***
It takes hardly any time at all to see the tower of the castle. It takes an hour of brisk walking after that before said tower becomes something more than a tiny thing on the horizon, no bigger than her thumb.
The way is steep hill followed by small valley followed by even steeper hill. With every step she contemplates lightening her burden by leaving something behind. The sword is the most awkward thing to carry, but she can't very well slay the dragon without it. The wooden shield raps against her back and arm, but she'll need whatever flimsy defence it can offer. And what if she leaves her pack, and some creature makes off with the rest of her food? If the boat leaves without her, then that food will have to tide her over until she finds something else to eat on this island.
Unless a boat is sent when the dragon is killed? That would make sense. The champion has to get to the palace with the princess somehow.
'Whoever slays the dragon shall win my daughter's hand, be knighted by my sword, and inherit my throne, kingdom and fortunes when I step down.'
What other way could a girl hope to become a knight?
Jack said over two hundred champions had come here over the past three years to try and win the princess's hand. None of them came back, and they were men. All of them strong, brave, and MEN! She's just a little girl playing at being a boy. How can she hope to compete?
The morning is too quiet. Just her, the grass beneath her rough shoes, and the sun pounding down relentlessly from above. For a moment she wishes she'd brought Neven, then she mentally shakes her head. This is her task. Her dream. To drag him along would be unfair to him.
She'll share her reward with him of course. He can live with her on her lands, or she can give him enough gold to decide what he wants to be. Farmer, blacksmith, scholar, nothing will be out of reach for him. And maybe she'll hire Ness, as a jester of course. Nothing else would suit him more.
The thoughts are a welcome diversion from what's about to happen, but as the tower gets closer they get harder to hold onto. If Neven were here, and somehow not cowering in fear, he'd know the right words to put her at ease.
"They say he breathes flames as hot as the sun," she'd say.
Neven would wave off the comment. "They also say that no one who meets him comes back alive. So who exactly do they think is coming up with all these stories?"
"Claws as sharp as knives," she'd say.
Neven would grin. "And the size of toothpicks I'll bet. You've got a sword. Yours is bigger."
"But I'm just a girl."
Here's where her imaginary Neven breaks off from the real one, because there's no way he'd ever dispute the shortcomings of that. In fact real Neven would quake, and pull at her hand, and say anything to get her to stop this foolish idea.
Imaginary Neven somehow knows exactly why she must do this. "You're not just a girl," he says. "Because you know this isn't just any dragon."
She hefts the sword up higher, trying to ignore the aches in her arm. Two hundred champions, two thousand. It doesn't matter, because she has an edge they never had. She's met this dragon before.
It was small then. The size of a large hound. Maybe the tales were false, and the knights had simply taken one look at it and turned away in pity. No. She knows that's not right. No matter its size it's something to fear, but the thoughts have given her hope. Maybe the dragon isn't as dangerous as the tales make him sound.
She doesn't see the white rock until it's too late. She trips, sword flying from her grasp. Arms flailing she tries to keep her balance but the next step takes her over the top of the hill. Her foot lands wrong on the uneven ground and she topples down the slope, rolling down head over heels.
She catches short snatches of sky and grass before the hill throws her violently onto the flat ground below. But it isn't ground.
She scrambles backwards, scattering the bones beneath her hands. Her foot lands on a charred skull and it collapses with a crunch. She half crawls over the field of bones, back to the grass of the hill. Her breath comes in pants.
The bones extend far into the distance. There must be hundreds of them. Some are full skeletons, but most are scattered pieces. Most have been charred, and all have been picked clean. She shudders, hoping that it was by time and birds, not the dragon. She can't bear to think of him eating people like that - like a monster.
"So much for him not being dangerous," Bonnie says when her voice comes back.
"And so much for not breathing fire."