Prologue- Leaving Mirkwood

"Riana… I'm tired!" Cri's temperamental voice whined from behind me. I groaned. I loved my baby brother, truly I did, but the poor child really could drive one crazy. It also didn't help that he knew every little trick there was to annoying me, or that he used them frequently enough to work even better. "We've been going since… Forever!" I forced a smile to my face, trying to appear patient and kind for him.

"I know, little brother. But these are dark times we live in. Our secret halls in Mirkwood are no longer safe," I told him, trying to keep my voice soft. He knew all this already. We both did, but neither of us truly wanted to leave the home we had made for ourselves after our parent's deaths. But now, with the spreading of Evil across Middle Earth, we could no longer hide in safety in Mirkwood. It simply was no longer possible. I just wanted Cri to understand that. If we had a choice, any choice other than what we were doing, I would have chosen that path. Cri didn't understand, or didn't want to understand. I didn't want to either, but I had to.

"I know that, Riana. But we could have stayed there!" And here it was again. We had had this argument several times a day since leaving our home in the northwest corner of Mirkwood. And that had been nearly a week and a half ago. Far too long to be having the same argument. I turned to face my brother, my purple eyes meeting his dark orange ones. Gently, I placed my hands on his shoulders, expecting him to shrug them off and stamp off as he usually did. This time, however, he surprised me, holding my gaze as steadily as I looked at him. We were both worse for the wear, for certain, with brambles caught in our too-long hair and torn clothing. He had a small scrape on his cheek where a branch had caught him, and I was sure I looked the same. Cri's voice dragged me back to our conversation. "You can fight, and you taught me! I know we could have stayed there!" If only.

Creatures that long had avoided us had become more daring. Creatures I wasn't sure I could beat if it came to a fight. The Evil I had begun sensing some years before had grown stronger, and it was giving these creatures greater strength. Cri couldn't yet sense the Evil as strongly as I did. He didn't understand the danger we were in, hiding alone, two dragonlings left on our own, in a forest largely unoccupied. "Cri…" I began, but stopped. I didn't know how to tell him that. He knew only of his own world, where I could fight anything that came our way and destroy it. I could fight the rare wolf or other natural predator that came to try my strength, but had never been forced into true battle. I wasn't certain of my strength, my control over the powers inherited from my parents. It was simply too dangerous. I couldn't tell him that. It was too big for him, too big for the mind of one little more than a child.

For that matter, it was far too big for me. But I had long since learned to handle things that were too big for me. Raising Cri, hunting for us, building us a home where we would be safe and not be found. All of that had been far too big for me; at the time, I had been the equivalent of ten human years, or about one hundred or so of mine. It was learn to live alone or perish alone. I wasn't ready to die; the nature of a dragonling is to survive, as it is for most living things. And so I learned. And now, Cri had to learn that same lesson. It was a lesson I didn't want to have to teach him. But there was no one else.

"Why did we have to leave?" This time, Cri wasn't complaining. Despite having grown quite a bit over the last one hundred years, he still had the mind of a child. He had never had to grow up, really. Before now, it was fine for him to remain that way; now, however, he had a lot of catching up to do. I hoped, when all this was over, some of that child could remain. He shouldn't have to become old in the space of only a few years. I slid my arms around him and pulled him to me. He clung to the back of my near-ruined tunic desperately, but no tears fell. We never cried. It was our rule. Crying and feeling sorry for ourselves took strength we didn't often have to spare. After a time, I pulled back from Cri and met his gaze again.

"We must move on, little brother," I told him gently. "One day, perhaps, we can return home." He nodded once, resolute. A comma of brown hair flopped over his eyes, and he brushed it back impatiently. I smiled at him, flipping my own mop of silvery hair over my shoulder. "Let's go."