"Grampa, grampa! Look!"
The old man stirred with a slight grunt. As he pushed his old weather beaten leather cap away from his eyes he caught sight of his eleven-year-old grandson hopping up and down excitedly, his small finger pointing towards the glassy surface of the lake.
"What is it boy?" the old man asked, his voice was rough, but not unkind. He smiled at the boy and pushed himself into a sitting position.
"Out there, on the water! I saw him, Silverback!"
The old man crossed his fingers behind his head and reclined slightly, looking at the boy with an amused smile.
"Oh did ye now?" the boy's grandfather replied with a chuckle. The boy had to have been imagining things, Silverback was nothing more than a legend.
The youth stamped his foot indignantly, "I did Grampa! I knew you wouldn't believe me, but I saw him! He was the biggest fish I've ever seen! His scales were like mirrors they were so bright, he -- Grampa look!"
The old man turned a lazy glance towards where the boy was pointing and sat up with a start. The boy was right. That couldn't be any other fish but the legendary Silverback.
"Well call me a toadstool. Ye be right boy. There ain't nothing else that could be than ol' Silverback. Come on lad, he seems to be swimmin' in the south end of the lake. Let's get o'er there and try our hand."
It took the pair about fifteen minutes to pick their way along the shore of the small lake. The great fish appeared to be swimming near to the flowing tributary that ran down from the Shardspire Mountains. The boy was grinning broadly as he struggled to keep up with his grandfather. The sighting of the legendary fish seemed to have sparked something inside the old man. He moved as though he was thirty years younger, and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to the boy belied his excitement. The two had a chance to make history, and the young lad knew that this was a day he'd never forget, even should he live to be a century old.
As they slid down the small slope to the beachhead near the mouth of the tributary that fed their small lake the large silvery scaled fish once again broke the surface of the lake in a massive leap. The sunlight reflected off the near metallic scales and both the boy and his grandfather caught their breath. In all their years, neither had seen anything so beautiful as the glittering rainbow that danced across those scales. Each scale refracted the light perfectly, like hundreds of tiny jewels.
"Quickly boy, let's get our hooks in the water. No time to waste, daylight will fail us soon."
With a grin, the boy cast his line into the water and watched as his grandfather did the same. No sooner had the hook hit the surface than a loud roar echoed through the mountain. The young boy lost his grip on his pole and was thrown from his feet as a shockwave ripped through the lake valley.
"Grampa, what was--"
"I don't know lad. I've never felt or heard anything like that. Keep your eyes open."
"Shouldn't we be heading back?"
"Why boy, it was likely just thunder, Silverback is here. We haven't had a chance to--"
The roaring came again, this time closer. The boys threw his arms over his head and let out a sob as he watched his grandfather hurled from his feet. Then a shadow, larger than anything living could possibly cause suddenly filled the small valley. The boy screamed as a rush of wind blasted over them.
"Grandfather!"
"Move lad, do everything you can and get to the trees. Quickly!"
The boy scrambled to his feet and ran, his small legs churning the sandy beach as he hurried towards the treeline. He stumbled up the bank and turned to see his grandfather limping towards him.
"Come on Grampa!"
The shrieking roar once again filled the air, and the boy let out a cry as his grandfather pitched forward heavily, crashing into the treeline. The youth dropped to his knees, cradling the old man's head in his arms. The pair watched as that huge shadow once again covered the valley. Carefully the boy dragged his semi-conscious grandfather towards an overhang and slid under. There the pair remained for nearly an hour. Listening as that terrible wail filled the air. The young boy cried, terrified. Then at last the sounds were gone, and after what seemed like an eternity the old man stirred.
"Lad, we must get back."
"Grampa, we can't. Ye be hurt, and it's getting dark. Grampa, I'm so scared. I-"
"Hush boy, listen to me. We have to get back, quickly. Help me boy, we've got to get home."
The boy's lip stiffened and he wiped his damp eyes with the back of his sleeve. He nodded, and together they slid from under the overhanging patch of earth and made their way slowly back towards their village. Darkness was creeping over them as they reached the base of the hill that separated them from their home. Just over that hill lay a small valley, wherein the village of Greybriar stood. Despite the encroaching darkness a strange light seemed to fill the sky. The boy, his face confused, looked at his grandfather with tired eyes.
"Grampa, what is that light?"
The old man did not reply, but trudged up the hill, dragging one of his legs behind him in an awkward and painful looking limp. His grandson followed, weariness stealing the speed from his steps. As the lad neared the crest of the hill he caught sight of his grandfather, who had sunk to his knees. His face was awash in a ghostly orange glow and realization suddenly dawned on the boy. With a cry the boy hurried up the remainder hill, staring into the valley below to see his village engulfed in flames. The boy dropped to his knees next to his father and cried, a bitter, mourning cry. In the dancing light provided by the conflagration below the lad looked up towards the sky to shout a curse at the gods. The words were stolen from his lips however as he beheld a dark shape on the southern horizon, a shape that appeared to be flying with massive outstretched wings.
"What is that Grampa?" he asked in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.
The reply did not come instantly, in fact it took several moment before the words were uttered Though he was young the child could recognize the abject horror in the tone of those words as they finally were spoken. Never before had he heard his grandfather speak with such a tone, and the sound pierced the child to his very soul.
"Dragon lad."
"But grampa, dragons have been dead for thousands of years. Everyone knows that.
"Indeed lad, not since the Kez'rakai were defeated at Southgate has a dragon been seen, but I tell ye lad. That... is a dragon."
Almost as though the beast had heard them the shadowy figure on the horizon banked sharply, and as the seconds passed it grew larger. It was clear that the dragon was coming their way.
"Run lad." The old man whispered, his voice gruff and filled with emotion.
"No Grampa, I won't leave you."
"Listen to me boy, ye must go. I'm an old man and I cannot run. I'm out of strength. I've lived me entire life here. You must head north, warn someone. Tell them what ye've seen. The world must know. The dragons have returned. Now run!"
The tone of his voice allowed for no argument. The boy slowly stood, watching as the massive shape grew even larger. Blinking back tears the child embraced his grandfather fiercely, kissing the old man's forehead, "I love you Grampa."
"And I you lad, now run."
Without another word, for another word would have stolen his nerve the boy plunged down the northern slope of the hill. His legs beat at the ground in spite of their weariness. Exhaustion was long since forgotten, the boy knew that if he stopped, he would die. He did fall once, as the awful shrieking of the dragon, and its subsequent shock wave, filled the air. The boy couldn't look back, and he blinked his eyes quickly to clear the tears that formed there. He knew what had happened, he knew he was alone, and so he continued to run, for several hours he ran, until at last he could run no more. His legs gave out beneath him and he pulled himself inside of a fallen log and there he cried himself to sleep.
As dawn broke across the land a great fish with scales like gemstones began it's slow journey upstream through the tributary that fed a small lake. It struggled briefly to pass a close set cluster of rocks, but a sharp wrenching pain pulled the hook that had caught in it's cheek free. The fish continued its upstream battle, while the supple yew fishing rod flowed downstream and back to a small lake...
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