Rats, it doesn’t want to do a link. Here’s the text:
Alistair
Chapter 1: Alistair, Defender of Mankind
A young man on a beautiful palomino dashed through the trees of Morwood forest. He was being pursued, and by something apparently very terrible. His horse was nearly worn out, but it seemed to be running on the energy of pure fear and adrenaline. She was going much faster than any tired horse normally could. The young man looked a little frightened, but he almost looked excited at the same time, like a little boy getting a toy or being told he is ‘very strong’ or something like that. The palomino felt no such elation. She was lathered in foam, and breathing extremely hard. Her eyes were rolling wildly in her head. The young man had a cut on his forehead, but otherwise seemed unhurt.
Then the pursuer of the pair came into view. A huge, foul-smelling dragon souring above and a little behind the horse and rider in the air like your worst nightmare. Its scales were black, but it appeared as though the scales over its stomach were incrusted with diamonds. Perhaps they were. Dragons are in the habit of using riches for a bed, as you probably know. This dragon had terrible, bright red ruby-like eyes that looked as if they could see through stone. It was the owner of many sharp, black claws, which could easily be compared to knives, daggers, but even sharper. It had a long, lashing tail with an extremely sharp tip to it as well, and of course, it had wings. They were absolutely huge, and could easily block out the sun. They had razor sharp edges to them which made almost a grating sound through the air as they were flapped up and down. This was a dragon to be reckoned with.
Note: replace ‘sharp’ with more interesting synonyms.
The young man wondered if arrows had any effect on this monster. He drew the bow on his back and pulled out an arrow, with a crisp, crimson feather and a sharp iron tip. He twisted around and shot an arrow at the dragon as it swooped low over them. The arrow bounced harmlessly off of its underside. Apparently arrows were not particularly useful at this point.
The man and the palomino careened around a hairpin bend in the road, and dodged off the path briefly and between trees, but to no avail. The dragon was still right behind them. Suddenly, the young man’s horse tripped on a jagged stone. The young man went flying off into the underbrush of the trees on either side of the road, and rolled down a bank until he slammed into a tree with a sickening thump of his head against wood. Just before the world snuffed out, he heard the frightened whinny of the bay and then heard it gallop away; he could feel it in the ground. It was faster when no longer burdened by a rider. Not fast enough, however. The dragon swooped after it, screeching terribly, not seeming to notice that its real quarry was lying lifeless and helpless in the forest at the foot of a large gnarly oak tree.
…
‘”Oh Alistair!’ called a musical woman’s voice. A little boy with wavy, dark brown hair and sparkling, mischievous brown eyes, who was all the way across the large, grassy, vaguely wooded yard of the house, quickly went way up into the apple tree he was climbing so he was hidden by the branches. He didn’t want to come in. It was probably company or something. He wasn’t interested. Little Alistair settled in a nice little cradle of branches, as comfortable as one reasonably could be when in a tree.
‘Alistair!’ the voice called again. It sounded slightly exasperated now. ‘Come on in! We have company this afternoon – you need to wash and get dressed properly!’
Alistair snorted. As if he would come in for that.
‘ Alistair! Don’t make me come get you!’ the female voice was downright angry now. ‘If you don’t come in right now, you will not get your supper!’ the voice continued.
Alistair gave in. When it came to his meals, disobeying wasn’t worth it. He was always ravenous at meals, probably something to do with his rapid rate of growth for the past few months. He dropped out of the tree and ran towards the house. His hair was disheveled, there were several brown smudges on his face, and clothes, and he was very sweaty.
‘What on earth have you been doing!’ chastised the woman. She was rather plain, and looked like the sort of person who would stand no nonsense from anybody, especially little boys. She had black hair pulled into a severely tight bun, angrily snapping black eyes, a stony face, and a dress that had been neatly pleated, ironed, and starched to a look of stiff, uncomfortable perfection.
Those eyes had no glimpse of kindness or understanding in them. As Alistair came galloping towards the house, she coldly beckoned to him with a finger and walked primly inside the large, elegant house.
Alistair reluctantly followed her. He didn’t like her especially well. His nanny was the damper in is young, fresh life.
‘Your mother is very anxious that you should look well, as she wants to make a good impression on these particular guests. I will see to it.’
‘Why, Ma’am?’ asked the little Alistair.
‘Why what, child?’
His nanny was hustling him briskly towards his room.
‘Why does Mama want to make a good impression on these guests in particular?’
‘I don’t know, boy. Now, we must scrub your face and arms. You’re filthy. What on earth were you doing outside?’
Alistair wisely remained silent. He would only make her angrier if he told her.
He was scrubbed so hard it hurt. Then he roughly dried off , and quickly, efficiently dressed in stiff, formal clothes which were thoroughly uncomfortable.
Alistair hated the clothes. He hated being washed. He hated company. He wished he would just be let alone. But no, he must be present and ‘behave like a good child’ for the company. It was all so annoying.
In progress…
