Weekly Prompts - Burning

She always strikes just when you think you are safe - that's what they say. One hundred years ago, when Her first attack occurred, She proved this for the first time. 'Don't be childish, it's just a legend.' they said. 'I'm pretty sure that's just a story that parents use to scare their kids.' or 'No... Not down here. They only exist up in the mountains."

The plains of Torran had been very peaceful for many years, because they could not afford to be otherwise. The kingdom lay in the centre of the continent and bordered five large and powerful countries that were always at war with each other. Torran's only saving grace was that it was seen as a no-war zone and was used for trading along the borders by all of the other countries. The inner plains of the country gave way to masses of fields, orchards and livestock - to be used for trading. It was dotted with many villages that each had their own purpose in terms of the country's trading. They were even mostly named after their main produce. In the west there was Woolton,  Cheese, West and East Orchard, Bakerton, Turnip and Ham.

Woolton and Cheese were the first to go. They had had the misfortune of being nearest to Her birthplace. Then was Bakerton, because it was the largest settlement nearby. Word had got to Ham and Turnip that She was coming only half a day before they were struck. The west had been swallowed up in the space of a week - with only Greater Orchard standing between the source of the horrifying tales and rumours and them, on the East side of the kingdom. The centre of power, in Torran, was a massive castle-town called Marketton, named so because it was the central hub of activity, where all products passed through before they were shipped off to the borders to sell.

Even after the west fell, they thought that the stories were false. Surely the country in the north had finally given into their western neighbour and had charged through their country to begin a war. Surely the bandits of the south had come to take their country for their own. Anything was better than the rumours. Anything to pin the blame on some human source of angst. Later that year, She finally came to the King's castle. It was the first morning of Winter and the frost had only just taken hold of the town. The King's room was situated on the very top of the highest tower, allowing him to view the entire of Marketton and its surroundings with ease. That morning, a messenger awoke him early by near banging his door down. After convincing the guards to let him through, the man had burst into his room and bowed deeply, with utter terror in his eyes.
"Sire," he said, gasping and gushing with sweat. "The dragon is here."

Three hours later, with the sun high in the sky, as the last of their defences crumbles into ashes, those soldiers of the King's guard who had survived the initial onslaught and the journey from their beds to his side were surrounding him on the roof of the blackened castle. The king could see the smoke rising all around him, and the dragon circling above. Her name was Attora - Death in the old tongue - and as She swooped to breathe Her monstrous flames on the remains of his once great city, he lost all hope for his country. With sadness in his eyes and cold in his heart, he walked to the edge of the parapet to observe the ashes of his kingdom. In the moments before She came down to kill him, he could taste his peoples' blood in his mouth.

It tasted like burning.