“Yes, I guess. You haven't been the oddest creature so far. Not even the centaurs... I think I saw a mythical dragon recently. The forest had instantly frozen in fear as he latched on to the dead bear. He proclaimed to me that not all creatures are bad like not all humans are good then he flew away with a bear my sword killed.”

“That had to be a fantastic dream. Dragons are extinct or at least they have vanished from this country.”

“I know. The last time anyone encountered a dragon has been over a hundred years ago. It is possible they aren’t extinct? For all one knows they’re back from wherever they left to? Well, the bear fight wasn't a dream.” 

“My sword damaged my hand. Look at this,” I carefully unwrap the bandages. My arm has gotten even more burnt. It's gory, swelling, and blistering. Holding it out hurts. I gently wrap it back up. “The sword burnt me. I don’t know how to use it properly, and I’m quite afraid of it.”

“You don’t seem to know how to handle the sword at all. I can instruct you.” She swings around the sword that she picked up earlier.

We need to rest even if it’s the afternoon. I can’t keep walking. I’m exhausted. Pausing, I extend my arms out, “Let’s take a break.”

We establish a campsite. She doesn’t seem to have anything besides the bow and arrows. She stokes the fire. I still have some pie, pieces of the snake I had collected but forgotten about, and the water pouch Titan gave me and I share them with her. She makes herself comfortable next to me. She says she wants to keep me warm and safe. She curls up into a tight ball. She seems to be more like a wolf than a human. 

I sleep in a bedroll made of leather. The most uncomfortable kind but the cheapest. 

I fondly dream of him. The sun is barely sneaking out, but I was ready for the day. My rod had a brand-new line. The weather is ideal. 

I took my time walking from home to the sea. I had my backpack full of all the things I need for the day. A delicious lunch, water, a net, bucket full of bait, and a small box with ice in case I catch a fish. Every year on the anniversary of my father’s death, I would wear his favorite jacket. It’s been destroyed but in my dreams I’m always wearing it.

“You ready?” 

“I am. This time I’ll get it for you. You will see.” 

My father directs me.”You can stay all day if you want. Today will be a slow one.”

At that time I took my rod and with a swish, I release the line. We wait attentively.

...

I swing my sword, and it hit Rachel’s sword. I smile wryly at Rachel. Rachel was a worthy sparring partner for me even if Rachel’s primary weapon was her bow.

By Cristina Collazo