering. I’ll come with you. But I warn you now: it’s a dangerous land. You’d probably get attacked when you get there. You need to know how to protect yourself.’

‘Ok. I know that you know more about this place than I do.’ Storm replied. He walked to the tree that he had rested next to during the night, and picked up the staff he had laid there. ‘This will do for the while.’

He tested the weight in his hands, feeling the smooth surface of the wood. He raised it up, still testing it. Then suddenly he swung it with an amazing speed. He stopped it short and drew it close to himself again.

Winterhill gaped at him.

‘Wow! I’ve never seen somebody handle anything like that before!’ He reached into his bag and withdrew a sword. It shined curiously in the sunlight. It was a shiny sliver, and obviously very well kept.

Winterhill looked at it in pride as it lay in his hands. He grabbed it’s handle, and drew it into his correct position.

‘I made this sword myself.’ he said. He didn’t say anything else for a small while.

‘I want to test your skill lad. We’ll spar. No killing strikes of course.’ Storm nodded and held the staff loosely in his hand.

Winterhill dealt a blow to the staff. If flew from Storm’s hands, and crashed into a tree. Storm retrieved it.


This time Storm held the staff very tightly. Winterhill drew his sword edge first, but before it hit, he turned it so it whacked with the side. The vibration reached Storm’s hands. He dropped the staff because of the force of the blow.

‘Ok. One more time,’ Storm raised his staff, determined this time to win.

Winterhill raised his sword confidently. This time Storm neither held it too tight or too loose. Winterhill noted this with satisfaction; Storm was learning. Storm went on the offensive straight away, almost catching Winterhill by surprise, but Winterhill dodged to the left. Storm’s staff hit mid air.

Winterhill immediately thrust his sword at Storm’s bare side with the intention of stopping it next to Storm’s skin.

This time Winterhill was caught by surprise. In a sudden movement, Storm was standing facing Winterhill, a grim determination in his blue eyes. Winterhill’s hand was travelling to fast to stop now. In a single move, Storm had both disarmed Winterhill and also placed his staff touching his chest.

‘I win.’ Storm smiled. Winterhill nodded.

‘Congratulations. You’re an excellent fighter, lad. Well done!’ Winterhill smiled at him warmly and turned to pick up his sword. It had landed point down in the mud.

As he placed his hand on the hilt, he realised that the mud had cracked and formed what looked like a pattern: A clean circle around the blade, never coming nearer then a centimetre to the blade. Broken lines emerged from the shape. He tried to lift his sword, but it wouldn’t come. He twisted it where it was until it came loose. Now there was a hole too.

He had never seen any person handle a weapon like storm had, and he had seen many in his time, ranging from aged experts to people still uncomfortable with holding them. Storm was a natural.

Winterhill resolved to teach storm the arts of sword fighting. The dry mud didn’t stick to the blade. He placed it back into his bag.

‘Come on.’ Winterhill said. They set off.


It was some time later. Storm and Winterhill were still making their way to the gate. It was not as close as it had appeared to be. Storm felt the faint stirrings of hunger. He looked around for something to eat, and spotted some fruit in the trees above.

He raised his staff, and managed to loosen one of them. Winterhill caught it before it landed on the ground. They continued this until there was a small pile in Winterhill’s arms.

Winterhill handed one to Storm and took a bite of one for himself. The fruit was a ripe. It tasted rich and sweet. It was juicy too, so their thirst was also quenched. The juice was however not sticky as most fruit were.

‘I think we need something to keep these fruit in.’ Storm said. ‘No point leaving them to waste and we shouldn’t eat them all at once.’ Winterhill nodded and looked at the tree.

‘Can you make some leaves fall from the trees?’ he asked. In response Storm raised his stick again. This time a few leaves floated gently down.

Winterhill let them fall until they had formed a small bundle. Then he started; out from his bag came a short needle, and the first of the leaves he thinned and tore until they were sufficient to use as thread. The rest of the leaves provided material.

After a while Storm stopped and eyed what Winterhill was doing.

‘Can I help?’ He asked.

‘If you want,’ Winterhill replied. ‘There’s an extra needle in the bag.’ Storm nodded and took it out. He was a quick leaner and pretty soon he was sewing nearly as fast as Winterhill.

Winterhill noted this, and thought that he could perhaps teach Storm how to protect himself. He did not know why, but he was beginning to like this child.

Not long after, the bag was complete, and they gathered all the fruit from around the tree. There was still some space left. Storm pointed this out.

‘If we find any more food later, or anything of use, we could use the leaf-bag to carry it.’ Winterhill nodded. This boy was certainly clever, even if he did point out the obvious.

‘Come on. Let’s go; it’s always best to get an early start.’


They had walked for a long time. A good few hours, but it wasn’t apparent that they were making any progress.

Every now and then there were clearings similar to the one that Storm had woken. They didn’t stop to rest, however, for neither were tired, Storm filled with the vigour of youth, and Winterhill with the sturdiness of age. They talked often, and about many things. They were quickly becoming good friends.

Soon the sun went down and it became dark. Winterhill suggested that they stop for the night and Storm nodded. They walked on a little while until they came to the next clearing. Winterhill walked purposefully to the centre. There was a small shallow hole in the ground, almost like a dent in the earth. He out his bag into this spot, Storm followed suit. He kept his staff in his hand.

Winterhill went to one of the near trees, and pushed it slightly. It seemed to bend over. Storm, curious, walked closer to it. It wasn’t a tree at all, but a very cleverly disguised storage facility. It was not large, but very useful.

In there were many things, spare pans, bags, clothes, weapons and more. Winterhill pushed these aside, and pulled out what looked like two logs, each large enough for somebody to sit on, but only large enough for one person, and a few dry twigs. He placed them on the floor near the groove, and gestured Storm to sit down, whilst sitting opposite him.

He moved the bags out of the way, and used the twigs to start a controlled fire. He heated his hands on it, and Storm did so too. They sat in silence for a small while, before Storm opened a conversation.

‘How long have you lived in this forest?’ He asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Winterhill replied. ‘A long time. Too long to count. I haven’t been here all my life though…’ his voice sounded bitter, and Storm decided not to pursue it.

He looked around and his eyes enlightened on the bag. He decided to ask Winterhill about this instead.

‘When did you make that bag?’

‘A long time ago, before I even came into the forest.’ He eyed it closely. ‘For a long time it’s served me. It’s made out of leather.’ Storm nodded.

‘Why are you answering my questions? For all you know, I could betray you, and steal your things in the night.’ Winterhill laughed.

‘You betray me? I find that unlikely for a large number of reasons. I saved your life lad, and that makes a sort of connection between two people. And in the night? You mean when I sleep? I don’t sleep.’ He nodded. ‘No I don’t sleep. If I did I would have been caught long before this. Why do I answer your questions? Possibly because you ask them. But why shouldn’t I answer them?’

Storm nodded. Then he smiled.

‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t betray you even if I could.’ Winterhill returned the smile.

‘Sleep,’ He said. It was a request, not an order. ‘We will be setting off early tomorrow.’

‘Why don’t you sleep? How do you stay awake? When is the last time you slept?’

‘I don’t sleep because if I do it’d be easy for somebody to ambush me, and hard for me to defend myself. I make myself a potion. It restores my energy, the same way that sleep does. This morning when I was leaning against the tree, I looked like I was asleep didn’t I? I wasn’t. The last time I slept? A long time ago…too long ago.’ he looked almost sad. Storm nodded. He turned his log slightly so that it faced sideways to the fire. He placed his staff beside him.

He rested his head on the log and gazed up at the stars. Beautiful things, twinkling in the sky, he watched them twinkle. He didn’t feel very tired but he knew that Winterhill was right.

He listened to the noises around him, the wind blowing gently around the trees, tickling the leaves, cooling the air. The air itself was nice and cool. Not too warm and not too cold; not too humid and not too dry. Storm estimated that it would be somewhere around spring.

‘Star bright
Shining light
Scare away pain and fright
And give us night-time sight’

Storm hardly knew that he had spoken, but Winterhill heard the words. He nodded to himself thoughtfully. He sat with his back to a tall tree toward the side of the clearing, the side that Storm was nearest too.

He had learned this technique long ago, knowing that it would be harder to see him if he were to the side, rather than the centre and in plain view.

He waited for a small while, until Storm’s breathing gently became soft, and he was sure that he was asleep. Winterhill sighed, and got to his feet. He walked to the central hole. He went back to the tree, and pulled out a small pan. He picked his ingredients out of his bag.

After rekindling the dying fire, he sat down and placed the pan in the hole. He poured his ingredients into them, and began to make his potion.

Storm was not asleep. He was watching. He saw what Winterhill did, and realised what the potion was. He closed his eyes as Winterhill turned. He got a sort of wooden spoon out of the wood, and began to stir the ingredients together.

Before long, a gentle colourless steam was rising from the pan; a gentle odour came from the steam as it drifted into Storm’s nostrils. He felt refreshed by the very steam, and found himself wondering just how powerful the potion must be, if he felt this refreshed just by smelling it.

Soon, the potion was ready. Winterhill drank it in one long draught. When he had drunken it, he picked up the pan and the spoon, and placed them back into the storage tree, and sat back where he had before. Storm closed his eyes an soon sleep gamed to him.


The next day they did indeed wake up early, but Storm was fine, and Winterhill was as refreshed as normal. Today he was very cautious and alert. Storm found out why soon.

‘Today is a dangerous part of the journey.’ He said. ‘We might be attacked or even ambushed…and before we set off I want to make sure that you can defend yourself.’ Storm nodded. Danger… he was prepared for that.

‘How far did we go yesterday?’ He asked.

‘Go see for yourself lad.’ Winterhill replied, pointing to a tree. Storm nodded, and climbed up it, and soon he was at the top. It was only now that he realised how far they had gone.

The gap in the hills which had seemed so far yesterday was now just ahead of him, and not as wide as he expected. He felt a sudden rush of excitement. They were almost there.

He climbed back halfway there, and jumped the rest.

‘We’re almost there.’ He told Winterhill.

‘I know. I looked last night.’

He picked up his sword from where he had left it and handed Storm his staff. They faced each other again, as they had yesterday.

‘Brace yourself,’ Winterhill said, and with that he brought his sword down to Storm’s staff. Storm shifted his weight just in time, and the majority of the force went into the ground and staff. Winterhill nodded.

‘Good. But when a true enemy attacks you don’t expect them to tell you when they are going to attack.’ Storm nodded.

Winterhill walked to a tree, and kicked a low branch. It broke off and landed in his hand. He placed his sword back down near the bag.

‘I’ll go easy on you.’ He grinned. Storm smiled back.

Winterhill jabbed his sword into storms ribs, but never got there, Storm, who was quicker on his feet, dodged out of the way, and poked Winterhill in the small of his back.

‘I’ll go easy on you too.’ He grinned. Winterhill nodded thoughtfully.

‘Well lad, you know how to get away from attacks, but sometimes you cannot do that in a fight. We better work on your blocking.’ Storm nodded. He didn’t know where to place his staff.

‘Where do I put my staff?’ He asked. Winterhill nodded, and placed storm’s right hand at the centre of the staff, near the lower end, and his other hand nearby. Winterhill swung his staff, and Storm could bring his right hand with the staff up to stop it, but his left hand just hung limply. The staff fell out of his hand.

‘Attack me, watch how I do it.’ Storm attacked quickly, savagely aiming everywhere, the legs, arms, head, chest – everywhere, but none of his attacks caught. Now he began to stop worrying about hurting Winterhill, as he didn’t even land an attack. He jumped up and brought it down hard on where Winterhill’s head would be.

Winterhill had not been expecting this attack, but he still managed to raise his staff into the way of the staff. Storm whacked the other staff in the middle. It almost cracked; it buckled almost fully. Storm grinned at Winterhill, breathing heavily. Winterhill’s breathing was fine. He nodded.

‘That’s good. You know how to attack, and you haven’t been taught any technical attacks yet. That’s good, it’s always better to improvise, remember that. Ok now you try to defend my attacks.’

They repeated, but this time it was Winterhill who was attacking, though he was not going at his normal speed.

He swiped at Storm’s feet, expecting Storm to try and block it but Storm jumped over it instead. Winterhill nodded. When Storm landed on his feet, Winterhill swung immediately at Storm’s head. Storm ducked under it, and jabbed his staff at Winterhill. Winterhill jumped back away from it. Then he swung up and caught Storm’s. Storm had the sense not to try and pry it, and instead he move his staff aside.

Winterhill aimed at Storm’s arms and body mainly, but Storm stopped all of them. Winterhill speeded up, again and again until he was going at almost his normal speed. He feinted that he was going for Storm’s legs, but changed at the last moment, and aimed at the head instead. He stopped barely an inch away from it. Storm inhaled and exhaled deeply.

‘Very good for the first time,’ Winterhill said. ‘In fact, that was excellent! Well done lad; that was excellent!’

‘Thank you,’ Storm replied after a short pause. ‘But I think that there’s definite room fro improvement.’

Winterhill nodded. ‘Yes, but not just yet.’ He walked over to his bag, and Storm to his.

‘Later then.’


They walked on for some time, sometimes talking, and sometimes in silence. Eventually, they came to a small forest path. It was clear to Storm that Winterhill was becoming increasingly cautious. After a small while he asked him why.

‘The enemies may be close.’ He replied simply, and made a signal for Storm to be quite. Storm nodded, and crept behind Winterhill.

Winterhill crept slowly to a small bush to the side of the path, testing his footing, placing a foot carefully and lightly on the floor, toe first, then lowering the rest of his foot slowly. Storm copied his form of walking.

Winterhill held out a hand telling Storm to stop. It seemed that he could see something that Storm couldn’t.

He reached with his staff forward onto the floor, and when it touched the floor, a dart flew from some bushes to the left, leaves flying away from it, and caught the in the very centre. Winterhill brought it closer to him and took it out.

He moved to the spot of bush where the dart had come from. He reached in and lifted out what looked like a yellow gun.

He did something to it and out it carefully into his bag.

‘Another weapon.’ He said simply.

‘How did you know that it would be there?’ Storm asked.

‘Experience,’ Winterhill replied and started walking again. ‘We’ be better off getting away from here. They’ll be here soon.’


‘The enemy.’

This isnt the end of the story. Heck, its not even the end of a chapter! Just...a sort of stop.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 1 comment