* * *
Hroombra glanced up from the manuscript he was reading when Jahrra clambered through the door. He was reclining at his great desk and had been waiting eagerly to hear how she and her friends had fared in their game, though one would not know it from his relaxed posture and calm gaze. It wasn’t quite full dusk, but Jahrra started lighting candles anyways as she made her way across the room.
The dragon eyed her curiously as she approached. “I see you were hit,” he mused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Jahrra sighed, but threw a smile over her shoulder as she stretched to light one of the higher candles. “Yes, but not nearly as much as Eydeth was. And besides, my team won.”
She beamed blissfully, recalling the events of the past several hours. Jahrra almost snorted at the sudden memory of hitting Ellysian right in the seat of her pants. Oh, what a glorious day it had been!
Jahrra finished with the candles and walked over to the great dragon, pulling up a chair and plopping down in it across the desk from him. She was exhausted, grimy and ready to fall asleep where she sat. She leaned back in her chair and held out her arm, examining the loose sleeve of her shirt. There were a few multi-colored stains there, but they had transferred themselves from her legs and torso. She knew she had at least three marks on her back, two on her stomach, one on her shoulder and hip, and several more on her legs. Yes, it had been a rather exhausting day.
Grinning, Jahrra leaned forward and stared at her guardian. He politely ignored her, his great amber eyes moving back and forth behind his spectacles as he read away.
Eventually, he took a patient breath and without looking up, he said, “Yes Jahrra?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me about the student that owned these clothes?” she asked with a grin, gesturing to the stained garments she wore. “If I recall correctly, we were interrupted the other morning when Gieaun and Scede came by.”
Hroombra pressed his great hand against the scroll he was reading and looked up at her, brow arched. He took off his spectacles and placed them aside, giving her his full attention.
“What would you like to know?”
Jahrra’s eyes grew wide. Wait, he’s actually going to tell me? Really?
Jahrra choked on her words for a few moments as they tried to fight their way free. “Was he a noble?” she blurted.
Eyes glittering and his mouth quirked in a small smile, Hroombra nodded once.
“How old was he when he wore these?” she continued, pulling the dirty shirt away from her stomach.
“Oh, a little younger than you I believe, ten or eleven maybe.”
Jahrra grinned. “Was he just as stubborn and determined as me?”
Hroombra gave a full smile, but Jahrra thought she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“Oh, very much so Jahrra. In fact, you remind me so very much of him that I sometimes think I can see his presence in you somehow. It is impossible, I know, but that is the only way I can explain it.”
Jahrra was about to ask what had happened to him, but thought better of it. Perhaps he had moved on when he was too old for a dragon mentor anymore. Or perhaps he had fled in fear when dragons were adopted as the enemy throughout their world. Maybe, judging by her guardian’s moment of sadness, something even more tragic had occurred.
Instead, Jahrra cleared her throat and went for a safer question, “Did he wear clothes like this every day?”
“Yes, actually. And sometimes every night.”
Jahrra opened her mouth to ask something else, but tripped on her tongue when what Hroombra had said registered.
She switched questions. “What?”
Hroombra gestured at her outfit and said nonchalantly, “The garment you chose to wear as a shirt was his night robe and those, um, ‘leggings’ would be worn under a pair of trousers.”
Jahrra merely stared at him and then her eyes grew wide and she felt the blood rushing to her face. She shot her hands to her mouth and said, “You mean I just spent the entire day traipsing through Aldehren in, in, some boy’s underwear!?”
Hroombra merely grinned and said, “Afraid so.”
Jahrra screeched and bolted from her chair, heading for her room. She didn’t even hear Hroombra’s chuckle trailing after her as he got back to his manuscript.
Conquer the Castle - A Legend of Oescienne Short Story Page 6
