Swiftly he typed away on the obsolete machine. It had been the tool of his generation thought, and he was reluctant to give it up.
Page after page of writing appeared in page after page that his greedy fans would eat up like food after a famine.
Finally, smiling, he saved it then sent it to his publisher with the order to fix grammatical mistakes like usual. They had known each other since childhood, and knew what each other meant as if the other had said it clearly, so the publisher wouldn’t mess it up at all.
Within five minutes of sending the story, the old writer had fallen into his final sleep.
The book, though, was published, and new fans eagerly sought out the rest of the series. New fans and old alike, though, all mourned his passing.
But this is not his story, this is the story of his last characters and their adventures outside of the lines on paper that one old, tired writer had written.
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She stretched and rose, still unaccustomed to the luxuries that the royalty had. After all, she had spent most of her life as a thief or a roving warrior.
This being a princess was entirely new to her. Of course, how she had become a thief and roving warrior in the first place was hard for her to figure out, and her guardian professed no knowledge of it. The fact was there, though, she was a princess, her sister the queen, and she was restricted to the palace grounds despite how easily she had vanquished Etral.
She turned, then, and strode quickly across the softly carpeted room, her paws sinking uncomfortably into the thick carpet. Her body was thin and wiry, with strength held in her limbs that didn’t show. That had been the downfall of many of her enemies, they had misjudged her abilities and paid for it with their lives.
Her lower body was leonine, but a blue gray color instead of the accustomed golden color. A blue gray tail swept from side to side behind her, tipped in long, silken, steel gray fur. Large, bright gold eagle wings were folded loosely against her back, spreading whenever she lost her balance because of the strange surface she was trying to walk on. Her upper body was covered in bright gold feathers, while her face was covered in a mixture of bright gold feathers and blue gray fur.
Her hands were three fingered with a thumb, and each digit was tipped with sharp, slightly curved claws like an eagle. Her feet were the paws of a cat, complete with the retractable claws of most of the feline family. Her face was a mixture of human, cat, and eagle, a strange combination that somehow managed to look dangerous instead of silly. Rainbow eyes were as sharp and clear as an eagle’s, and her catlike ears were perched atop her head, tipped with short, golden feathers.
Reaching the dresser, she pulled out, not the pretty dresses that everyone wanted her to wear now that she was an acknowledged princess, but her usual clothes, thick, comfortable, leather armor.
With an ease born of practice, she pulled the brown armor on, settling both pieces by stretching so that they fit snugly around her wings and tail. Idly, she stretched her golden wings to make sure that everything was settled properly, then turned away from the dresser.
As usual, her claws had scored the thick leather lightly, which was one of the reasons why she’d never wear the cloth dresses everyone wanted her to, besides the fact that she like the feel of them against her body, to thin and flimsy, offering no protection. As it was, her armor usually had to be replaced not because of damage in battle, but just ordinary wear and tear from her claws. From what she had seen, the other Royals filed their claws down to dullness in order to avoid hurting their clothes and others.
She never did that, and never would, it was against her way as a warrior. To deprive oneself of the very weapon one might depend upon to get out of a fix was inviting death.
She strode out of her room then, forgetting for a second where she was and how much she hated the carpet. Cursing, she lurched forward as one of her claws got stuck in the weave.
Two heavy, thick hands grabbed her and set her right, the four claws of his fingers and thumbs sinking their tips into the leather as he supported her weight for a bit.
“Now you see why most of these Royals have themselves declawed,” her helper remarked, slightly amused.
She grimaced, “I still think it’s a stupid practice.”
“You would,” he answered with a laugh, “You wouldn’t even wear those claw covers I gave you until you saw how quickly they could be removed in a fight. And you still don’t wear them much, except when you have to deal with the soft skinned beings that’re outside of the Barrier.”
She looked up at him, the one who had protected her as a kit, who had taught her everything, and who had cared for her through some hard times.
He was tall, a good bit taller than everyone in the castle. His feathers were a bright red color, while his fur was a softer, silken blue color that blended with his red feathers on his face to make them seem even brighter. Blue-green eyes sparkled with life, slit like a cat’s eyes. Cat ears were on his head, tipped with long feathers that made it look like he had horns.
Large, strong wings extended from his back, out of midnight blue colored leather armor the same color as his tail tuft. He, too, it appeared, had refused the fancy clothes they had given him.
“I want to get out of this place, Mraz. It’s too… enclosing, and the Royals here are stiff with their own supposed authority,” she muttered softly, just loud enough for him to hear her.
“Your siblings won’t like that, Sala, you know that.”
“Who says they know what’s best for me? I’ve survived most of my life without them,” she snapped back.
He laid a hand on her shoulder, “Calm then, little cavrisi, we’ll leave for a time.”
Smiling, she bounded off to grab food and the rest of her and Mraz’s sets of armor and clothing that had been taken to clean and never returned.
She found them in the back of a storeroom after a little bit of searching, luckily they were on top of some boxes, or else she never would have found them. Quickly she grabbed the sets up, then swiftly headed towards the kitchens to grab supplies from under the noses of the cooks.
It was, as always, a game for her, and a simple game at that. These cooks in the Palace weren’t used to master thieves trying to steal from them, unlike the cooks in inns and other places outside of this well defended Palace. Carefully, she nicked several loaves of bread, some smoked meat, and a few other pieces of food that would last.
Finally, grabbing two packs, she stuffed their clothes into the bottom of each, hers in one back, his in another, then took the food that she had carefully wrapped up in water proof material and put that in on top. Easily, she swung her pack over her shoulder, then slipped out of the kitchen before someone could spot her.
As she was heading towards the Great Hall, she detoured slightly, slipping silently into the armory. Sala looked around at the weapons on the walls marveling at how beautiful some of them were.
Shaking her head, she snapped those thoughts from her mind and strode across the stone floor to where two swords hung side by side. Mraz had had those made special for them, they were of the finest steel and make possible, with edges that would never dull and were sharp enough to cut through the steel armor of the pale skinned beings that lived outside of the Barrier.
Setting down the pack in her right hand, she grabbed up her sword and clipped its sheath to her belt, then sheathed the sword. Now she felt complete, like she had when she had led that army against Etral, and wielded this very sword against him in a duel to the death… his death.
Grabbing up the other sheath and sheathing Mraz’s sword was a simple action, one that she did as she crouched down and grabbed up the second pack, then turned and trotted out of the armory, back into the carpeted halls of the Palace.
From there, it was just a quick few minutes to the Great Hall, a few minutes that were complicated as she kept having to consciously retract her claws or else go ungracefully sprawling to the ground, with no Mraz to catch her.
Finally, she reached the polished stone entrance, and her balance improved a bit, not as much as it had in the rough stone of the armory, but enough. Mraz stood there, talking calmly with a young Royal, one of the youngest in line for the throne.
Sala winced slightly, this child, she had never bothered to learn their names, was a tattle tale to the bone. The young one turned, his eyes widening as he saw Sala in her armor, with her favorite sword sheathed at her side and a pack on her back and another pack and sword in her hand.
“I’m going to tttteeeeellll! You’re leaving without Mother’s permission! And you’re not wearing proper clothes!”
Sala’s eyes narrowed, and she bared her sharp teeth, “These are my proper clothes, you little pet! And I don’t need my sister’s permission to live my life!” Dramatically she flared her wings, knowing that they were an impressive sight in a place where even the army barely had wings as large as hers, “And tell her all you want, we’ll be over the border before dawn tomorrow.”
“You can’t do that,” the child breathed softly, “even the Army runners can’t do that.”
Mraz smiled slightly, “None of them have ever practiced under the conditions we have had to.”
“Saving your skin is a good incentive to be quick,” Sala growled softly.
Easily, she tossed the pack and sword to Mraz, and his hand reached out absently, snagging both out of the air without even looking. He shouldered his back, then clipped the sword to his waist, his eyes never leaving the child’s once in the entire procedure.
“Come on, lets get out of here,” Sala threw over her shoulder as she walked across the room to the great doors that led out. With one shove she opened one side a little way, then slipped out, Mraz right behind her.
Turning, she shut the door, then, with a glance at him, leaped into the air, her wings beating strongly. Mraz followed her silently.
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Their wings beat steadily as they flew swiftly above the land. Behind them, the wind blew faint sounds of the tracker horns to them, the horns that had started not long after they had escaped from the castle.
Sala’s eyes were closed as she caught a nap on the wing, an ability she had learned when she was first learning to fly. Mraz, though, was awake and guiding both of them towards the flickering air that marked the border that the Goddess had long ago created to shield her children from the ravages of the other Gods and Goddesses’ races.
On both of their right hands, a swirling shape started to flicker in response to the flickering barrier. That was their Goddess given pass out of Her protection, a pass that few received, and even fewer used.
Quickly, he grabbed Sala’s shoulder, waking her up. She blinked as she oriented herself, a response made easier because of the flickering Barrier not far in front of them.
“The border,” Mraz murmured, wary of the magic that it represented, “Where should we head?”
Sala hovered a foot from the flickering Barrier, her ears facing it, as if she was listening to it. Mraz could never figure her affinity to the Barrier out, and frankly he never did want to, magic, in any form, tended to make him nervous, especially if the magic was Goddess magic.
“To where She bids,” she finally answered.
Mraz rumbled uncomfortable, “I don’t trust that, you remember what happened last time!”
Sala grinned, then grabbed Mraz’s hand and flew through the Barrier, dragging him with her. Both of them closed their eyes as the world dissolved in a blinding flash of light.
Weyrling
Adult