Silent Flame

I crawled onto the shore, lungs burning from the coughed-up sea water. My hands were trembling, and my muscles were on fire as I clawed my way forward, leaving a trail of misery in the sand.

That stupid... incompetent... unforgivable, petty, demented, prideful CUNT!

I could not think straight. All the lives. All this time. Everything we'd done and suffered, and for what? So that one dickhead can fuck it all up!?

I rolled over and propped myself up on my hands, watching the last remains of the wreckage sinking under the relentless waves.

I told him we shouldn't take shortcuts.

No, he's the captain!

I told him there's a reason no one sails through these waters!

No, he's the captain!!

I told him if he hit the reefs, I would blow his head off while we sank, then beat his bloody ghost until the ocean devoured our souls!

No, he's the fucking captain!!!

I got up to my knees, mustering the last remains of my strength, my throat sore from blood and salt.

"I hope you are happy now on the bottom of the sea, you FUCKING IMBECILE!!!"

I collapsed on the wet ground a soggy, battered mess of a man. I have no idea how long I laid there. Could have been hours, could have been days for all I knew. When I finally got up, the drifting pieces of the ship had vanished, the sea having finally taken them into its embrace. There were scarcely any remains on the shore. No tracks, no marks in the sand. Not a foot had stepped in this place beside my own.

It was a miracle I had made it onto the shore at all. As soon as I remembered to, I voiced a quick thanks to the gods for it. The sea had been my enemy, pulling me back into the open waters with every kick, every stroke of my hands. But I made it. I was the only one... but I made it.

And now I was stranded on The Southern Reaches of the continent.

I began to rethink whether I was the lucky one... or the sailors who had found their peace in the arms of the sea.

I turned away from the ocean and eyed the bushy plains beyond the beach. There was no civilization in the Southern Reaches. No human cities, no dwarven tunnels, no orcish strongholds. Only creatures that could tear me apart with a single bite of their teeth.

It was untamed wilderness.

I scavanged the shore for any useful flotsam I could find. I was on the eastern coast. My best chance was to cross down to the southwest, where a canal separated the two great landmasses. Ships were bound to sail through there. I would signal one to save me from this place.

It was a long trip. I would need to survive months out in the wild.

There wasn't much at the beach. Only pity and sorrow over the lost lives and a good ship. Standing where the sand gave way to tall grass, I spared a last look at the sea and voiced a quick prayer for my fallen comrades.

Then for myself.

Showing my back to the ocean, a sailor had embarked inland, with only the shoes on my feet, the clothes on my back and my frayed dignity to my name, as well as an unbreakable will to go on.

***

Within a week, my dignity was torn apart like the tatters of my clothes and my will was bound to follow. I had walked miles and miles across the plains and forests, following the jagged foothills as my guide.

I couldn't sleep without a shelter, the sounds of the creatures scattering in the dark made me jumpy and paranoid.

I had eaten nothing but berries for days. I had no weapons to hunt and didn't know how to make one. Even if I did, I wasn't a hunter. I was a sailor. I tied knots and worked the deck, not hunted and skinned meat. I found all kinds of fruits, but I didn't recognize most of them and knew I could easily poison myself instead of nourishing myself. So I had foregone eating at all.

I had barely drunk anything the whole day. I found a stream but had no way to carry water along and staying achieved nothing. So, I went.

The sun had just touched the mountaintops when I spotted something that made my heart jump. A smoke trail. It was rising from the foothills of, where soil gave way to rock.

I was beside myself. Smoke meant fire. It wasn't a forest fire, that much was clear. It was a singular, narrow strip of smoke among rocks. A campfire. Campfire meant people.

Someone else had made it out.

I almost ran with excitement at the prospect of seeing another face. Another crewmember. But as I neared the campsite, worry replaced my joy.

What if it's not crew? I thought. What if it's someone else? Natives. Some primitive tribe living in the Reaches?

I was too hopeful, and too desperate, to stop. I closed the distance between me and the foothills with speed I had thought myself incapable of.

And found no one.

The smoke came from beneath a rocky overhang in the mountainside. There were remains of a small deer at the lazily built fireside - just a pile of burning sticks and bones - the meat cooked and half eaten, the skin thrown by the entrance.

A group wouldn't leave the place unattended. That meant a lone traveler.

My hope began to rise again.

I squatted by the deer remains, wandering how on earth did they manage to kill it. The bastard probably had a weapon. If only I had had such luck... Surely, whoever it was wouldn't mind if I ate some, would they?

I picked up a meaty rib and bit into it with more gusto than ever before. It felt like the best meal of my life. The meat was still hot and I ate so quickly my stomach ached and I had to take a breather.

As I looked around the shelter, I debated the wisdom of awaiting the traveler's return. It could be one of the crew. Most likely. But it could also not. I decided to wrap some of the meat in a few big leaves and stick it in my pockets. Then I'd wait outside and watch who came back.

I was packing the second strip of meat when I noticed something on the stone wall. A scratch mark. Long, widely spaced lines ran through the rock on one side of the cave. Way, way too deep lines. Turning around, panicking, I now noticed a footprint in the shallow dirt around the fire. Big... clawed footprint.

Terror ran over me as I realized my mistake.

Fuck.

I quickly tried to tear of the piece of meat I held and get away as soon as possible, when a loud, scratchy noise came from the rockface.

FUCK!

As I dropped everything and ran for the exit, a shadow fell over the mountain shelter. And there it was. A big, black silhouette stood under the overhang, its wings blocking out the sunlight.

I swallowed as the dragon took a step closer, slowly, as if advancing on a prey it didn't want to corner.

I was in awe and horror as I gazed at a creature of myth.

It was small. That is, smaller than the city-razing beasts from legends and folktales. Its head was the size of my torso. Its long, downward-facing legs and slender, aerodynamic body were different from the fat, lizard-like depictions from paintings and heraldry. Unlike the mismatch of curved ram horns or antlers that I would have expected, the two black horns growing from the back of its head were sleek and smooth like a raven's beaks, and a row of flexible spines ran along its back from neck to tail. Its claws were long and sharp like talons and its obsidian scales danced with the reflected light from the fire.

Even on all fours, it was looking down on me, its burning, red eyes scanning me, running over my weak, malnourished form peeking from the torn, disintegrating clothes like it was judging my worth as a meal.

Its gaze wandered to the half-eaten deer, then back to me. I swallowed emptily.

The dragon then opened its mouth and spoke, a deep, rumbling growl that could hardly be recognized as words.

"Aknaglurr'aveg kal'rogg'mzr vhrt'en."

Great, I thought. Draconic. I don't speak draconic!

"Uhm... hello," I stammered, sheepishly. "I didn't know it was your... I didn't mean to intrude. You don't happen to speak common, do you?"

The dragon watched, unperturbed, then hurled more words in its snarling tongue.

"Great. So you don't understand me. Because I sure can't understand you." I stepped away to the right, trying to keep my distance from the advancing beast. "Listen, I know you don't know what I'm saying, but... this was all just a misunderstanding. I really don't see the point in killing me, you know."

I was pinned against the wall now, the dragon's wing standing between me and daylight. Its face came up to mine, staring down my eyes, its nostrils breathing in my foul odor.

Then, as I was making peace with my fate, the dragon withdrew its wing.

It took a moment for me to register what was happening. The dragon stood, unmoving, between me and the deer, muttering more growl-like words.

"Khavr'teh grunr!"

I still couldn't understand, but I got the message. I slowly crept towards the exit, not letting my eyes off the beast, until I felt soft dirt beneath my feet. Scared to my bones, I wanted to run, but something stopped me. Afraid the dragon might give chase, I pulled the stolen strip of meat from my pocket and, covered in a leaf, I laid it on the ground.

"Thank you," I muttered, for nothing in particular. Not killing me, most likely.

Backing away, as soon as the black figure vanished from my view, I turned on my heels and made haste away from the foothills, tripping over my feet and every rock on the way. I stopped at the forest line and shot a glance at the overhang. The beast did not pursue. Not wanting to chance it, I disappeared among the sparse trees, putting as much distance between me and the mountains as possible before the night fell.

***

Why did I do that?

Why the FUCK did I do that?

I spun the twig between my palms until my skin bruised while I mentally flogged myself. The night fell. I was cold, I was hungry, and I was furious at how fucking stupid I had been for giving the meat back!

What did I hope to achieve? Prove my honesty? Earn its gratitude? It was already LETTING ME GO!

Smoke began to rise from the dry grass and lichen I have been using as kindling and I redoubled my efforts. The two pieces of wood were heating up as my rapid movements produced friction. In a minute, a light appeared as some of the kindling caught fire. I blew onto it until the flame grew satisfactorily, then quickly threw any dry sticks I could find on the smoldering pile.

It wasn't a big fire.

The nights were warmer than on the sea, but I had exhausted myself in the past few days and I began to feel sick. I would need to find a way to warm myself or I would sneeze myself to death before hunger could take me.

Nothing was looking good for me.

I huddled myself close to the flame, determined to fall asleep before it burned out. It would not last the night, I knew, but if it held out while I was awake, I would be grateful.

It did not.

The howling of the wind and rustling of leaves were making the hair on the back of my neck stand as I watched the last remnants of the little light flicker and die before dreams found me. I did not have the will and energy to try and save it. I laid on the ground and drifted off watching the last sparks rise into the darkness.

***

I awoke feeling warm and rested and instantly knew something was wrong.

I was not shivering. That was the first sign. I had been travelling for over a week now, spent my nights sleeping on the cold ground with only grass to soften it, twitching at every noise made by the forest. I had never felt well rested. I sat up to take a look around and quickly discovered I had been right. Something was wrong.

The fire was burning.

And not the tiny, flickering flame I had made last night. In its place was a full-blown campfire, with piled branches fueling the blaze and rocks to prevent it from spreading. I pondered whether I could have made that last night and was so out of it I could not recall.

Then I noticed the dead hare beside it. It had been gutted and partially skinned; the meat cold but still fresh.

I suppressed the chill running down my spine.

Whoever did this, knew how to hunt and process meat, and had a reliable method of making fire. And they could move silently enough not to wake me.

My mind was racing, looking for an explanation that made sense. Could it have...

No! Not, that's bullshit!

I squashed down my worries and inspected the rabbit. If someone was around who didn't want me to die here, then I better take advantage of it. In about an hour, I had cooked and eaten most of the meat there was, just in time to see the fire going out. I packed the rest in leaves, doused the flame with dirt and set out again.

The whole time, I kept turning my head, scanning for anyone that could be following me. I even caught myself glancing at the sky a few times. No one. I was completely alone out there.

Well, except for all the animals shuffling around. Birds were chirping from every tree, a few squirrels jumped between branches, and I even saw a stag amidst the tall grass further up on a hill. If I wasn't fighting for my life out there, the place would actually be rather beautiful.

Until I ran across something that made me stop dead in my tracks. A footprint. A bare, human looking foot had stamped its shape in a patch of mud recently. Only, this print was about twice as big as a human foot should.

Orc. Obvious on a first glance. Couldn't have been anything else.

I swallowed emptily and cautiously stepped past the mud, continuing along the forest line. I had no clue what kinds of indigenous tribes inhabited the Southern Reaches, but orcs were never a good sign. Nerves on edge, I began imagining what I would do if I found myself actually fighting for my life.

***

A few days later, the situation repeated.

I awoke to find that my fire hadn't gone out yet. Unlikely, but plausible. I had gotten better at making campfires in the last days. Then, as I gathered myself to douse it, I had noticed the dead fish lying by.

This was the second time I had discovered an unexplained hunk of meat by my camp. Except that wasn't all there was this time. Lying by was also a length of rope and... a knife.

This was no coincidence. Someone was following me, helping me. But who? Could it be natives? Maybe they weren't bad at all and just wanted to help a starving soul. But then why not show themselves? Were they also afraid of me?

I had a hard time imagining an orc scared of a hungry little human. But then again... the other option seemed even less likely.

I picked up the knife and inspected the blade. It was a fishing knife, the kind sailors used to gut their catches. The same kind some of my own crew had carried. The blade was a little rusty and the edge a little dull in places, but it would do! I proceeded to cook and savor the familiar meal. It was a freshwater fish, a kind I did not recognize, but it was enough to stir up nostalgia.

That evening, I tried setting a trap. Not for my Samaritan, of course, the last thing I wanted was to scare away the help I was receiving. I used the rope to tie a slipknot and covered it with leaves, then put some foraged berries in the middle. Hopefully they weren't poisonous and whatever animal would come across their scent would come to eat them, then get its leg caught in the noose.

I tied the other end to the trunk of a small tree then walked back to my selected campsite. I couldn't hang out too close to the trap or my scent would scare away the animals. I could only hope that it wouldn't linger too strongly.

Night fell before I was done and so I grew increasingly paranoid on my way back. I could hear something move in the shadows. It was there and I knew it, but every time I turned around all I saw were trees. My heart was going to jump out of my chest.

I emerged from the forest onto the clearing where I had gathered my firewood and then I finally saw it! An orc was squatting by the pile, inspecting the arrangement of twigs. He lifted his head as I came to a halt and looked right at me. There was a bone chilling mirth in his yellow eyes as he stood up, his barrel of a chest in level with my head, and walked my way, the sticks snapping loudly beneath his bare foot. And from the shadows around him, more orcs appeared.

I swallowed and slowly backed away. These weren't the "civilized" orcs of the north, with their curved swords and strange honor codes. They were wielding stone-tipped spears and brutish clubs, clad in adornments of string and bone, their green faces painted red and white with blood and soot. Fur pelts and skirts of straw covered their loins. No armor, no proper clothing. These were tribal warriors scouting the edges of their territory. Or worse, hunters on a prowl, looking for their next meal.

Which, in this case, would be me.

I turned around and ran the way I came, hoping to lose them amid the vegetation. They did not give chase, and it became clear why, as I hadn't made it five steps before I ran into more orcs, their broad silhouettes stepping out of the darkness.

I was surrounded.

There was nowhere left to go, nothing I could do but watch as one of the orcs stepped forth towards me, casually lifting his club, ready to deal the fatal blow. This is how I would die. To an effortless, whimsical strike. I felt the ground underneath me giving way. Even If I remembered the knife on me, I would be lucky to land a scratch before getting my head caved in.

I breathed in, feeling the scissors closing around the thread of my fate... when a shadow darkened the stars overhead. The orcs saw it first. They looked up at the sky and screamed warcries as lunging mass of darkness fell upon them. The silhouette shifted and bodies were flung away. A terrifying roar filled the night. Weapons swung and bounced off scales. Claws flashed, blood sprayed. The orc towering before me charged their assailant and was swatted away by a tail, landing far off in the trees. His body convulsed, fueled by bottomless rage, but failed to rise.

Within minutes, the pack scattered, retreating into the woods and vanishing in the sea of shadows. They left nothing and no one behind. I watched as even the most grievously injured rose from the pools of their blood, hobbling away supported by their spears. I glanced around the spot my attacker had been flung to. Not a sign of him remained.

Back north, I would never have guessed to see orcs fleeing for their lives. Their honor would not allow it and their honor, as everyone knew, was something rooted deep in their nature. But there were things even orcs feared. And now, I had, - again - found myself alone with one such creature.

The dragon stood in the middle of the clearing, unmoving, a low growl escaping it as it breathed heavy, rumbling breaths. It shifted its gaze to me as I clumsily tried to regain my footing and quieted down, its eyes standing out in the darkness like a pair of embers.

I was still shaken up from everything that had gone down. I had narrowly escaped death, no thanks to my bravery, and I was now face to face with a dragon. I wanted to run, to find a hole to hide in and wither away. I wanted to be back on the sea.

But as terrified as I was, I couldn't move. There was nowhere for me to go and knowing there were orcs out there was not encouraging my wanderer's spirit.

I faced my savior as it silently stared me down.

"...why?" I asked, knowing I wouldn't get an answer. The dragon breathed out an irritated sound and turned away from me. It laid down on the ground in the middle of the clearing where I planned to make my camp and licked the specks of blood from its claws.

I was left to awkwardly stand, watching the unmoving beast occupying my campsite. "Are... are you just going to stay here?"