I -- Scarlette Fluxroot

                                    

                                          
The rock stood tall and strong, silhouetted against the dimly lit dawn sky. I studied the fading stars positioned above me, winking out one by one in the rapidly advancing morning light. I was lying on my back, eagle spread, on top of the cold slab of earth, letting the coolness of the stone melt into my back. It was soothing after a sleepless night -- the harsh reality, the realness of the stone washed away pesky sleep-depriving dreams. When I'd woken up in the middle of the night, I was a coughing, bloody mess. Crimson had rushed from my nose and down my throat and front as I scrabbled outside, garbed only in my nightclothes. I doubled over and hovering above the grass, retching from the coppery taste. Shuddering and not wanting to think about the amount of my own blood I'd ingested, I turned my mind back toward the dawn.
                          
        I imagined how I would look to anyone flying overhead. Dead, probably, I thought with an amused smirk. A picture of myself flashed in my mind: a fifteen- almost sixteen-year-old girl, small for her age, splayed on the top of a rock. Her hair exploded in a chocolate starburst around her head -- she looked like a mermaid floating underwater. With her eyes shut and her limbs unfolded in the oddest position, the girl looked positively lifeless.
                          
        A shiver passed down my spine and I realized my bare arms covered in goose bumps. A sigh escaped my lips and I rolled over onto my side, not wanting to start the day. I spit static-ridden hair from my mouth and sat up. Subject now visibly cognizant, she appears to be having a violent fit, sputtering and spitting.
                          
        Stiff fingers ran through tangled knots in my hair as I scooted to the edge of the rock. It stood about seven or eight feet up, and I weighed climbing down against dropping. I studied the dark grey leggings that hugged my shins and thighs. The fabric disappeared under the supple leather boots wrapped tightly around my feet as I  dangled them over the edge.
                          
        Feeling daring, I slipped forward and kicked off the stone in midair to make sure I didn't hit it on the way down. I'd jumped from this rock plenty of times, but during the fall I must've twisted awkwardly and my feet made contact with the ground differently than I was used to. A light jolt shocked up my spine as I landed heavier than I expected.
                          
        I recovered quickly and stood up to brush the dirt and rock dust from my clothes. I rubbed my eyes and pushed my hair back out of my face, wishing I had a tie. Sighing again, I started making my way to the old crumbling barn on the other side of the small portion of land we owned. The morning was crisp and cold, causing me to shiver. My pace quickened to a slow run in an attempt to warm myself up. As I got closer, I could make out the soft whinnies of our stallion, Mist. By winning a bet against the village's drunk stable keeper, Father had claimed the beast and brought him home.
                          
        My pace slowed, coming up to the latched wooden door. The horse neighed louder, hearing me outside, and I chuckled. I nudged the jammed door to unstick it from the dirt and it flung inwards. Wandering to Mist and patting him on the neck, I unlocked the gate to his pen. The barn was dark and comfortable -- the combined body heat of all the animals warmed up the large space nicely. It was high ceilinged with no windows, but light still managed to leak in from holes above the rafters and between cracks in the paneling in the walls, just enough to see.
                          
        Mist trotted out and followed me to the nail in the wall where the thin leather saddle hung. I hooked the narrow harness around him and led him back out of the barn, letting the door shut softly behind me. Now out in the open, I slipped my foot in the stirrup, hopping slightly to test my weight. When I was positive the saddle wouldn't fall off and the horse was ready, I jumped up and swung my leg over Mist's mottled grey back.
                          
        I kicked him lightly and grabbed the homemade reins, grinning as we picked up speed. I steered the stallion in the direction of the village we lived just outside of. Bouncing  wildly to the beat of Mist's gait, my chest became red as my hourglass pendant repeatedly thumped against it. Suddenly sick, I motioned for Mist to slow his pace.