Grace is practicing different types of writing by creating very short stories/passages. Here is a sample of her descriptive fiction. 🙂
My name is Millay, but most people call me “That Thieving Hermit.” The King has hired me to lead his army into battle. A group of 1,000 fighters and I are going to fight the four biggest dragons in the country. The Thief, the Mage, and the Warrior are just the guards for Turuk Makita, or Mighty Beast. Most dragons in the land are tame, but these monsters are wild. They’re the only dragons that hate the elves and their city. Why the King chose me, I haven’t the slightest idea.
Instead of stolen robes and broken rings, the King has given me hard armor and a heavy steel sword. My dragon, Kilala, keeps bumping into the other dragons, making flying difficult. I can hear the low rumbling in her throat as she laughs.
After hours of gliding, we spot shadows quickly darting through the thick fog. I pull the troops in closer to me and whisper the battle plans.
“Okay, 750 of you handle the guards while I take Turuk Makita alone. The rest of you, keep travelers away from the battle. Remember, a dragon’s weak spots are under the jaw, under the wing, and the base of the tail,” I say. They nod and fly away. Suddenly, Kilala stirs, and a huge red eye is staring at me. I jump off Kilala, clinging onto Turuk Makita’s slick horns. He throws his head around, trying to throw me off. I take out my dagger and thrust it into the beast’s eye. He roars, sending ripples through my spine. He shakes his head harder than before, sending me flying off of his horns. Before I fall to my doom, I grasp one of his teeth. He spits black fire from his throat, singeing my hands and the tips of my silver hair. I grit my teeth and look down at the ground. My sword had fallen to the ground, leaving me with only an arrow and a broken bow to fight with. I climb the now weak dragon head up to the scalp, my arrowhead barely touching the shiny scales. One of my men runs up, waving his arms.
“Ma’am!” he shouts. “The top of the head is not a weak spot!” I smile.
“It is now.” I dig the arrowhead into the brain sending the dragon flying towards the ground. I hurl myself off, just making it so I don’t get crushed. I laugh.
My hair is still singed and my hands are scarred, but life is great. I live in the castle now, away from dragons. I still fight, though. The king even made me some armor out of Turuk Makita’s scales! Who knew dragon scales smelled like caramel?