[Memory of Trees]

Reign

Reign wiped the sweat from her face with one grimy hand, leaving a streak of dirt down her left cheek. She settled wearily down to the ground on the other side of the road and rested her back against a giant knotted oak. She closed her eyes, which were red and swollen from the heat and ash. Reign’s head hummed with the excitement of the events that had taken place recently, and she tried to sort them all out.

She had woken early the day of the fire, probably because she had gone to bed so early the previous night. For a long time Reign had lain still in the dark, peacefully listening to the moaning of the wind outside her window. But just as the sun was turning the sky to liquid gold, a shout came from the floor below. “Fire! Help!”

It took had taken moment for a drowsy Reign to realize what had been said, but then she leapt out of bed. The girl shivered as her bare feet hit the cold floor. Grabbing her robe off the floor, Reign pulled it on and raced from the room. Others were stirring now, blinking owlishly as they poked their heads out the door. Reign rushed down the stairs, and gasped at what she saw.

Angry red flames ravaged the kitchen and were beginning start on the common room floor. People rushed around with buckets of water and wet sacks, calling out for help. Of all the rotten luck… she thought, and then raced to help the others.

It had taken most of the morning, but the flames were finally expired. The inn was badly damaged, and most of her things were gone. It wasn’t like she had much anyway. Reign opened her eyes. It had been almost a week since the fire, and things were just now calming down enough for her to find the time to think.

Reign was surprised at her own sense of loss for the inn. After all, she had only been there barely one afternoon. But, although it was hard to see, she was a sensitive girl, and quick to recognize when something was good and precious. The inn had been a good thing, and deep inside of Reign she ached with the loss of it.

But she also knew that the Green Dragon could be rebuilt, if they all worked together and helped each other. And she had every intention of doing just that.

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Flyte

Flyte ran down path that led from their own little cottage to the woods behind the famous (at least in these parts) Green Dragon Inn. She was looking for the source of the whips of smoke that she had just spotted above the tree line. There weren’t that many houses between theirs and the inn, and everyone’s she passed were perfectly in tact. She ran on, her feet brushing the ground so lightly they seemed hardly to touch at all.

Far too soon for her liking, the little girl began to tire. Her face was set in a deep scowl as she stopped to rest on a dead tree stump. Flyte could normally out-run any boy for miles around, but, as Granny kept reminding her, she was still weak from being sick.

For the past two weeks, her body had raged with a fever that had kept her in bed the whole time. About three days ago the fever had broken, but she still had a great deal less energy than usual.

Flyte tucked the loaf of bread back under her arm and went on. As she rounded the next-to-last curve, her stomach sank with disappointment. It was nothing but a big bonfire! She stopped in the middle of the road, and blinked her big blue eyes. This was very frustrating.

Flyte walked slowly on down the path. She had decided to go see the inn before returning to her grandmother. The little girl liked to sit and stare at painting of the dragon on the inn sign, and make up stories about it. Flyte had a very vivid imagination.

She came round the last curve, and was perfectly horrified to find half the inn missing! “Oh, wow,” she breathed, her eyes going round as saucers. Here was a fire, if she ever wanted one! Of course, it was out now, but the damage left in its wake was almost as startling for Flyte.

Most of the lower floor was burned to the ground, leaving piles of rubble instead of bright kitchens and spotless floors. People were rushing around every which way, shouting to each other and carrying building materials. “They’re fixing it,” she mused out loud.

Flyte spotted a woman she knew to be the innkeeper Aman. She hurried over to her, and noticed how tired and worn she looked. “Miss Aman,” she said shyly, then, a bit louder, “Miss Aman?” The lady turned to look at her. She was a pretty little girl of about six years, with long blonde curls and starry blue eyes. “Granny told me this to give this to you, if you want it.” Flyte extended the loaf of bread. “What happened here? Was there a fire?” Her voice was a mixture of concern and excitement.

Aman smiled down at her and took the bread. “Yes, dear, there was - a very, very big one. Hadn’t you heard about it?”

Flyte shook her head. “I don’t think so. It must have happened while I was sick, and Granny hasn’t let me outside at all until today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry you were sick,” The innkeeper said absently. Her mind had already moved on to something else. “Well, tell your grandmother I said ‘thank you’ for the bread.” She moved off to speak to someone else.

Flyte stood to one side, watching a man mix mortar. She squinted against the bright sun, surprisingly warm for an October day. She stood and watched the rhythmic pumping of his arms, up and down, up and down…