People of The Dragons: Last of the Kind pg. 2

        I had never seen anything like it: a town. I had of course heard of the amazing feats of building and construction done by other civilizations, but never had the privilege to be in one. My people had once had a magnificent city on top of a mountain, hidden by the protecting walls of the Valley Sun. Those were only stories though. Things I had heard, but never could truly picture in my mind. I imagined golden path ways and reflective silver buildings stretching past the clouds, all in a beautiful triangle formation. It would be peaceful and have an atmosphere of safety. The town of the Dwarfs quickly obstructed that fantasy.

        "This way!" I was pushed along by a driving crowd: short, bearded men tolling in the streets and their husky women hanging outside the houses. The city was a dirty place, smelling of musky clothing and the odor of many people in one place. The houses were small by nature, made of thick slabs of minerals and soil. The road was dirt, paved down by a bunch of thickly booted feet. I gripped my fathers hand tightly, my mother trailing just behind us. We were stared at. Beady eyes looking out at us from under thick brows; some filled with fear, others with wonder and admiration. Either way, I hated it.
        "Just right in here, sorry about the doorway." The little man pushed through a dusty fabric door to get into one of the larger buildings, which seemed to be interconnected with many. I, being tall for my age, had to stoop to get in. My father was nearly hunched past the knees and my mother was right behind him. Inside, there was a dark gloom lightly lit by torches. My golden eyes watched them carefully, fearing the licking flames might catch onto the dry, drooping ceiling. The dwarf followed my gaze, his beard raising as he smiled a yellow toothed smile.
         "Relax, youngin'. I can assure you we been living this way a long time and haven't died yet." I ducked behind my father in embarrassment, causing a new ring of chuckles. My mother stroked my hair reassuringly.
         "We come here on business, Roland." My father's golden eyes reflected his seriousness. Roland, the gray haired dwarf I had just become acquainted with, slowly walked to a wooden, round table in the back and sat heavily. His dark eyes never left the ice white creatures standing in front of him. My father began, not bothering to sit. "I want to round up a rebel force." My own heart stopped as suddenly time jumped still. I couldn't react as my mother grabbed my wrist and pulled me close.
          "Daddy-"
          "Quiet, Jane. This is for grown ups." I knew my Father's tone meant if I spoke again I would be punished. So I digressed into silence, my golden eyes flickering with the light of the torches. Roland's face had a grim look of fear on it, but through that crept a smile. An ironic smile. I wanted to punch my father, punch into him that sense that had surely been beat away with the mornings earlier fight.
          "A rebel force eh? You know the hunters will kill everyone and anything that defies them. King James' orders. That human, he is the scum of the earth. Just like all of em." Roland pulled up a bottle of whiskey, a human made thing, and gulped from it heavily. I crinkled my nose in distaste. Maybe the little dwarf though could disabuse my father from taking such an action. Such an action that was certainly doomed.
         The dwarf seemed hardly in the conversation. His beady eyes stared at the bottle of whiskey he had just drank from. I felt my dad tense as I hid behind him, a sound rising from deep in his chest that could be a growl or a grunt of frustration. I wasn't surprised at what came next. "You know its what we must do! How can we continue to live this way, Roland?" My father slammed his fist down on the table, making the wood splinter in fractures. I saw the dwarfs eyes widen until I cold see the white brims on them. Oh, how they feared us. Why couldn't humans fear us that way? Why couldn't hunters share in the dread? It didn't make sense to me.
         "Now, just calm down-" Roland started, setting the bottle down with shaky hands on the splintered table. The other dwarfs in the room had drawn back into the corners, shielding them selves in the flickering shadows that the torches cast. Behind me, my mother had slightly drawn back her lips to reveal sharp canines. It was in moments like these I could see the dragons inside our people; writhing, fighting to be friend from within.
         "I will not calm down! Do you know how long its been since me and my family have been able to settle down somewhere and feel safe? How long has it been since we haven't had to worry about being hunted!?" My father was pacing the room now, like a caged lion, his golden eyes sparking with anger. I wasn't sure what he was angry at. Roland's hesitance at making a rebel force, or King James? "Since before she was born that's how long!" He swung his hand toward me, and I looked down. Our people aged quickly had lived longer but that was still a long time. With each word his teeth clacked together, sending a small shower of sparks into the dim lit room. We couldn't breath fire as true dragons had been able too. But in events of supreme anger, sparks were not uncommon.
          Roland stood from his seat, gripping his belt. From the fear in his eyes, I assumed his was grabbing a weapon to defend himself with. My father noticed too. His golden eyes focused on Roland, following his arm to his hand then back again to the dwarfs beady eyes. He was completely still. My mother came from behind me to her husbands side. The room grew tense and the crackling flames of the torches were the only noise to break the air. Roland realized his mistake, and let his hand drop without a weapon. "Do you think it is just you that has suffered this massacre?" His voice was very quiet. "My tribe is the last of the dwarfs. The rest are...all gone." There was a pensive sadness in his voice that pierced my heart. Gone? Killed. The threat of the hunters became ever real.
         My father let his hostility subside. Roland edged around the table until they stood face to face. He had to look up a great deal to keep eye contact. "What good do you think a rebel force will do?"
         What would it do? The hunters had crushed any earlier attempt at defying the Kings orders. They were are the plenty, and we are the few. Father grabbed Roland's shoulders gently, hunching a little as one would a little child. He looked at him with his golden eyes and the little dwarf seemed to find comfort in them. "Roland. It doesn't take a majority to rise above their oppressors. Just a determined minority who is willing to fight for their freedom." I listened carefully. That sounded like suicide to me, but the dwarf nodded slowly at first and then more vigorously.
         "Alright." He and my father grabbed each others fore arms, both smiling as they made the pact. It wasn't a happy smile. People just tend to smile when they know they're going into something dangerous and, as it seems, hopeless. The adrenaline rushes in and a feeling of family. "The Hunters had better sharpen their weapons, because they wont slaughter us without a fight!" The dwarfs in the room yelled their approval, clanking their swords on the dirt carpeted ground. My father looked around, pulling me and my mother into his arms.
          "Don't be afraid." He coaxed us gently. "We wont have to run anymore." I looked up at him. That's right. We wouldn't have to run anymore. But I felt my stomach turning and my head felt light. We wouldn't be running anymore, we'd be facing the Hunters. Which was more of a death sentence than hiding ever was.