Starfall - Chapter One

The stars danced above Star-Tip as he stood beneath the pale twilight moon. He was patiently waiting for Linma, his apprentice. Linma was a beautiful girl, yet she got very embarrassed with the slightest words.
Star-Tip sighed heavily, biting his top lip and then pouting.
"She isn't with that Ayrvyn again is she?"
Linma had been spending an awful lot of time with the young warrior. Star-Tip's happiness that Linma had finally found a friend had turned into to jealousy. Cold, hard jealousy. His apprentice usually spent all her time with himself.

Star-Tip shivered as the chilly breeze swept over him, like a wave washing over a smoothed rock.
The Autumn was always cold in Starfall - sometimes perilously cold, cold enough to kill hundreds.

A dark figures shadow withered under the pale moon and then grew into a light shadow.
The figure stepped forward and was easily recognized by Star-Tip. Linma. She had shaggy brown hair, like a bob with stringy rat-tails emerging from underneath. Her eyes glowed emerald green with drops of blue in the night light. Lips, the shade of blood grinned at Star-Tip, snow white teeth glistening .

"Linma," Star-Tip breathed heavily. He pointed a bony finger which was twisted menacingly towards a bright star, then drew his finger down to his heart.
the star glided down, appearing like a glowing, blossoming flower. Linma eyed the star curiously.
"I know, a storms coming," Star-Tip said blankly, as if sick of her already. He beckoned towards a nearby cottage. "Come. I can't see good old Rosemary and Deja not letting us in."

Danger was amist.


                                                        ***

Ayrvyn rested his chin on his fingers, while gloomily staring out of his rain-stained window. Turning, he wondered if Linma had reached Star-Tip before the storm. Starfall's storms were always dangerous.
  He pushed aside a silver sheild with 'Elamon" engraved in a grand, gothic font.
Princess Elamon was the ruler of Starfall. She loathed sounding old (she was a little vain) so she never changed to 'Queen Elamon.' Elamon's mother, Kinsta was full of grief for her late husband to care for her kingdom.
  Ayrvyn tugged a grey tunic of silk over his head. He then touched his pink lips with a fair finger. Linma had kissed him.
Of course, Ayrvyn loved Linma, and she loved him back, but he knew that Star-Tip - Linma's mentor - dissaproved Ayrvyn completely. Star-Tip was a Wuaker, and he believed strongly in peace.
Ayrvyn could believe in peace. It comforted him. But he was a warrior. It was in the blood running through his veins, however cold and ignorant he appeared.

Opening his door, Ayrvyn threw his tunic's hood over his head. the hallways infront of him was black as pitch, and only the swinging lanterns could be seen as they thrashed around in the wind. How had the wind got inside his house? He could see that Lilycheek hadn't opened any windows. If she had, she would have instantly realised how perilous the storm outside was.

He batted a shadowed hand through his dark hair before shutting a circular window. Why the window would be circular was peculiar to him.
No soul would find the old physicians' cottage, which was nestled in thickets of thorns and nettles. Ayrvyn and his sister were the only ones who knew of the secret entrance - a small square door underneath the fiery Autumn leaves. When opened, the door creaked and shook like an old mans bones, waiting to collapse and crumble under fragile skin. There was a narrow passageway, dimly lit every few metres by torches. At the end was another door, which was firmly locked by an old steel lock, rusty from the years of toil it had endured.

He slid down the corridor, closing small circular windows as he went, slyly peering out of each one.

Ayrvyn began to close the last window, when an arrow shot past his face, narrowly missing him, and hit the wall behind his head, He belted the window shut, bolting it behind him.

Peeping out of the glass, he saw a fair face, handsome and it looked like an angel. Swallowfoot. Lilycheek. Death. Death had grasped upon her, tightened its grip and shook her from the only life that was left in her. Swallowfoot had killed her.

Anger boiled up inside Ayrvyn like a witches brew in a black, rusty cauldron. Witch. That was Lilycheek all over. Her room was lit by candles - candles on the cupboards, the wardrobe... everywhere a candle could be placed - a giant pentacle adorned a whole wall, staring down at everything in sight, gloomily. Oh, so gloomily.

Thrusting the window open once again, Ayrvyn snarled. Lilycheek was the only person that he had left to live for - all except for Linma.

He remembered the first lesson he had learnt as a warrior - never show your anger or your fear. Be as cool as the first frosts as it bites at your fingers. Nethertheless, he couldn't help showing his fury. Why had Swallowfoot done this? Lilycheek was a beautiful girl, so maybe Swallowfoot had felt threatened - he wasn't the only angel.

Lilycheek was harmless. The only thing that she could have attacked anyone with was her wicker basket and fists.
"Swallowfoot!" Ayrvyn cried.
"Young one," Swallowfoot snarled, his eyes glistening.