Welcome to my new story! This one is a collage of so many ideas, old and new. So please read, enjoy, and let me know what you think! Ty!

I Am A Flyer

ONE

Warm, golden light shone gently onto the small village, which was made of mud and stone huts, and dirt pathways. The village was small, and situated nearly seventy miles away from any other place of habitation. Yet despite its isolation, the people were content and lived each day peacefully and happily. Their lives were almost perfect.

Almost.

To a closely-knit community that followed a set of rules rigidly, anything that did not agree with the rules was a flaw. A flaw that put a blemish on their perfect little village, and any flaw was simply not tolerated. And in this case, the flaw was not a thing - it was a person.

A boy, to be truthful. His dead mother had once been a highly-regarded person in their village, a young woman whose kindness and innocence touched the hearts of every villager. But then she disappeared for several weeks, with no word of what had happened to her.

Upon her return, it was discovered that she was pregnant. Pregnant with a barbaric outsider’s child. This created an outrage in the small village, as such a thing was unheard of. Any relationship with outsiders were forbidden, as it was thought that if any outsider blood was brought in, it would taint the purity of the perfect village.

So they banned her from their village. Since she had been one of them, they didn’t put her to death, but they did send her away. Alone, and disheartened, she built a small hut outside of the village. There, she lived, and by herself, she gave birth to her son. Unlike the villagers, who all were fair, and ruggedly built, the baby was small and delicate. Already, he had thick, dark hair, and ebony eyes that were like glowing coals. Seeing this, she named her son Jett.

For seven years, mother and son lived contentedly in the small hut. But suddenly, she abruptly grew sick, and died. Jett was left alone, a seven year old boy living on a grassy slope a quarter mile from the village that despised him, and half a mile from the huge, dangerous Putarc Forest.

Needless to say, he survived, and now in the present, he was sixteen years old. Not quite a boy, and not quite a man.

Stepping out of his worn hut, he lifted his tanned face skywards, and squinted at the brilliant sun. By its peak position in the sky, it was midday. Not the best time for a hunt, but he had nothing better to do. Besides, he needed the meat.

Jett lowered his gaze, and fixed it on the forest line that lay in the distance. Huge trees loomed upwards, hiding the sun’s light from their depths, and casting the forested land into darkness. It was there, that he would hunt.

He checked the knife belted to his waist, then adjusted the quiver slung on his back. Gripping his strung bow tightly, he drew in a sharp breath. Let’s go.

Without warning, Jett broke into a light run, his footsteps seeming to skim the ground as he surged forward. The tall grasses seemed to bend themselves out of his way, making his path all the more open. Within ten minutes, he was enveloped in the darkness of the forest.

If anyone had been watching, they would’ve scoffed. What would such a little shrimp of a boy be doing in such a dangerous forest? For Jett was no sturdy woodsman, nor a tough farmboy. No, he was a slender young man with a delicate build, and was smaller than most people his age. A strong field laborer his age could probably lift Jett with one hand.

Yet, looks can be deceiving. Nine years of survival had given Jett a unique kind of strength that enabled him to fend for himself. He had instincts, and he had the ability to run. If there was one thing Jett could do well, that would be running. And so he ran.

Right through the eery forest, between gigantic, gnarled trunks that stood grimly like silent guardians, he ran. Feet light as a feather, legs smoothly stretching out in ground-eating strides, lungs heaving as they forced air in and out - Jett flowed through the Putarc like water through a river.

His passage disturbed a flock of roosting crows, and they took off, cawing and flapping like the jaws of death itself were after them. Jett smiled briefly, silently apologizing to the birds for having disturbed their rest. He was careful, too, as to where he set down his feet, not wanting to destroy an anthill, or some small creature’s home.

He broke past several thin branches, snapping them off loudly as he rushed through, and then - he was surrounded by a small herd of deer, as they leapt up from their beds, and exploded into a frenzied flight.

This was it! This was what he had been looking for! With Jett right behind them, the deer fled, leaping and twisting, and bounding their way through the forest. They were so close, an amazingly easy shot, yet Jett did not draw an arrow from his quiver and notch it. Lengthening his strides, he kept pace with the fleeing deer, trees and branches and plants flying past in a blur.

For several long minutes, the chase kept up, until some deer began drawing ahead of the herd, while others began to fall back. The stronger ones took the lead of the flight, and the weaker animals began to straggle behind. And still, Jett did not notch an arrow to his bow. He kept running, kept waiting. . . waiting for the right moment.

The animals’ sides were heaving, white froth flying from their mouths. They were growing tired. And so was Jett, as his own sides were aching, his legs burning from the effort. But not yet - just a little more, just a bit longer...

A sudden flurry of movement finally separated one deer from the rest, as it stumbled, and struggled to regain its footing. It was an old creature, weak and lame, and it was unable to keep up the high pace. This was the one. Jett slowed a little, and reaching over his shoulder, withdrew a single arrow. It was made of a dark wood, and fletched with the black feathers of a raven. Panting, he carefully notched the arrow, and drew back.

The bow wasn’t all that large, but it took a good deal of effort for Jett to draw it. He was forced to stop and kneel, so that his aim would be accurate. Fortunately for him, the old deer stumbled once more, this time falling onto its front knees. As it struggled to rise, Jett took aim. With a soft sigh, he released the arrow, and turned his head away. He knew that it would fly true, as it always did. As such, he had no wish to see it strike the poor creature, and steal its life.

A sudden, frightened shriek filled the air as the arrow caught its target, causing Jett to flinch. The silence that followed was enough to let him know that it was over. Quietly, he stood, and walked over to where the fallen deer lay. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he saw that his arrow had dug in between its shoulders, and pierced its heart. It had died instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, feeling a faint twinge of sorrow. At least the old creature hadn’t suffered, and it wouldn’t have lived much longer anyways. Perhaps it was a good thing that he had taken this deer; he saved it the horrible death by a cougar or bear, who would have bitten and mauled it to death.

Shaking that horrible image away, he knelt beside the deer, and pulled his knife out of its sheath. A little miserably, he began removing the guts and part of the hide, letting them slop steamily onto the ground. His face was set in a determined expression, trying to hold back his nausea. He hated this part of hunting, but it was necessary. He did what he had to do.

After removing the best parts of the meat, he gingerly stuffed them into a large leather pack that he had brought with him. The smell of warm blood almost made him vomit, but he gritted his teeth. He needed the meat. If he didn’t have it, he would starve. Though, the fact that it was from an old deer meant that it would be tough and sinewy. But he could live with that. Better that it was from a dying creature than a young little doe in the spring of its life.

Jett quickly finished, and hurriedly stepped away from the carcase. He would leave it here; within a few hours, whatever remained would be devoured by wild carnivores. Breaking into a steady jog, he began to backtrack his way through the forest. If he hurried, he would be able to make it back long before dusk set in.

xxx

They were waiting at the base of the grassy hill. Four of them, wearing their prideful smirks, arms crossed on their wide chests, and feet planted firmly on the ground.

Jett stopped twenty feet before them, and looked at them with wide eyes. This was unusual. The villagers rarely came out this far - instead, they usually waited until he stumbled across one of their fields before harassing him.

He swallowed his nervousness, and asked in a wavering voice, “W-what are you doing here?”

The four teen-aged village boys shared smirking glances with each other, before breaking out into harsh snickers. One of them, taller and bigger than the rest, ran a brawny hand through pale yellow hair. “Why do you think? My father told me to take out the garbage - and funny thing is, I see some in front of me. I didn’t expect there to be any out here, but,” he shrugged, “you never know.”

“Yes,” another village boy gave a dramatic sigh. “This is rather disturbing. I mean, to see such filth so near to our village! What if it taints our home with its ugly stench?”

Jett closed his eyes against the onslaught. He didn’t know what they were doing here; he didn’t want to know. He just wanted them to go away, and leave him alone. Who cared that he was born of an outsider, of whom he never knew, or even met? Why was it such a big matter, anyway? Couldn’t they accept him, even though he was different?

Fat chance.

The villagers were so stuck up on their rules, that they would never even dream of bending them. He knew this, and felt a deep sadness because of it. Was he forever doomed to live a life that was lonely and scorned?

“Come on, guys, let’s take out the garbage!” The tallest boy exclaimed, starting to step towards Jett with an ugly grin on his face.

Jett’s eyes opened even wider in alarm. They really were going to attack him! He shifted back a step. It looked like he was going to have to retreat back into the forest. He’d be safe there, as no villager dared to set foot inside the ‘unclean’ Putarc. Then he’d just have to wait until the boys left, and then -

Something fell out of the sky.

Something big.

Something black.

It landed right between them with a faint thud!

The village boys and Jett stared at it. It shifted slightly, rolled onto its back, and with a shocked gasp, the village boys leapt back, their faces slack in horror.

“This...this is-“ The tallest one stammered fearfully, shrinking away from the black form. “This is one of them-! One of those evil creatures Father was talking about!”

Jett stared at the black form in confusion. “It’s a man,” he said, partly in wonder, partly in shock. How could they call another person an evil creature? Although, by the strange clothing and armor the man wore, he supposed they could mistake him for something else. The man let out a faint groan, and shifted once more, causing the village boys to leap back in fright.

“He’s hurt,” Jett observed, taking a few small steps closer to the man. He hesitated, then, and looked up at the sky, trying to figure out why and how the man fell.

“L-let’s go get my father! He’ll know what to do!” One of the village boy’s exclaimed nervously, and with a chorus of frightened agreement, they ran off together. Jett glanced at them, slightly disgusted. Maybe, to the tiniest degree, he could understand their treatment of him. He was different, born of an outsider. But they had no excuse to treat this man so harshly, even though he did fall out of the sky.

But...what did they mean? He’s one of them!What was them?

Gazing down at the stranger, Jett figured he was some kind of soldier or something. The man was wearing the strangest armored outfit that Jett had ever seen. Even though he had lived by himself in the middle of nowhere for all his life, he had heard some of the villagers talking. So he did know a little, even if it wasn’t much.

The man wore heavy boots made of some strange, thick material, and a dark gray, pliable jumpsuit of sorts that was a close-fit. On top of this, the man had strange arm-guards that covered his forearms; these had three spikes each set into the sides of them. Also, the man wore a smooth, crested helmet which covered his whole head, and hid his face from view. Other pieces of armor were set on top of the strange gray suit, such as a vest-like piece that protected the torso, and further thigh and arm plates. Although, Jett noticed that strangely enough, the man’s upper body and arms were the most heavily protected by the strange armor.

Well, in any case, the man had fallen from the sky, he was injured, and unless he didn’t disappear from here, the villagers were likely to kill him. That left Jett with only once choice.

So, with a grunt, he grabbed one of the man’s wrists with both hands, and pulled with all his strength. Despite all his exertion, he managed to only shift the man a few inches. Jett paused, and stared at the man. He is heavy! Still, if he didn’t manage to hide him, the villagers would -

Jett gritted his teeth, and yanked on the man’s arm once more. He would not let the villagers kill this man!

Twenty minutes later, Jett had dragged the man to the top of the hill, and another ten minutes later, had the man hidden away in his small hut. After rolling the stranger onto his pallet of dried grass, Jett kneeled beside him, and tried to pull off the man’s helmet. To his surprise, the helmet did not budge - it was almost as if it was glued to the man’s head.

Giving up with a faint sigh, Jett got up, and turned his attention to drying the meat that he recently acquired. Once outside, he got the fire roaring, and began sorting out the meat from the pack. A sudden loud croak from above caught his attention, and he looked up with a smile.

“Hello, Ravia,” he greeted softly. In response to his words, a large black raven swooped down from the sky, and landed on his shoulder. The raven fluffed her wings a little, then fixed her beady eyes on the strips of meat that lay in front of Jett. She uttered a little caw.

“You’ve been out by yourself the entire day,” Jett smiled, “and you’re telling me you didn’t feed yourself all this time? You’re a little beggar, Ravia,” he fondly tickled her feathered back with his fingertips, then tossed a small piece of raw meat towards her. With a quick action, she darted her head forward, and caught it neatly in her beak. With another croak, she jumped deftly to the top of his head, where she settled down amidst his dark hair.

Jett gave a soft chuckle, and turned his attention upon his work. And as time drew on, he nearly forgot about the stranger in his hut.