The Valley of Voles

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. In fact, the largest wild animal you were ever likely to catch a glimpse of was a vole. A ridiculously narrow stream sauntered through the gap between those notorious hills that may have passed as a valley under normal circumstances, and the tranquility of it was hard to beat. A hamlet of hovels was nestled between the Hill of Tremours and the Hill of Relief. Arnag was happy to call this his home.

”A monstrous vole lives up that mountain,” whispered Jennifreg to her friends, as they huddled round a fire one chilly evening soon after the harvest.

“You’ve been sipping too much FizzJam!” accused Lenriq as he took another sip of his own fizzy, thirst-quenching punch.

Arnag was not overly impressed by either of them. He huffed and continued to read his newsleaf. Today’s lead article was all about the famous wizard Eldor and his journey into the Smokey Caves. Arnag was desperate to find out if there was any sign of dragons there. It was widely believed that these particular caves were full of dragons but it was also known that dragons do not like to be found. Covered in mist which many said was pure dragon breath, the Smokey Caves were an enigma yet to be explored properly.

“There’s no dragons left in our region. Everyone knows that. Eldor is wasting his time.“ Jennifreg was always so cynical. She turned back the page of the newsleaf to check out the sketch of Eldor, who was a particularly muscly wizard, unlike the traditional old withered ones you heard about most often. Jennifreg swooned for a moment.

”If there are dragons, Eldor will definitely be the one to routle them out,“ snapped Arnag as he snatched the newsleaf away from her prying eyes.

Lenriq chuckled to himself and revealed two dragon dice which he had stowed in his cloak pocket. “Let’s play!” He ushered Jennifreg over to a nearby rock, where she sat beside him, pleased to have a game of Death Dice.

“You don’t believe in dragons but you’re happy to play a stupid game about them.” Arnag was still a little grouchy.

“Oh just put your leaf down and give it your best shot!“ snarled Jennifreg.

Not being able to turn down such a challenge, Arnag finally ditched his newsleaf, having realised that Eldor’s mission had been fruitless anyway. Lenriq had been expecting to thrash Jennifreg at Death Dice but now was a little unnerved by the fact that Arnag was wanting to join in. Arnag had a knack for these things after all.

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In the morning, Arnag was pleased to be the one who was asked to fetch supplies from the trader’s hut. It was a good half an hour away and marked the entrance to the valley, where the stream branched off in either direction and the hills rounded off towards the East and West regions. A forest filled the horizon, melting into a collage of more hills and mountains which stretched out for what seemed like eternity, probably right up to the Mystical Sea.

“Don‘t forget the honey we need for your sister’s sore throat!” yelled his mother as he pulled the empty trailer along the rocky path that meandered tightly against the stream.

When he was on his way to the hut, Arnag used to make up little games to keep himself amused. Being quite a dreamer, he used to imagine that all of the birds he saw were vultures and every vole he met was a dragon. He would have a bet with himself before he left, that there would either be more dragons or vultures that day. He was rarely right though. Today, he was sure the vultures would outnumber the dragons.

It turned out that Lenriq had also been asked to visit the trader’s hut that same morning and he was already waiting by the gate at the entrance to the hamlet. Although Arnag was happy to see him, he couldn’t help think that he might miss some vultures if Lenriq distracted him too much.

”I don’t know why it’s my turn again. My stinking brother always gets out of it,” whinged Lenriq loudly.

”I guess he has more important things to do,” said Arnag, always a little jealous of Lenriq’s older brother, who was already well-placed to one day be chieftain of the hamlet. “It’s a good day to go on an adventure.”

”True. but nothing ever happens. The most exciting development will be if we have to substitute some carva flour for some darn flour. Either way the bread still tastes the same. Dry as dirt.”

“Damn. that’s the third dragon I’ve seen already,” said Arnag, looking pained.

”You losing at your own game again, cousin?”

”I can‘t believe how many water voles there are today.“

Lenriq shrugged his shoulders. “They don’t call it the valley of voles for nothing. That’s the biggest animal we have here. Make the most of it. It’s not like we’re ever gonna see an actual real life dragon.”

At that, Arnag suddenly ground to a halt.

Lenriq stopped too and turned towards him. The colour had faded from his face and his entire body seemed rigid.

”What’s wrong? Are you about to be sick?” asked a confused Lenriq, pulling a rope bag from his trailer. “Puke into this, if you need to throw up.”

Arnag lifted his arm to point in the direction of Tremour Hill. Lenriq’s eyes followed and soon he was well aware of what had caught his cousin’s attention and alarmed him so much. In between two bushes, there was a pile of what appeared to be vole bones. At least they both hoped they were vole bones and not the bones of villagers on their way to trade. Weirdly the bones seemed to be slightly charred, as if they had been next to a fire.

”You know what? Only dragons can spit out bones that are frazzled like this. Dragons, I tell you.”