Hero: A Narrative Fiction

The battle was dynamic, riveting even! Hero and his Villain bounding across the spring-laden dawn tundra, bursts of energy igniting between them as their tails and armour collided. Butterflies cascaded about from both Hero and the grasses. A wide smile crossed the Hero’s face but a grimace of anger and frustration stuck to the Villain’s. “Why can’t I! Just! Hit! Him!” Villain yelled to himself. Another swing from Villain’s tail, another expert dodge from Hero. A hidden crossbow fired from Villain’s mechanical foreleg; squealing from the strain. A quick plume of flame from Hero, midleap, reduced it to ash and a red hot arrowhead. “Ahh! F-” Villain began to cuss.

Hero landed in the grass with some momentum, causing him to slide a meter through the grass, nearly toppling a small

It was nearly dusk already. How had that happened? “What do you want to talk about?” Villain asked partially faint.

Hero shook his head, “Anything.” That wasn’t a lie, of course. He sat down promptly in the grass next to the unfinished job or fixing the stones.

Idle conversation followed promptly. Words of little substance and little lasting worth. The weather, grass, the Centaur and others. Night fell upon the two quickly as was common so far south. The sky above was star-laden, like a pond full of diamonds. As night drew in and the two lost sleep, the conversations grew ever closer to their hearts: favourite toy as a child, least favourite food, why the butterflies, and others. Their eyes often strayed to the vibrant gems above. Hero wondered if that Centaur was watching them right now, from somewhere up there. Villain was hungry.

Villain lay in the dirt, exhausted, mentally and physically. It was hard to talk for so long. “How have you been?” He asked his companion, intrigued at this point. Hero shiften on his haunches as he thought. Villain wondered for a moment, Why do they fight? Why couldn’t they just sit like this and just…