Chapter one.

A new day dawned upon an old, tired world. The sickly light of the sun did nothing to improve the surroundings; instead it seemed to make the very landscape despair. The meagre rays of light showed a barren, vast wasteland. Uninhabited, it seemed at first glance but a more careful look revealed things made secret to the unaware.
Dotted here and there were vague whispers of what might have been life. A sun-bleached bone, a piece of pottery, an iron bowl. All spoke of desertion and lack of life. All but one. A solitary line of footprints going seemingly nowhere and coming from everywhere all at once. One trail of prints, giving hope to its desperate surroundings, was the only clue as to what lay past the dead, hot earth.
It was to this barren land that Torran Ylldier, High Guardian of Telone had fled. And it was here, with only his loyal spirit guide, Sulin Slytewing for company, that he made his life. Away from the harsh civilisation of his birth, and in peaceful solitude they lived.
He was outcast. Banished on pain of death. This was Torran Ylldier's life from now on. Painfully alone outside the city of Telone that had been his whole life since he was born. Well, not quite alone...at least he had Sulin.
The first few days were pure Hell for Torran and his Spirit Guide as they tried to eke out a living from the land on which they had never set foot. The land outside the gates of Telone was barren and desolate with scant life of any sort. A smattering of desert and a thick rainforest was all that lay outside the city and it was a thankless place indeed. Torran looked around in disbelief. So all that the Elders had said was true. The land outside Telone wasn't worth living in after all. Sulin chirped encouragement on his shoulder.
~It could be worse,~ he sang, ~It could be raining.~ Musical laughter followed at what was Sulin's idea of a joke.
"That's not funny."
Torran sighed a great weary sigh and slumped down on a nearby log. He dropped his head into his hands and sank into a stupor of self-pity and despair at all he had lost in the last few days. It had all happened so fast, and all because of one judgmental error on his part. And he had the loss of a wing to remind him of his crime for all his long life. The wound was still painful and raw, the bloody bandages had come apart more than once, and worse, it seemed to want to continue bleeding. It would probably never heal properly, and he would certainly never experience the joy of flying again.
At this thought, Sulin sent waves of comfort through their mind-link. He could imagine only too well what the loss of flight would mean to Torran and his constant presence was a comfort, if only a small one. Indeed, it was the loss of flight that stung Torran the most. He would miss soaring above the clouds and above the frequent bad weather over Telone. Seeing the sun set in all its orange glory, tinting the clouds pink and highlighting the sky with flashes of red and orange. He looked up at the sky, sunset it may be, but it may have well been the middle of the night. The clouds were dark and overcast and their very presence spelt rain.
On cue, a large drop of something wet and cold plopped onto Torran’s drooping head. He looked up at the slowly darkening sky for a second time and promptly received another drop in his eye.
“Argh!” He spluttered, blinking and shaking his head. “Rain. Bah!”
~Maybe we’d better find some shelter.~
“Good idea.” Torran stood up from his log and stretched.
“Ow!” His hand shot to his rear.
~What’s the matter?~
“A bloody splinter, I think.” Torran groped at his behind and pulled at the offending object. Eventually, it slid out, coated with a layer of blue stickiness. Torran threw away the splinter, gave his rear a final rub, and set about looking for a shelter from the rain which, by this time, had become a torrent pouring onto the canopy of the rainforest. The water dripped off the trees and formed muddy puddles as it mixed with the brown earth and leaf mulch. The noise seemed to intensify with the coming of the rain, with more chirps and bird calls than ever. Sulin chirped in annoyance.
~It’s too noisy.~ He complained. ~I don’t like it.~
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, grumpy-one. It annoys me too if it’s any consolation.”
~Not really.~ Came the reply. Torran shrugged and cast about for shelter. Finding only a bower shrouded with broad, triangular shaped leaves, he dived underneath and beckoned to Sulin.
“Look what I’ve found!” He exclaimed.
~Wow. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.~ Sulin retorted while flying under the bower. He took up his usual perch on Torran’s shoulder and shook vigorously, sending a spatter of rain-drops all over Torran, who pursed his lips in annoyance.
“Get off me, you stinking reptile.” Said Torran, shrugging his shoulders to dislodge Sulin. “I’m wet enough as it is!”
~Sorry.~ Replied Sulin, meekly flying away. ~I’ll just sit over here then…~
“There’s no need for sulking.” Commented Torran, while rustling his bag. He turned to look at Sulin, finding him perched on a branch, looking moody. “Why don’t you help me with this sheet thing?”
~Shan’t.~
“Fine then. You can sleep outside for all I care.” Torran shook out the sheet and draped it over one of the overhanging branches, forming a crude shelter that just about covered the length of his body. He expelled a great sigh and plopped onto the ground.
"Well, it's not what we're used to, but it'll have to do. For the moment, anyway." He picked up a few stones the size of Sulin and placed them on the edges of the tarpaulin. They held down the sheet but not very well, and Torran feared that if the winds grew then their makeshift tent would just fly away, leaving Sulin and himself shelterless, as well as homeless. He shrugged and pulled his bag over from the end of the shelter. Rummaging, he pulled out a small block of wood. Maple, from the tree that had been behind his home in Telone. Seeing the wood brought back painful memories of his brother, Reimax. His brother had been a Borderguard and he was very proud of his status in Telone. The Borderguard were, after all, only third in rank to High Guardian.
Despite his responsibilities, Reimax had always looked out for his younger brother, whom he nicknamed Blackbird, because of the colour of his wings. Torran's wings were an unusual colour, black as night, yet they held a blue iridescence similar to that of a Blackbird. There hadn't been a Demal with that colour of wings since Reine Tuarhey, and he was one of the most revered High Guardians of Telone history. In fact, a good quantity of the Elders seemed to take offence against Torran and his wing colouring. Almost as if it were his fault that he was born with the same colour wings as the great Reine Tuarhey. Reimax, however, didn't care about his brother's colouring, and he made a point of ignoring the fussy Elders who did.
Torran missed Reimax. More so every day, and thinking about him was a painful task but Torran felt obliged to remember him, however much pain it caused him.
He took a deep breath, pushed the memories away and held up the chunk of maple wood, tilting it and turning it in what was left of the day's light. Checking for any flaws in the grain. There were none. He nodded in satisfaction and pulled a small penknife from his belt. Flicking open the blade, he set it to the wood and began to carve. He would make it a blackbird, in memory of Reimax.
As he carved, the rain bated and Sulin brought his head out from under his wing and shook himself. Dropping off the branch, he opened his wings and the membrane caught a stray air current, pulling him upwards and out of the shelter.
"Don't go far!" Called Torran. "And try to find some berries or something." Sulin muttered something unintelligible, rude no doubt, and flew off into the canopy. Torran suspected that he'd gone to sulk in the tree tops, somewhat typical behaviour for Sulin, and he went back to his carving. The wood curled away under his knife and fell to the forest floor, mingling with the leaf litter. The maple wood had a pleasant smell about it. It reminded Torran of home, and of sitting beneath the old tree for his lessons as a child.
As he carved, the wood gradually began to take shape. First the head and beak. Then the neat, folded wings, and finally the wedge-shaped tail. One last stroke of the knife and it was finished. Torran held his creation up to the failing light and examined it critically. There was a tiny flaw on it's left wing, which he carefully swept off with the tip of his knife. Satisfied, he folded the knife back up and placed it carefully in his backpack. Leaning against the tree trunk, he sighed and folded his hands in his lap to await Sulin's arrival. Hopefully he'd have food, Torran thought, hungrily. His stomach felt as if it had shrunk slightly in the last week, and he hadn't had the pleasure of a hot meal for five days. He leant his head against the tree and closed his eyes wearily. No sooner than he had begun to nod off, Sulin swept back into the shelter, bringing with him a shower of water droplets from his wings. He fluttered onto Torran's shoulder, a favourite perch, and before landing, he opened his claws. A collection of berries tumbled onto Torran's lap, along with a selection of what appeared to be nuts. Torran opened one eye and glanced at the motley collection of food in his lap.
"Oh goody. Berries and nuts. My favourite." He remarked in a dry tone, opening the other eye. "You've really outdone yourself this time." He winked and Sulin scowled.
~Next time, you go out and find the food.~ He dug his claws into Torran's shoulder and flew onto his branch. Tucking his head under his wing, he grumbled to himself and closed his eyes. Torran chuckled quietly to himself. Sulin would never change. And Torran wasn’t complaining. Sulin had been his closest friend since Torran made High Guardian, and Sulin had become his Spirit Guide.
Sulin was different to other Guides in that he was in the shape of a small Dragon. The shape of the Guardian’s Spirit Guide said a lot about their personality, and no-one in recorded history had ever had a Dragon Spirit Guide. This fact made Torran feel proud, even if Sulin could be intolerable. But then, he wasn’t so different from Torran himself. He gave a wry grin at the similarities between himself and Sulin. They both disliked company for any large amount of time and they were both regarded as dour and miserable, a fact that suited Torran just fine. He wasn’t particularly social. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he preferred to be alone with Sulin, whose company he enjoyed greatly.
Torran folded his arms behind his head and leaned back onto the rough tree bark, closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Sulin’s superior senses would wake him in the event of danger.