The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📕

he had not gone astray, but there were no more landmarks drawn on the parchment. He returned the map to his pocket, picked up an elm branch on the ground to fashion as a walking stick, and began his trek up the hill.

Though he was thankful for the warmth and protection his cloak provided, the fabric kept getting ensnared on briars. Halfway up the hill, he came across a clearing where he removed the cloak and placed it in his backpack. He looked to the sky, cursing the gray shroud once again covering the sun. Because of its disappearance the world was a frigid place, where even the smallest of winds sliced to the bone. For a moment he contemplated building a fire and making camp, hoping the next day would be warmer. But Ulam knew he had to keep pushing through, at least until he came across a more suitable campsite.

He winced as he plodded through the storm of briars, each sharp point galvanizing his resolve even more. His mind was so focused on his destination that he did not pay attention to the dozens of cuts his arms and legs. After he reached the top of the hill Ulam immediately slung his cloak over his shoulders again, rubbing his arms and legs in hopes of bringing warmth back to them. It was in that moment he realized he had been sliced by hundreds of little knives, the wool cloak stinging like salt in an open wound.

Ulam looked up and saw the remains of a timber wall, camouflaged by a brown labyrinth of chestnut, elm, and maple. He followed the perimeter with his eyes, realizing the years of neglect had not been kind to the defenses. Though he stood on the outside of the Sanctuary, he could tell it had been abandoned long ago. He sighed as he surveyed the state of the fortifications, while what little hope he had harbored floated away in the wind. He slung his bag over his shoulder once more and proceeded, determined to use the last few hours of sunlight to explore as much as he could.

Ulam passed underneath the rotting gate and into a large courtyard, with rows of weather-worn buildings spreading in every direction. Directly in front of him was the largest building in the complex, which he assumed had once been occupied by the chief of the Sanctuary. All around him stood homes and workshops, most of which with minimal damage. He searched inside the structures, only to find tools still hanging on the walls of a forge, while coin purses littered the floors of homes. Outside a shop Ulam spotted a fully functional wagon, finding piles of neatly folded clothes resting in the trunks. Despite not having been inhabited in decades, centuries perhaps, the Sanctuary showed no signs of strife or battle. There were no markings of fire, nor were there arrowheads embedded in posts or walls. It is as though they simply vanished.

Ulam then entered the great hall, passing through the remains of an oak door that had fallen from its hinges. Holes in the roof allowed the day’s weak sunlight to filter into the hall, providing Ulam with enough light to see. He immediately noticed the hall was much different from Silverwater’s castle, not just in architectural style but also in design. Instead of a series of multiple rooms with specific functions like Count Aldamar’s home, this hall was wide open with a long, central hearth running the length of the room. At the head was an ornate chair, much larger than the rest, with all the appearances of a throne. Ulam investigated the throne first, quickly noticing an empty socket where a particularly large jewel had once been. I am not surprised. Probably treasure hunters, but could have also been the Orcs that lived here taking their valuables as they left. But where did they go?

From a hole in the roof Ulam noticed the day was fading fast, so he decided to spend the night in the Sanctuary because there was no way he was going to brave the thicket of briars in complete darkness. He went about collecting firewood from the abandoned buildings, feeling fortunate that he had a large supply of timber as well as a hearth to build a fire to keep himself warm throughout the night. Though he felt some degree of anxiety about sleeping so close to the fire, he was comforted in knowing that the hearth was surrounded by stone.

While rummaging through the homes earlier he had found deerskin blankets, as well as feather-stuffed pillows that he intended to use to make a bed. Within minutes of returning to the hearth he had the flames roaring, and for the first time in weeks, he felt warm. Ulam held his fingers towards the flames, their stiffness being worked out by the heat. He laughed at the sensation, finding humor in the idea that someone from Accaria could forget what warmth felt like.

If I had known what autumn and winter were going to be like, I would have been less anxious to leave Accaria. Ulam chuckled, remembering how eager he had been to explore the world. Though homesickness affected him from time to time, ultimately he did not regret coming to this land. After all, if he had never left he would not have found himself in the hall of an Orc Sanctuary. In a way, he was living his dream, although in those dreams were scores of Orcs welcoming him into the community with open arms.

Ulam leaned back on his makeshift bed of fur and feather, impressed with his ability to scavenge and improvise. It was not as comfortable as a real bed by any means, but it was by far better than sleeping in a chair or on the cold, stone floor. He spread out and stretched his limbs, which were still irritated by the dozens of cuts from the briars. If he had not been so exhausted the nicks might have bothered him,