Fiction Multiple Character Storytelling
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Reagan Drake flame halfway to Lucy's. The Trail fended gnome tracks. No one visited Lucy unless they were sick. Even then. Babs, Ma'am or Adelina, the three servant wives normally attempted to care for the ill ones before going to Lucy. Ever since, she had chosen to leave anguish and not Mary and make babies to be dragon servants. Everyone regarded her as oddly. Lucy didn't seem to mind. She spent time with her birds and happy solitude is the door. A deeply envied her is a door pulled her uneven him higher on her legs to avoid mud stains. As she walked. No use in getting ma'am more worked up. Bulbous violet potion bottles. The side of her thumbs clinked in her pocket. Lucy would fill them with her most powerful headache. Potion is the door would drink thumb. Nothing would change, just like the whole Last year, she let go of her dress and pulled the bottles out of her pocket, studying them. Would the headaches ever go away? A hottie, unfamiliar voice jolted is a door from her thoughts finally, is a door gasp! Leapt back, a male which slightly taller than she stood on the trail his mop of thick black hair shone in the blunted light. A single Carl dropped onto his forehead, leading to cutting green eyes that pierce through her. The bottles crashed into glittering purple shards at her feet. Is the door backed against a tree? Who are you? What are you doing here? He wore finer material that her plain homespun linen, the kerchief around his neck, gleamed like the slick scarf. Ma'am tucked away her only memory of her former life, his jacket fit impeccably over his shoulders, running to his wrist like it had been tailored for him. A gold chain drooped from the pocket over his right breast. I'm not here to eat you, he muttered. He said a quick spell in the glass shards hovered above the ground after a burst of light, all four vile, swayed in the air between them. Not a single crack to be found. You drop those, you guessed. That must have been a complicated spell. One of his eyebrows rose higher than the other. She snatched the dangling bottles and jam them into her pocket. One bottle fell out through a hole in the bottom, shattering again. He rolled his eyes is the door ignored it. At least 20 paces lay between them. If he attacked, she could still dart away. Your eyes are two different colors, he said. That's very odd. So are you odd? He murmured, eyes narrowed, but defining how interesting. She crouched, fumbling in the grass until her hands found a branch. She tried to lift it with a grunt, but Vines anchored it to the ground with a gruntal cry. She wrenched it free and waved it in front of her. Go away or what? He asked imperiously, I'll call down a lion. Sure you will. I will. He Iand. Go on, then I'd love to see it. Is the door hesitated? What kind of which actually called a bluff like that? She could no more called on a lion than she could. Snail Tallis. Who are you? Maximilian? Not Max. Not Maxwell. Maximilian. It's important that you get that right. Why his brow furrowed? Because it's rude. Otherwise, what are you doing here? Do you own this forest? No, but why does it matter? She gestured to the nearby wall. Black and piles of trees of the Tallis had long laid out to mark the boundary, they reached far over her head. You shouldn't be in here. He held up his hands as if to say. Then why am I here? A wave of pain rippled through her head as if her skull were about to split in half. She grabbed a tree, her eyes squeeze shut. The headaches sprouted, returning her to a grey blossoming. My asthma. Her sight of Maximilian blurred. She pressed her palms to her temple. Please leave, she said, her voice drawn. Not yet. His declaration was so utterly devoid of carrying, sent her reeling. What an arrogant pompous, which, despite his probing gaze and her walloping headache, she couldn't take her eyes off of him. How did he get his shirt so white? Why did he wear a gold chain? Ma'am told her once that which is carried clocks in their pockets. Absurd. Good go. Uh, the scent of juniper overwhelmed her. Seconds before she detected him, her eyes flew all the way open. He stood an arm's length away, peering at her and cold assessment. You're in pain. Get away from me! She lifted her arms to shove him, but he deflected the push with a stray flick of his wrist. His chillingly glare sent a shiver down her spine. Calm down. I'm going to press my fingers to your head. Don't try to bite me or I'll remove all the hair from your head with a spell. The tips of two fingers pressed into her temple, he murmured an incantation. She strained to make out the words but couldn't hear them. Lucy occasionally use spells on Is adores headaches. When Mam wasn't around, but none had worked. Her current headache coalesced ID into spinning hot threads as if drawn by his touch. The threads sought him out and disappeared, funneled into his hand by the spell, her mind cleared, not a remnant of discomfort remained. What did you dio? She asked a gasped magic. Please tell me you've heard of it. Of course I've heard of it, but we aren't allowed. Yes, I've heard of it mildly reassuring. You'll have a hard time of it later. Should things move in that direction with us. How do you know what to Dio? Can I do it? I I know a little magic, simple spells, but still don't ask stupid questions. No question is stupid, I assure you. There are stupid questions. A stream cut through Angus, dividing it in half. On the south side lived the witches, their houses tucked into the thick foliage of the gradual hill. On the other side lived the dragons. Both were fenced in by a burned border heaped with dead trees, animal carcasses and scorched earth. No other witches lived here in the deep northwest of Let'em would at least two days travel by foot from any small village. Santa only knew the layout by one map they had in the school. Like most servant Children, she'd never left anguish. Only the servants left on the annual supply run Santa stop with the stream to clean the blood off her leg in practice, moving without showing pain with any look, Ma'am wouldn't notice that her ribs smarted with every breath. Word of the Forest Line attack would spread. Soon enough, the dragons killing that many lions would cause a stir less hunting for day. This week, at least, massive tree screened their home from site. At first, when Santa came into view, she took in the steep pitch of the shingled roof, a warm glow of candles burned inside the house darkness fell early on, let him would, thanks to the vast canopy soaring overhead so far away, the top wasn't visible. Little natural light fell down here. She sighed home when Santa stepped inside, date set, hunched over the Ledger, Inc. Dripping off his quill and into the bottling paper. He muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed. Squirrels rolled off the edge of the table into pearly piles. Ma'am stood at the stovetop wooden spoon in her hand, humming. The smell of simmering carrots filled the air, A V Dade Sana said. A V ma'am Dade, granted a V Sana. Ma'am said she caught Santa's gays motion to date and shook her head. Santa nodded. Date loathed the monthly ledgers, and they'd run short of tubers this week, for which that had lived deep in the let'em would his whole life. He hated running short on anything they'd have to trade with the Chandlers again. Santa stepped up to the water bowl and splashed your hands in it, washing away the grime. How was class today, ma'am? Ask, um, fine. Learn anything New Forced lions don't really like the smell of rotten eggs, she thought. Not really. I already know that you left early. Santa Spence Santa froze. Ah, I'm not pleased. Babs stopped by to check on you. She said you left sick this afternoon. You were sick enough to leave school. But you didn't come home. Ma'am frowned, her hair escaping the loose bun at the back of her neck. Her face was flushed. Pale fresh tomato stains covered her laced edged apron. How do you know? Man pointed to Santa's hair. The evidence is right there. Santa reached up, pulling a leaf away from her fraying braid. Fine. One of my paths was falling apart in the high canopy. I needed to fix it, so I left school early. Good news. I can now get a school faster. It's faster toe. Walk the ground like everyone else. Where's the fun in that? It's not proper to scamper through the trees. One of these days you're going to fall and break something, and you're the only one this family could rely on to help feed dragons. Besides, there are lions up there, so I hear Mam's lips twitched. She tugged affectionately on Santa's braid. You strange child. How are you? Mine? You don't like tea? You don't like other witches. You prefer to spend all your time in the trees instead of helping me paint my teacups, your dirty enough to be a borrowing. No Santa grand. A reverberating crack rippled through the kitchen, ma'am. Gasp! Santa lurched in front of her, pushing her back. It was just the ledger books slamming closed Day drove his hands through his beard and rub the grit from his jaw. He shoved the chair back, stood at the door and stared out another riveting day with the ledger date. Santa ask ma'am shot her quivering look. Dinner is ready. Take a chair, Santa. It's time to eat you. To Ryan is the doors upstairs with another headache, she'll eat later.