Mercy Hall
The Draeek Kingdom, 1815 . . .
Mercy's lids flutter as she fights against the thralls of sleep. She'd like nothing more than to continue her peaceful slumber. But she can't because something tugs at her like a forgotten promise.
Tiny feet scuttle across the bedrock, reminding her of the fiddler crabs by the ocean shores of her childhood. A more simplistic time when rules meant even less than they do now.
She shakes her head to clear her thoughts.
Images of her fourth birthday, her first hunt, and the valley below her home full of wildflowers swirls in her mind like loose ribbons.
She blinks at the vibrant purples and yellows twinkling against the bedrock walls from the sun's rays. The effervescent shades of red-orange, which float around like dust in the wind, make her head ache.