Kora

Chapter two.

Kora

Chapter 2

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I woke up to the

feeling of Azel pawing at my nose. I could feel his rough claw tapping me, trying to wake me from my doze. Refusing to open my eyes, I rolled over, stretching out my arm. I could feel Azel’s scales brush under my stomach, trying to lift me up. Still not obeying my pet, I pushed him off my bed, letting his small body collide with the floor. Determined, Azel reared back and blew rolls of smoke onto my face.

“Ok Ok” I said in a slumbered voice, raising up and running my hand through my long dark blonde hair.

I watched Azel rock back and forth on his bottom, chewing on the end of his tail. It always makes me smile when he does this, even in the saddest of times.

I rolled out of bed, stood up and stretched my legs. I slumped over to my wardrobe across my room, and swung open the door. It had been so hot last night that I hadn't even bothered to put on my sleep cloths, I just slept with my bare skin. But the morn was always frigid, I could see the snow being laid down like a fluffy blanket outside my window.

I dressed into my chill cloths; A warm dark green Dunik skinned sweater, and thick, blue pants. I also slipped on my leather boots that reached up to about an inch or so away from my knee.

“Come on buddy” I said, motioning Azel to join me as I opened the door. When I did, I immediately felt the rush of cold air engulf me, flooding the room. Azel hopped onto the wardrobe, then jumped onto my shoulder like he always did. I could feel his claws bury themselves into my skin, trying to keep balance.

I walked outside, navigating through the thick snow. I could see out into the distance the Northern Drindel Mountains. They were straining to touch the sky, letting snow cover them. The huge rocky surface that angled upward stretched about a mile through the air, disappearing into the puffy dark clouds. The Drindel Mountains rolled on for about a hundred miles in each direction. They acted as the border for the country of Avienda (In which I live) and the Ayan wilderness. From there, it would be a thirty days travel until the next country, Recinda.

Directly West of the Drindels were about three miles of unscathed Dastle flowers. Dastles never died or withered. They gave off a pulsating purple color with their fluffy petals. They were considered a beautiful flower, and symbolized good luck or fortune. Most often they were picked for the oils they produced in their petals. The oil was used as a medicine and was an often ingredient for healing potions.

I could see in the distant sky a group of Tibitens soaring through the cold air. Tibitens were the distant cousins of the Wyvern, the same species as Azel. He squirmed around on my shoulders, repositioning himself, his tail wrapped around my neck.

I stood there, marveling at the view. I lived here all of my fourteen years, seeing the mountains and Dastels every day of it. But the sight never seemed to cease my amazement.

I walked over to our small wooden shack where we kept our animals. I swung open the big wooden door, it revealed the small wooden stalls that encased the hairy Acov. It stood on its thick muscled legs, resting its round head on the stall wall. I walked to the other end of the barn where the furnace burned with coals. We used this to warm the barn. Grabbing the shovel full of coals, I detected the scent of Avoc milk. I quickly re-coaled the furnace, and grabbed the milk bucket that sat in the corner.

I started to milk our Avoc, which has been my chore for some time now. The Avoc groaned in exhaustion.

“I know fella, i'm tired to.” I said with a yawn. I patted the Avoc on its head, feeling the thick greasy hair between my fingers, and left.

When I came inside, I set the bucket of Avoc milk down onto the kitchen floor. Then when I turned around, I was embraced by somebody's broad arms.

“Good morning Kora.” Said a deep rumbling voice. I knew who it was before I saw him. It was my father, Quintin James. He was dressed in a brown Dunik sweater like mine, with dark brown pants and a black trench coat. He had dark short, fair hair with streaks of bright white. His skin was almost golden. He was tall, wide shouldered, and muscular. Very muscular.

“Good morning dad” I said, embracing him.

Dad had left when I was young, around three or so. He just disappeared. My Mo had said he was abducted, but I guessed he just left because he didn't love us anymore. I remember I cried and cried for my daddy, but he never came. The lonely days and nights of which I spent crying built up a wall of thick emotions that calloused my personality. My Mo had turned into a blank page, always staring into nothingness that fogged her mind into saying short-and-really-not-listening answers. She would walk around (If she got up which was close to never) with her shoulders slumped and her head down. Her hair always in a tangled mess of what was supposed to be a bun. I know I should be agitated at my mother for being this way, but I understood that she had lost the love of her life.

But now he was back. He just showed up at our door one day, knocking first. When I answered I didn't even realize it was my lost father standing in front of me. He was in tears, and I almost slammed the door on his face before he said who he was. He crashed a boulder into the wall I built, smashing it into smithereens.

After what seemed minutes of hugging, I let go, and turned to the table. My mother, Saidy James was making breakfast. She had on a bright blue short sleeved T- shirt and pants. Her dark hair was dressed in a ponytail. She stood there slowly turning the eggs in the pot.

Standing next to her was my older sister, Lexie. Lexie looked a lot like me except she had a stressed looking face. She was probably affected most when my father vanished, always had the red streak marks that slid across her eyes, and swelled from the countless nights of crying. She was always nervous around other people. Worried that they might disappear like her father. Lexie refused to befriend or care about anybody because once you love somebody, it makes it that much harder to let go. A sea you strain to cross, to get the other side. But no matter how hard you paddle, the current seems to always pull you back into the grief, and sorrow. The infinite sea of depression, and disconsolation.  

We each sat down as breakfast was served, slayed Tibiten with a side of steamy Tibiten eggs. The eggs tasted sweet, buttery. While the meat was firm, and tasted a bit like chicken.