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The cottage was not even out of sight when Myranda began to regret not asking for a new cloak. Fortunately, though, it was not nearly so difficult to walk in the forest as it had been in the field. The dense needles of the evergreens held much of the snow, keeping the ground at a manageable depth. Closer to the mountain, the trees were a bit thinner, but a strong and constant wind kept the ground still more manageable. The iciness of the breeze tore at her, but the greater ease of movement made it worth the discomfort. She had been in danger of freezing to death often enough in the past to know that she was in no such danger now--at least, not if she kept moving.
As she walked, she marveled at how much more alive the woods were than the field. The whistling of the wind carried with it the calls of a dozen different animals. She recognized the call of an eagle overhead and the distant howl of a wolf. Tracks speckled the ground here and there. Some were from moose, others from elk. A long line of impressions in the snow gave her the feel of tracks, but were far too large. More likely they were the places where great lumps of wind-blown snow had fallen from the trees.
When the sun was beginning to slip from the sky, she collected some of the fallen tree boughs and moved to the far side of a stand of stout old pines. Carefully she lit the fire where it would not cause the tree-borne snow to melt and rain down over her. She pulled open the pack of food, relieved to find salted meat rather than the coarse and heavy biscuit that, when soaked for a great deal of time in warm water, became the hideous porridge she had choked down the night before. After eating what she judged to be the day's ration, she marveled at the fact that a bedroll had been included with the other things in the pack. The attitude of those that had sent her off gave her the feeling she would be expected to do without.
The night was actually a bit more pleasant than the previous one. The bedroll was a bit softer than the cot and the fire kept her reasonably warm, at least on the side facing it. Wind whipped down off of the mountain constantly, but the trees served as a decent wind break. The morning found her better rested, and she moved even more quickly than the previous day. By sundown of that rather uneventful day, she'd covered easily twice the ground. Night was spent in a similar manner, and just as she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if, perhaps, her luck was changing.
The very instant her eyes opened the following morning, she regretted her thought. The sky was wrong, too dark. Worse yet, the air had the unmistakable feel of coming snow. Her bedroll and tree system would do no good against a blizzard. Myranda thought hard. If she recalled correctly, telltale hollows were scattered along the mountainside. They could only be the mouths of caves. That meant shelter. She quickened her pace and trained her eyes on the mountain. Whole sections of the slope had been swept clean by the wind, and in one such section there was a large, hollow opening. It extended far enough back that its end was shrouded in darkness.
Ice crystals were beginning to sting her face when she reached the mouth of the cave. To escape the powerful wind, she had to make her way much deeper than she had expected. The darkness was complete, save for the bit of light that found its way back from the mouth. She leaned her pack-covered back against the cave wall and slid to a seat. A bit winded from the rush to shelter, each breath burned her lungs with sheer cold. As she slowly recovered, she realized how much warmer the cave was than the outside. She brushed some of the more tenacious ice crystals from her cloak and took a deep breath through her nose. It was not the dank, moldy smell she expected, though there was a hint of it. Instead there was a rich, earthy smell, with a hint of smoke behind it.
"I suppose I am not the first person to shelter in this cave," she said aloud. Only her echoes came as a reply.
Perhaps the cave was so warm because someone had a fire going further inside. For a moment, she considered trying to find whosoever shared the cave, but she decided against it. Partially, she was afraid she might not be welcome, but mostly she was too tired to rouse herself. If the cave had a current resident, her call a moment earlier would summon it. When she heard the sounds of movement echoing from beyond her sight, then silence, she decided she was welcome enough to wait out the storm.
She glanced at the mouth of the cave. The wind sounded fairly weak, and the snow had not even whited out the horizon. It wouldn't be long before she could safely continue on her way. Her eyes were just about to turn back to the darkness of the cave when she saw the area just outside the cave mouth darken. She squinted at the odd sight, confused. A strange sound accompanied it, something akin to the rustling of leather. As it grew louder, it was joined by a scratching and thumping noise from within the cave.
The noises were growing at both ends, so much so that she could feel the ground shake with each thump. Confusion turned to fear as the answer became painfully clear. This cave had a resident--but it was not a who, it was a what, and it had a visitor that concerned it more than a simple human. She rose to her feet and broke into a sprint for the mouth of the cave. The uneven floor of the cave slowed her, and before she had gotten halfway to freedom, the first of the beasts appeared.
It was the first she had ever seen of a dragon, and if she hadn't been so terrified, Myranda would have been fascinated. The creature was enormous--from tail to snout it was easily ten paces. At the end of a stout, curving neck was a reptilian head that could effortlessly consume Myranda in little more than a bite. It folded its wings neatly onto its back after touching down thunderously. Wide plates of amber scales armored the underside of the creature from the tip of its chin to the end of its serpentine tail. The rest of the beast was covered with red scales larger than her hands. It crouched on all fours to stalk inside. The forelegs, ending in claws that looked like a bestial mockery of human hands, flexed and moved effortlessly along the rocky floor. The powerful hind legs thrust the massive creature along with a terrible smoothness and grace that seemed out of place for something so large.
Myranda spun around to race back into the depths of the cave, perhaps to find an alcove to hide in. She was met with an equally spine-tingling sight. Emerging from the darkness was a second dragon. It was slightly smaller than the first, with sleeker, more delicate features that led her to believe that this was a female. It was also red with a yellow belly, and stalked fiercely at the intruder. A few steps more and they would clash.
Panicked and cornered, Myranda backed toward the wall, afraid to take her eyes off of the spectacle for even a moment. The hammering of massive footfalls rose to near deafening levels and even the breathing of the creatures added to the thundering din. Perhaps it was the shaking of the floor, its unevenness, or her fear, but somehow at the very moment that the dragons collided she lost her footing. A sharp pain in the back of her head dizzied her, and she fell to the ground. She managed to keep the awesome clash in her vision for the last few moments of consciousness.