Susan,

	Here's my introductory post.  I don't have a current mailing list
for Keldarra, (nor do I suppose I'm on it as of yet).  Could you see that
this post gets to the other members of the group?  And I guess it would be
good to add me to the mailing list.  After all, I'd hate to get rescued
and miss it. :)

--Kurt

-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

     The 12-year-old boy wiped at his forehead with frost-covered mittens,
clearing away the snow from his brow.  He peered ahead intently into the
darkness, the light from his lantern all but useless in the storm. 
     "This is ridiculous," he muttered exasperatedly as he trudged onward
through snow half-wy up to his knees.  This wasn't at all the way things
should be.  He _always_ knew where he was going.  He was supposed to be
finding someone, not getting lost himself. 
     He trudged onward, mumbling under his breath, still too caught up in
his predicament to be worried or afraid.  For all he knew, little Emmit
had already been found, and was home now, enjoying a steaming cup of
Granny Ellsman's tea.  Ah, would that he were there too. 
     The boy stumbled slightly as he stepped on a branch hidden beneath
the snow.  He grumbled and paused, scanning the barren woods around him
for a familiar sign. He recognized nothing.  If only he came across the
river, he mused.  Then he would know exactly which direction to go. 
"Ridiculous," he grumbled again, and trudged on. 
     When the call had gone out an hour after sunset, it had seemed like
such an exciting and important thing to do.  Emmit was only 6 years old. 
The village men and older boys were quick to head out and search, and he
had joined them without hesitation.  Nor had anyone questioned his
involvement.  In fact Kavan Tailor, with whom he was staying this month,
had clearly voiced his approval. 
      'Blink,' he had said.  You probably know Emmit better than any of
the other men or lads out there, 'ceptin' family.  Take the lantern and
team up with Joshua or one of the other boys and check where _you_ think
he might go that the others aren't looking.'
     And he had done just that, joining the fourteen-year-old Joshua, one
of the trappers' sons, to check out the willow hollow.  It had been a good
idea, too, for a pair of footprints had been clearly distinguishable in
the freshly fallen snow.  But Joshua had turned an ankle coming down into
the hollow, his injury compelling him to abandon the search and return
home.  Blink would have done the same, except for the trail of footprints
leading off into the deep woods.  He was certain that they were
Emmit's--he had to follow. 
     But that had been...what?  Over an hour ago?  Probably longer.  The
tracks had gone into a dense area of pine trees where the snow had not yet
penetrated to the ground.  It was quite some time before he realized that,
not only had he lost Emmit's trail, but that he could no longer even find
his own.  He had puzzled over that for a moment, before deciding on the
way he must have come.  It was clear now, that that decision had been
wrong. 
     He clamped his mittens together, shaking away clumps of snow and
encouraging circulation in his fingers.  The snow storm had gotten worse. 
The wind had risen to a whistling howl, the leafless trees creaking and
crackling from its forceful passage.  Snow was falling heavily, swirling
in the fierce squall, obscuring his vision to only a few feet. 
     At last, it dawned on him to be concerned. 
     He pushed forward, more alert now, but still not truly afraid.  He
would concentrate on maintaining as straight a line as possible, keeping
himself moving until he came upon something familiar, or until he found a
place he could take shelter from the storm.  The most important thing was
to keep his focus. 
     Minutes passed, and the boy plodded on, shuffling forward through the
ever deepening snow.  His boots and winter clothing were of the highest
quality, courtesy of Kavan, but even so, he could feel the cold biting at
his toes, seeping through the layers of warm, woolen garments.  He was on
the verge of being really, really afraid. 
     Suddenly, he heard it.  A strong, rushing sound distinctly different
than the roar of the wind.  The River!  Eagerly, he pushed ahead.  If he
made the river, he would know where he was--what direction to go. 
     He didn't realize his error in rushing through the darkness until it
was too late.  Obscured by the snow and lack of light, the steep drop
opened up before him as if by magic.  Only his quick and agile reflexes,
combined with his thick garments and the heavy snow kept him from serious
injury as he tumbled down the embankment onto a wide shoal.  In the end,
he had little more than a few scratches from the brush to show for his
folly.  He had even managed to keep his grip on his lantern, which itself,
had not only escaped damage, but had generously remained lit as well. 
     Thanking his good fortune, Blink attempted to rise to his feet, only
to feel himself pulled roughly down on his right side.  "Well, it seems my
luck wasn't _all_ good," he mumbled as he examined his situation.  His
jacket, it seemed, was firmly entangled in a briar bush, its bare, spiny
branches clutching at the fabric with a tenacity indicating he would never
be able to tear himself free.  Nor could he afford to leave his coat
behind. 
     Were he anyone else, he might have despaired at his predicament.  But
there was good reason for his nickname.  He paused a moment to gather his
thoughts, focusing on the open patch of ground ahead of him and slightly
to his left. 

     --and in the  'blink' of an eye, he was there.

     Smiling, he shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his jacket back up onto
his lean frame.  He took a moment run a mittened hand over it, examining
it for damage.  It didn't look too bad.  A few minor holes, but nothing
serious--and not a barb remained.  Of course, that was to be expected.  He
had deliberately excluded the briar bush from his 'picture' of what was to
come with him. 
     No one in the village had ever been able to offer an explanation for
why he was able to do what he did.  As for himself, it seemed odd that no
one else could do it.  From what he heard, only dragons could 'blink'--and
they could do it over vast distances.  Personally, he could manage only a
foot or two, nothing more.  But even with that limitation, it was still a
decidedly "fun" thing to do. 
     A blast of winter wind drew Blink's attention back to his current
situation, and they boy lifted his lantern to peer ahead.  He was
unfamiliar with this part of the river--or at least he did not recognize
it in its current guise of darkness and snow.  He was standing on a wide
shoal, a steep 12-foot ledge running along his right side as he looked
upstream.  That was the direction he had to travel, and it was good, for
it put the wind mainly at his back.  There were shallow caves all along
this side of the river bank, many filled with old driftwood.  With a
little luck, he could hole up in one of them, and find enough dry wood to
make himself a fire to keep warm. 
     It didn't take long before he came across a suitable place, a wide,
low overhang that seemed to recede deep into the steep hillside.  He
ducked his head and stepped forward, glad for the chance to be out of the
storm.  Once inside, he stopped to examine his find. 
     His brow furrowed.  He would have expected some driftwood to have
accumulated in this alcove, but the space was oddly clear of such debris. 
And this cave seemed deeper than he had expected. 

Deeper.  And warmer.  A faint scent of old ash lingering in the air. 

     He glanced at his lantern, noticing the mists swirling gently around
its light.  It was not his imagination.  The air _was_ warmer.  Curious,
he marched forward, the cave ceiling just high enough to accommodate his
four-and-a-half-foot frame.  After about twenty feet, the space opened up
into a wide gallery, and the scene that greeted him was nothing short of
astonishing. 
     A huge carcass lay before him, mostly bones, with occasional patches
of tattered hide.  A dragon, Blink thought, his mind full of nervousness
and wonder.  But how had it died?  He moved cautiously closer, studying
the crumbling remains in the dim lantern light. 
     The areas where the hide yet remained looked strangely damaged,
almost as if they had been dissolved.  The exposed bones were scrupulously
clean, their surfaces pitted.  In a flash it came to him--the kind of
creature that could kill in this fashion. 

     Wraiths!

     Terror clutched at his heart as he swung around in a full circle,
scanning the cavern for some sign of the nemesis that had slain this
creature.  Nothing.  He turned in a circle again, more slowly this time,
his heart pounding as he searched, scrutinizing the darkness for danger. 
He saw only the blackened walls of the cave entrance, a mute tribute to
the battle that must have occurred.  But he was safe.  The wraiths were
gone. 
     That left only one more puzzle to solve.  The cave was still
unmistakably warm--almost uncomfortably warm given his heavy winter garb. 
He had to find that source. 
     Blink moved to his right towards the far end of the cave.  The
temperature climbed noticeably.  Soft sand shifted under his feet with
each step.  As he moved into the back reaches, he heard an odd bubbling
sound that brought immediate understanding. 
     There was a hot spring here, he realized.  That was what was keeping
the cavern warm.  There was a spring like this a few miles upstream of the
village.  It only made sense that another one might exist in this area. 
An odd shape protruding from the sand caught his attention, and he moved
forward to investigate, only to hear something crunch under his foot with
his first step.  He knelt to examine what it was. 
     It was a fragment of an egg shell.  Looking along the sandy ground,
Blink saw that there were numerous such pieces scattered throughout this
area.  It dawned on him then that the dragon must have been a nesting
mother.  Which meant that the wraiths had not only killed her, but her
eggs as well.  The thought saddened him.  He continued on towards the
object that had attracted his attention, his spirits brightening as it
came into view. 
     "Well, it seems that they didn't get all of them," he said, looking
downward.  For whatever reasons, the wraiths had missed--or avoided--this
one remaining egg.  Blink knelt down beside it, removing his mittens and
placing a hand upon its smooth shell. 
     It was still warm.  He felt the slightest of trembles.  The dragon
within was still alive. The discovery excited and fascinated him.  What
should he do?  What would happen next?  His thoughts whirred through
multiple possibilities.  But in the end, his exhaustion and need for sleep
superseded them all.  Warmed by the hot rock and water beneath the sands,
Blink removed his damp winter garb, laying it out to dry as best as
possible.  He made one last check for his flint and steel before dousing
the lantern.  Tomorrow, he would find his way back to the village and tell
them of his discovery.  But for now, he was content to curl up beside the
egg--and sleep. 
	                         -=-=-=-

     Blink awoke to unfamiliar surroundings, and it was several moments
before he could piece together the memories of where he was, and why.  He
had slept well, he thought, the egg somehow giving him a comforting
presence, though he didn't know why.  He stood and stretched, his bright,
yellow eyes studying his surroundings in the dim, morning light that
filtered through the entrance to the cave.  His stomach growled, and Blink
realized he was famished. 
     "All the more reason to get moving," he said to himself.  He donned
his winter clothes again, which, though warmed by the cave's heat, had not
dried out nearly as much as he had hoped. He felt a certain relactance at
leaving the egg, but there was really no other choice.  Once his boots
were on, the boy took hold of his extinguished lantern and stepped
outside. 
     It was a new world that greeted him.  A world cloaked beneath a
blanket of heavy snow.  The cold wind was brisk and invigorating, tingling
on his young face, a sharp contrast to the still warmth of the cave. 
     How was he to get back to the village through this?  He wondered. 
The snow must be close to three feet deep in some places.  Only the river,
a dozen yards away, was free from snow.  He stood silent for a moment on
the snow-covered shoal, staring at the rippling waters racing past,
evaluating his situation.  He was confident he would think of something. 
	Stretching, he turned his eyes skyward, admiring the sharp blue of
the clear, morning sky.  It was all so calm, so beautiful.  If only it
weren't so cold... 
     An odd speck, dark against the blue, caught the boy's attention, and
he focused on that area of the sky, trying to identify what it was. 
Seconds passed, and the object became larger as it moved closer.  After a
minute or so, he finally realized what he was seeing. 
     "It's a dragon," he said in wonder.  But it wasn't a wild one like
the one that had died here.  His keen eyes had already discerned the shape
of a rider on its back.  Suddenly, it came to him how important his find
would be to someone like that.  Quickly, he stepped out into the middle of
the shoal, jumping up and down, hoping to attract the dragonrider's
attention. 
     After half a minute, he determined that this strategy wasn't going to
do the trick, and his young mind immediately shifted gears.  What he
needed was a bigger sign.  He worked swiftly, stomping out a huge "X" in
the snow.  For extra measure, he raced back into the cave entrance and
grabbed handfuls of dark stones, lining them up along his "X" for added
contrast. 
     He looked up again, wondering if his efforts had paid off.  Surely
now, the rider would see him.  Was anything different about the dragon's
motion?  Had he changed direction, moving this way?  Blink held his breath
in anticipation, trying hard to keep his hopes from clouding his
observations.  Yes! He decided at last.  He had been seen! 
     The great dragon moved with swiftly in his direction once he had been
spotted.  Blink watched with wide eyes as he stepped back against the cave
entrance, giving the magnificent creature room to land.  As the dragon
folded its wings, the rider descended, and Blink stepped forward to greet
him.  "Hi there," he shouted cheerfully.  "My name's Arden, and boy, am I
ever glad to see you!" 


Respectfully Submitted

Kurt Nelson
"New Guy to the Realm" :)


NRPG:

Well, here's my character.  First person to write gets to rescue me. <G>
My thoughts are for whoever saves Arden to take him and his egg back to
Keldarra warren, where boy and egg can "hang out" in the hatching cavern,
if that's permissible. (It would be nice if someone could drop a hint of
strong dragon-affinity regarding Ardin.) I'm sure we can get word back to
Arden's home village in due time.  Let me know if I've missed anything. 
But do it nicely. Remember, I'm new at this. :) 
Arden's "bio" appears below: 

----------

Name: Arden ("Blink")

Male
Age: 12     Height: 4 feet 8 inches     Weight: 125 pounds
Hair Color: light brown.  Eye Color: Yellow

     Arden is a 12 year old orphan from the tiny river village of Wolf's
Crossing.  Physically, he is about 4 and 1/2 feet tall, slim of build, with
yellow eyes and close-cropped sandy brown hair.  His parents are unknown,
and Arden has no real memories of them.  In fact, outside of his name,
Arden has no recollections of anything prior to his life in Wolf's
Crossing. 
     Arden was brought to the village at the age of 8 by a "mysterious
stranger."  The village was in the midst of a plague-like illness at this
time, and the stranger brought with him certain potions and medicines that
brought healing to those afflicted.  In exchange for his aid, the stranger
asked that the villagers care for and raise the boy.  The grateful
villagers readily agreed, and Arden became something of a "community
child". 
     As it turned out, Arden was an easy boy to care for.  He is cheerful,
polite, and friendly, hardworking and eager to help.  Agile of both mind
and body, Arden has picked up a variety of skills while living at
different homes in the village during the past four years.  He has learned
a little bit about a lot of things, from tailoring to cooking, weaving to
carpentry.  Most recently, he has shown an aptitude for the flute, and
plays a small wooden instrument that he carved himself. 
     Arden's nickname of "Blink" comes from an odd and startling talent he
evidenced just a few weeks after his acceptance into the community. 
Apparently, the boy possesses a minor teleportation ability, that allows
him to "blink" out and reappear about 1 or 2 feet from his previous
location.  Beyond allowing him past the occasional locked door or high
fence, Arden has found no real use for this talent beyond the "fun" of
just doing it.  Though a bit unnerved by it initially, the village-folk
have come to accept it as just "one of the things" that makes Arden 
who he is. 



NELSON'S LAW: Even if _nothing_ can go wrong---something will go wrong.