In the forest, it was dark.

A large russet fox was sniffing the at base of a large oak. Its ears twitched, and its head shot up. The animal crouched, preparing to leap into the safety of the underbrush, when an arrow whistled through the air and struck it in the eye. The fox fell to the ground, dead.

Two cloaked figures quietly emerged from the shadows, careful not to step on any twigs or dead leaves that might alert other animals to their presence. The one on the right walked over to the dead fox and pulled out the arrow.

“Nice kill,” commented the figure’s partner. “Everyone's right when they say you're the best shot with a blackwood bow.”

The first figure hauled the fox by the tail over her shoulder and shrugged, but she was grinning. “Come on, Erart, you know that's all just a bunch of talk.”

“No, I know it's true,” Erart laughed. He pulled back his hood, revealing shaggy ginger hair and small beard.

The girl downed her hood as well, allowing her long blonde hair to fall around her face. She pushed it out of her eyes with another small grin.

“You need any help loading that thing on to the cart?” her companion asked.

She shook her head. “No, I'm good, thanks.” She took a step toward him and nearly collapsed under the fox’s weight.

Erart sighed and took the kill from her. “Gwendolyn,” he started, but she cut him off.

“No,” she snapped. “I know what you're going to say, and I don't. I'm fine. I can carry it, you don't have to do everything for me.”

He gave her an injured look but nevertheless slung the fox over his shoulder. “Well, let's go,” he said. “The queen wants this by tomorrow afternoon for her grand feast, and if we're late, she's going to have our heads.”

Gwendolyn cast him a sideways look, but said nothing. She stepped past him in the direction of their wagon, paused, then turned around and said, sounding slightly annoyed, “Well? Are you coming or not?”

Erart heaved another sigh and followed her. After only a few moments of walking, his shoulder was beginning to hurt from the weight of the fox. His sister looked over her shoulder at him and he did his best to look like he was fine. After a short pause she rolled her eyes and turned back to the trail.

They stopped to rest in the middle of a small field as it was getting dark. Erart watched as Gwendolyn grabbed a small hatchet from a bag on her hip and walked back into the forest to find some kindling for the campfire. As she dissappeared, he realized he had been trying to NOT get on her bad side. Gwendolyn had a short temper and a large amount of pride - a combination that did not go together well.

He remembered one time when they had been walking through a local market, a small pouch of gold in their hands, and he had suggested something to her that he thought she would like. Instead, she turned on him, snapped a few angry words about how “just because I'm a girl doesn't mean my favorite color is pink or that I like necklaces”, and stormed off, leaving him alone injured and with a lot of odd looks. She hadn't spoken to him for a week after that incident.

Erart waited for his sister to return, and after a while, resorted to cleaning the fox. Gwendolyn came back when he was busy cutting and separating the meat. She dumped an armful of sticks in front of him, took a chunk of wood for herself, and then whipped out her knife and began carving.

She was aware of her brother’s eyes on her, and tried to ignore it. Her carving was beginning to take the shape of a graceful deer, and she felt small pieces of wood land in gaps in her sandals.

After a moment of that awkward feeling if being watched, she looked up at Erart, saw him drop his gaze quickly at her fiery glare, and snapped, “Stop staring at me like I've just grown two wings and a tail. Go… clean the fox, or whatever boys do.”

He looked up at her, surprised. She noticed a flash of hurt in his brown eyes, followed by amusement, and scoffed in disgust, looking back down at her carving before standing up again. “I forgot the flint,” she said curtly. “We can't have a fire without flint.” She whipped around, her robe fluttering, and ran back into the woods.

Once she was what she considered a good distance away, she leaned against the tree and exhaled heavily, sliding down the surface of the pine and sitting on the ground.

Gwendolyn sat in silence for a while, trying to use the breathing exercises she had taught herself, when the smell of black pepper invaded her nostrils. Her nose immediately began to run, and she rubbed at the base with her sleeve.

A rumble shook the earth, and she was up, her blackwood bow drawn and an arrow knocked, aimed. The rumble was followed by the crash of several trees falling. The smell of pepper was overpowering, and she covered her nose.

“Gwendolyn!” She heard Erart’s shout, and gritted her teeth. She inhaled, about to yell at him to go away, and started coughing. The hunter stepped out of a cloud of smoke, turned around, and looked up.

When she saw what had arrived, she wished her legs would listen to her and run. But they wouldn't; she was frozen in fear, and she hated it. Her wide brown eyes took in dark yellow scales, giant hooked claws, and huge bat-like wings. When her gaze finally reached the very top, she nearly collapsed as shining yellow eyes met her own.

It was a dragon, and not just any dragon, but the most feared in the kingdom of Buria. It was Noldrum, Bringer of Death and Reaper of Courage. And he had caught her at last.

***
Erart ran. He smelled peppers, fire, and smoke, and those scents triggered a memory.

He was thirteen years old. He and Gwendolyn had been hunting near another kingdom’s borders, but they hadn’t realized until Erart took aim at a boar, his sister tripped and stumbled into him, and he missed. He’d accidentally killed a border guard instead.

Noldrum had immediately erupted from behind Kaihles’s walls. He was the kingdom’s guardian.

The siblings ran. The smell of peppers stung their nostrils and made their eyes water, and fire blazed behind them. Above them, Kaihles’s guardian roared.

Queen Ascelline, Kaihles’s queen, had officially pardoned the two, but that didn't mean that Noldrum had. To the giant yellow Thunderskull, revenge was everything.