I stopped by Main Street on my way from Lord Ashton back to my father’s shop. A commotion could be heard from blocks away, and as I was in no particular hurry, I decided to find the cause.
A great many people crowded the side walks and alleys. I gathered some important personage was to pass through our town; they did from time to time. We were on the main road to Mount Seray, the greatest city and the administrative seat of this region of the country. Trying to get closer to the road to be able to see (I am tall, but not tall enough to see from behind five other people), I asked someone in the crowd who we were expecting.
“It’s Amarin, didn’t you know?” Why would I have asked, if I did? I didn’t say that, just nodded. She was already quite famous after killing that dragon in West Porland, and for refusing the rewards offered by the surviving villagers. I think I quite admired her, even in those days. She was a great role model to the girls I knew; we all wanted to be like her. We borrowed our brothers’ wooden play swords and stabbed at the dark, waving our hands in magic gestures. We’d shout, “boom!” and the bandit or dragon or evil sorcerer would be no more.
Just as I pushed my way to the second row, earning a few elbows in the ribs, which I am sure I deserved, she came riding around the corner. Her horse was tall and dark, and she was dark and beautiful. She was everything I had imagined and more – she was a legend alive. Her arms and legs were clearly well muscled, seen even standing several meters away, yet she held herself with the poise and daintiness of a Court lady. I was not disappointed.