As my life slowly leaves my body, oozing from the wound in my chest, I feel it is time for me to leave a message to the world, as a testimony of my life and a warning to my son. I’ve never been fond of long stories, so … I’ll try and keep this one short:
I was born thirty-three years ago, the only heir to a long, long line of hunters. At the time of my birth, every single one of my hair was as gray as ash, an omen my people believe to predict a long and successful life … as well as important events or a long winter, depending on which grandmother you ask. Whatever the meaning, everybody agreed that it foretold the coming of great things. Now that I’m dying – and therefore able to look back at my life as a whole – I still can’t decide if they
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A great hunter, as was his father, and his father before him, and his father before him, and so on and so forth for God knows how many generations of great (and no-so-great) hunters. It’s hardly a surprise that my family name should mean “He-who-hunts-the-Great-Dragons”. I guess we all had that spark of madness in our head, the same that got me, the one that tells you “Sure, this is a Dragon. Sure, it’s a murderous monster, faster than any of us, deadlier too. Sure, none of us ever took one down. But maybe … Just maybe YOU can.”. That little voice, there, is the reason there are rarely two members of my family alive at the same time. It’s a miracle it still exists at …show more content…
I was taught everything the tribe decided I needed to know about the Beasts, and when I shyly asked how one would go about killing them I met nothing but skepticism. And pride. Pride in my father’s eyes.
He took me hunting Dragons with him for the first time on the day I turned twenty. It was the single most terrifying experience of my life. Of course I had heard them roar and shriek before, from the other side of the garden wall, but seeing their horrid faces approaching, hearing their screams as they ran behind me, gaining on me … I don’t remember much from the chase itself. The smell of my fear, of my sweat, my skin trembling, the Dragon howling behind me … And my father. The Hunter. Taking a stand in the dust, strong and unyielding, protecting me. There was a split second in which the Dragon kept gaining on us … And then, intimidated, shrieking in frustration, he avoided us and ran back into the darkness where it came from.
That’s how I remember my father. A strong-willed Hunter. That’s how I want to remember