Chapter 2-3

From then on, Zrathanzon added teaching about the gods to the lessons he taught Almonihah. With that came teachings about the different races of Draezoln, for the two subjects are intimately connected, and in time the lessons extended to cover the nations and geography of their world.

In time, the leaves changed colors, then fell, leaving only the occasional stand of pines for shelter from the rains, and then the snows. Fortunately, Zrathanzon had had the the foresight to purchase some warm clothing for Almonihah. Zrathanzon, however, didn't wear anything more than his usual leather armor.

When Almonihah pointed this out, Zrathanzon countered with a question. “Have you ever heard of a dragon wearing a fur coat?”

“No,” Almonihah responded, carefully not thinking about the only dragon he'd ever actually seen.

“Well, I've got enough dragon blood to not need to. Maybe when you're older, you won't, either.”

The pair continued making their way slowly west, moving from campsite to campsite whenever Zrathanzon decided it was time to move on. In time, as winter was setting in in earnest, Almonihah thought he could see something through the bare branches of the trees to the west.

“Zrathanzon,” he said, pointing, “What's that over there?”

Zrathanzon looked over at where Almonihah was pointing. “Those? Those are the Stormpeaks, that go clear from up here down to Midport.”

“Why are we headed towards them?” Almonihah asked.

“Well, it's been a while since I've gotten out this way,” Zrathanzon responded. “There's some people I want to check up on, maybe even an old friend you could meet.”

“An old friend?”

Zrathanzon chuckled a bit. “Yes, an old friend of mine. A druid. You might learn a few things from him.”

“Oh,” Almonihah said, his voice actually sounding interested.

They continued on their meandering way west. Sometimes, as they were traveling, Zrathanzon would stop, quietly tell Almonihah to stay put, then go ahead. Sometimes nothing would happen, but sometimes, Almonihah would be able to hear the sounds of some beast fighting and dying.

On one occasion, Zrathanzon came back from one of these encounters with a small gash on his leg and a slight limp. Seeing Almonihah's expression of dismay, he insisted that he'd be fine, they would just have to make camp here for the night.

Zrathanzon directed Almonihah in setting up the camp while he started pulling some bandages and herbs out of his pack. After he had everything, he pulled out his waterskin and used a bit of the water to clean his wound.

Zrathanzon spoke, almost to himself, as he cleaned and bandaged his wound. “Monsters are always more aggressive this time of year. Hungrier, because there's less for them to eat. It makes them a lot more dangerous during the winter.” He paused to check his bandage job, then turned to Almonihah and asked, “You've still got that dagger I gave you, right?”

Almonihah nodded. Zrathanzon then continued, “Well, we'd better have you start practicing with it. Never know when you might need it.”

Almonihah practiced while Zrathanzon sat, observed, and gave the occasional compliment, critique, or command. Before long, the shadows started to lengthen. Zrathanzon cooked some of their provisions, then they ate, cleaned up, and went to sleep.

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The next few chapters are probably going to be a lot like this--kind of snapshots of points of Almonihah's youth that were important to him. I can't say it's a style of narrative I feel very proficient with, but given how many things longer than ten pages I've written up to this point, I can't say that's really a surprise.