Prompt: The High Point
Writing Exercise #7
This story began life as a Crunch but I enjoyed it too much and didn’t want to cut it down. It is a kind of thematic sequel to a previous Sprint.
If you have ideas for Prompts, Crunches, Sprints, Relays, or other writing exercises in the future, please leave them in the comments! If you would like to write your own take for this exercise, please comment with a link so that I can see what you wrote and support your work, maybe even share your version with my subscribers. Please let me know if you have any thoughts, comments, or constructive criticisms as well!
Enjoy!
Prompt: Write about a character at their highest point.
The wretched beast roared, spewing hot flame which fell thick over the rocks. Squire Llewyn watched as Sir Victor the Ironclad, the strongest of the King’s Knights, faced down the Dragon of Hightop.
The dragon was massive. Its wings stretched from one end of the clearing to the other, making it feel more like a bowl than a clearing. Squire Llewyn stayed with Sir Victor’s horse, behind a crag, and watched as Sir Victor faced down the Terror of Hightop.
Sir Victor shouted defiantly at the Dragon. “Come and face me, man to man, fell beast!”
The Dragon let out something that sounded like a laugh, drooling liquid fire.
The Dragon lifted a mighty paw and brought it smashing down where Sir Victor stood—but Sir Victor had dashed aside. He waved his sword and his shield at the Dragon, but Squire Llewyn could no longer hear his taunts. The dragon turned to face Sir Victor, and Squire Llewyn ducked to avoid a swish of it’s enormous and powerful tail.
In a moment of clarity, Squire Llewyn remembered the advice Sir Victor received from the old wizard: Only a strike at the heart can kill such a beast.
“Only a strike at the heart…” he repeated to himself. He looked at the horse. The horse seemed to shake her head, as if to say don’t do it, don’t go. “Sorry, girl.” Squire Llewyn said, “It’s our only chance.”
Sir Victor deftly dodged another blow and continued to shout. Squire Llewyn grabbed his shortsword—more of a dagger, given its size—and crept down the rocks towards the Dragon, who was now facing fully away. Squire Llewyn knew this was his moment. He ran towards the dragon, dodged it’s hindleg as it scrambled to face Sir Victor down, ran underneath its belly, spotted the soft spot in its scales where it’s heart should be. He leapt forward and plunged his sword to the hilt in that very spot.
The Dragon reared, as blood gushed from the wound. Squire Llewyn lost grip on his sword, and it went with the dragon. The Dragon of Hightop let out a blood curdling, earsplitting howl of pain, as it tumbled down the mountain, covering itself in its own liquid flame, mixed with tar-black blood.
Squire Llewyn let out a cheer as he watched the dragon come to its final resting place deep in the valley.
He looked back at Sir Victor Ironclad, who simply stared back, mouth hanging open. He finally muttered, “Do you know what this means?”
Squire Llewyn’s blood ran cold. “…n-no…what?”
(429 words)
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy! Come back next week for another writing exercise!
God bless!