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Ember | Silverthorne | The Ash Plains | Late Winter 746
Ember huddled in the lee of a tall granite outcropping, sheltered from the snow and the cold. She remembered doing the same two years ago as a little fawn, hiding from the predators and the night. This time, though, her mother wasn't coming back for her.
She knew she should have headed back to the Vale earlier. If she had she'd be home by now. But no, she was too hungry. The winter had left her thin and her belly rumbling. The meat on her bones had faded away, and she'd never felt so helpless, not even in the face of that caracal. And so, when she should have been seeking shelter, she gorged on the earliest shoots of spring grass. This was no one's fault but her own.
She could only huddle and hope that the predators were busy keeping warm in their own dens and wouldn't venture out into the cold to sneak up on a small sleeping doe.
Sleep didn't come though. Perhaps it was the cold, or the fact that no one was there to watch her back. If she'd gone back to the Vale, the rest of the herd would be there. Safety in numbers. But now she was alone.
She'd had the presence of mind to gather some kindling and place it atop the previous night's ashes, but without a spark to light it the sticks were as good as useless. Ember idly tried striking her hoof against the stone. and striking a loose stone against the rocky ground. No luck.
If she could only reach her magic. She'd done so once before- that night with the caracal- but had never managed to make it happen again. She wasn't old enough. The one time it had happened before was a fluke- was because she was terrified out of her mind.
Surely she was old enough now? She wasn't sure how old she needed to be, but she was old enough to be on her own now. Old enough to take care of herself. Not old enough to grow an antler or have fawns of her own, but surely she didn't need to be that old.
It couldn't hurt to try anyway. Curling up tight, she looked intently at the kindling. She wasn't actually sure how to do this. Her mother hadn't taught her. She focused- thought of heat and warmth and the orange lick of flame. She thought of the fear she'd felt the last time. She thought maybe she could feel some tiny remnant of ember in the ashes that wanted to be let out.
There it was, the tiniest whiff of smoke. The tiniest red glow in the tinder. She blew on it gently- so gently- and the flame slowly climbed forth. She didn't want to make it too big- she only brought a little kindling and this fire needed to last the night- but she pulled at it tenderly with her magic until it was big enough to withstand a little breeze. It wouldn't go out while she was asleep and relying on it to keep the predators away.
She was surprised to find that she was shaking and her flanks soaked with sweat. So, this magic she had wasn't free. That was important to remember. She'd have to practice with it only when she was safe and could afford to spend some energy.
She settled in to sleep, the fire warming her and making her feel a little less alone.
Wordcount: 556
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Comments7
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Oh gosh, this is perfect! It really shows some of the dynamics of Silverthornes magic; how it's conjured, the effects it has on the user, and the results that need intelligence to grow. I couldn't have asked for a better description!
Story wise, this is nice detail and good to develop your character. Her uncertainty in using the magic is very well scripted; just like a child's first attempt at a task should be.