Dragonhammer: Volume I Read Free

ears pleased to recognize the sound of rushing water:  the Fravora River.  Within minutes I am walking beside the river, staring into its churning depths.  Various rocks and boulders bar the water’s way, but it blasts over them in waves with power I haven’t seen matched.  As I walk farther upstream, I find small eddies and pools where the water is calmer and many small fish are taking shelter.  They wriggle away as my shadow crosses the rippling water.  Color waves across their small panicking bodies until they hide under a protruding rock, where they become dull.
    Not far ahead of the pool, the large river crashes down a series of waterfalls.  Evanescent mists spray from the rocks and curl from the falls themselves, creating a fantastic feeling that I’m in some sort of magical forest.  My attention must turn to the road, however, as the path winds up a steep incline next to the waterfalls.
    It looks even more amazing from the top of the climb.  There are four falls, but two of them are so close together that I can’t tell if they’re together or apart.  Each pours into a small, wildly roiling pool, only to have that pool empty over the next waterfall.  This continues until, of course, the water reaches the last pool and continues off beside the town, winding into the Redwood Forest a league or two away.  Though it seems long, my brother Nathaniel and I can make the trip to the forest in about half a day.
    An enormous pile of green moss across the river catches my attention, and I notice it hangs over the falls.  Similar piles layer themselves all over the rocks in or around the water, drooping lazily over almost every drop.
    The grass is green.  Not just any normal green; it’s a dark, deep green.  The sun’s last rays are shining just over the tops of the craggy peaks of the Wolfpack Mountains, turning the immediate sky orange.  The orange slowly fades to cavernous indigo full of millions of tiny, sharp points of light.
    I remember that Mother is waiting for me and hurry along my way, thinking about all sorts of appetizing dinners that could be on the table tonight.  Since we’re going to Terrace tomorrow, my mother would want to fill us with something quite substantial.
    As I leave the town, the road becomes dirt instead of stone.  The river, now to my left, becomes increasingly violent, but more beautiful.
    The dirt path turns right, away from the river and further up the hill for another hundred yards to my home.  It’s right at the base of one of the mountains, so our backyard is bound by a rock cliff.  We have an excellent view of the town and the stone bridge at the base of the hill. Originally we lived in the upper floor of the forge, but Mother couldn’t stand the atmosphere and our family grew too large, so we moved to this house on the hill.  My grandfather lived here with our family for a few years, but then he passed away and we inherited the house.
    The two-story house was built by my father’s father many years ago.  It’s made mostly of rock bricks quarried from the mountains, so it will still be here for a long while.  It’s not exactly a huge house, but it fits my parents and all of their four children still at home.  A friendly light, orange and yellow, shines from almost every window.  The path goes all the way up to our little wooden porch, and then branches off to some other farm houses further down.
    Each of the three wooden stairs creaks, but supports my weight easily.  The porch only clunks slightly with every footstep.  The door hinges creak as it swings open, and a beautiful smell shoots up my nose.
    I close the door and kick off my boots, enjoying the smell of the stew before sitting down at our dining table.
    Father sits at the head, with Mother on his right. 
    Signs of age are hardly coming to her.  Her hair is still nicely dark brown, face is still smooth.  She has a medium build but is stronger than she looks, which is one of the reasons I believe