She is sitting there, on the top of the embankment at the edge of the village, waiting. She didn’t sleep very much and, at the break of day, she made her way to this spot . . . a spot that overlooks the pastures that lead to the great rock formations . . . where the cave of the dragon is known to be.
She spots him, off in the distance, and then jumps up and starts running down the embankment. He looks up and sees her coming, but keeps on walking until the timing is right. That moment arrives and he stops, sets down his spear, his shield, his sword, and a dragon heart . . . and he is ready to be embraced.
She leaps up onto him and kisses his face . . . over and over again . . . and when she runs out of steam, he takes over, kissing her on the forehead and on top of the head. After a few minutes she eases herself down and, standing there, she regards this man standing before her with a mingling of affection, promise, and . . . mystery.
“Did you?” she asks him, and he nods. “How?” she wonders. The young man pauses for a moment and then drops down into a slight crouch . . . legs apart, arms held halfway up, fingers spread out wide and slightly curled . . . and starts to step slowly sideways as he prepares to go into hand-to-hand combat with an imaginary opponent. She laughs. He then picks up his things and they start for the village.
At her parents’ cottage she offers him her bed to rest on. He drops down onto it and, fairly exhausted, is soon asleep. An hour later she is at the home of Langrid . . . the village blacksmith and unofficial keeper of the peace . . . and she presents him with the dragon’s heart. “He wants you to have this.” she tells him. Langrid can’t believe it. It is too good to be true. “Did he do it?” he asks her, “Did he really do it?” “Yes sir.” she replies, “The proof is in that sack.”
When the young man awakens there is the numbing pain in his shoulder and head to greet him. He gets up. Standing there by the bed he is a little groggy. He gazes out the window for a few moments and then steps out into the cooking area where she is standing by the hearth. “An angel.” he says. And she smiles.
She: Do you want something to eat?
He: Just water.
She ladles out a mug-full of water and hands it to him.
He: Have you eaten yet?
She: No. I was waiting for you.
He: I’ll eat.
She then dishes out two bowls of stew from the cauldron hanging over the fire and they sit down at the table to eat.
She: Everyone is running around . . . spreading the news that the dragon is dead.
He: Oh that’s right. And she gives him . . . a look.
He: The stew is good.
She: Good. Keep eating.
He: That’s a pretty dress.
She: Thank you. The tailor brought it over while you were sleeping.
He: Really.
She: Yes, but he wouldn’t tell me who paid for it.
He: Imagine that. Some secret admirer no doubt.
She: No doubt.
He: Probably a prince or a duke.
She: (laughs) They’re having a big celebration tonight at the village green.
He: Dancing?
She: Yes. And food and drink galore!
He: Me being an outsider, they likely won’t welcome me there.
She: I think they might let you stay.
And that night on the village green . . . as the musicians play and the old men clap along . . . they dance around the bonfire.
THE END