Story Entry 2: Salt soak
Dragonhome may be known for the most spectacular sunrises in all of Sornieth (as long as you’re not asking an acolyte) but for the rest of the day, all there is to see is ground. Flat ground mainly. Flat and taupe. Even the great scars in the Earth could only break the monotony for so long.
It had been ages since the last time they made camp. Stoat was exhausted, hanging towards the back of the caravan and dragging his feet every step of the way.
If he could just have a break. He had been zoning out for days.
In an evening of wakefulness he looked over to see Versace lagging along with him. It was strange to see him alone, Stoat thought. Versace nodded towards him, acknowledging their shared exhaustion.
Their leader had been strange recently. The whole damn world had. Letters from his old crew mates described riots at the forges and seas that had never been quieter. Rainyday, at the head of the clan had always been different,
but never tense like this. Never so jittery.
“One more day of travel,” she would promise. She’d keep going well past that, not even realizing it until her confidants could convince her to stop. It never used to be like this.
Stoat’s musings were interrupted by his own voice, startling even himself when he interrupted the silence.
“Water…!”
Water was near! All tiredness left Stoat’s body. The ache of his muscles and the claustrophobic feeling of his layers of wraps faded.
Waterwaterwater. He picked up his pace, running now, towards the head of the clan.
Water. Towards their imperial leader.
“Please. We should rest. We should make camp here.” He panted, too frazzled to be nervous.
The others stared.
The old sailor was never one to rock the boat, so why was he acting like this now? He thought he could convince her to stop?
Curiously, the leader nodded and signaled for the clan to start setting up camp. They did as they were told, despite the shock. She never even asked for an explanation.
As everybody settled down for the evening Stoat split off, attempting not to catch the attention of his clan. Most paid no mind. They were happy to rest after the weeks of travel. The only one not preoccupied was Versace. The Ridgeback slowly rose to follow the Wildclaw, bemused. His mate was off somewhere doing Earthshaker knows what. He needed something to keep him occupied.
Since his time away from the sea Stoat had developed an internal dowsing rod; a skill mostly useless on the Shattered Plan. Now, however, it lead him to a steaming salt spring hidden in the cracks inside the Earth. He hurriedly shed his layers and unwrapped the salve-soaked cloths that protected his eroded sickly skin. By the time the Ridgeback had tracked him down, Stoat was nearly dozing off in the water.
“You look cozy,” Versace shouted down from the opening in the ground.
The Wildclaw perked up and swam towards the edge of the spring, resting at the edge of the water.
“You look awful,” he yelled back.
It was true. Stoat may have been born ill, but Versace had come into sickness unknowingly. Velvet, his mate, had a toxic skin. Each time she coiled around the Ridgeback his health declined further. His skin was so thin it cracked and bled as he moved. Velvet didn’t care. Versace didn’t notice. Stoat had no clue whether he sympathized with the Ridgeback or hated him for throwing away his health so recklessly.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Stoat,” he cooed.
Stoat scoffed. “Just come down here already.”
Versace sunk into the pool and winced as the saltwater flooded the gashes in his hide. He looked to Stoat fearfully who assured him the salt was good for him.
The two were never close. Versace wasn’t close with anybody. Stoat quickly realized that the ridgeback wasn’t nearly as insurable as he was made out to be. For a the evening, they sat quietly and enjoyed a silent soak. Hours passed.
“Ah, It’s time to go back, don’t you think?”
Stoat responded with a groan, and climbed out of the water. He began the tedious task of wrapping his rashes back up with the long strips of medicinal fabrics. Vesace remained in the water and watched. All he had worn there was jewelry, it’d take the Wildclaw much longer than him to get himself together. Stoat suddenly felt embarrassed under the other’s gaze.
“The salves sooth my skin and the wraps protect from the elements,” Stoat defended himself, despite never being attacked, “It’s not pretty but it helps.”
Versace chuckled and pointed out that he never said anything. They walked back to camp relaxed, replenished, and closer than ever. Since his welcoming into the clan, Stoat hadn’t this close to anybody.
Not the way he did when working on his ship. Not until now.
At the end of the night the Wildclaw promised his new friend that he’d bring him some salve in the morning. They both rested calm and happily.
Stoat slept easy, and woke early to a stunning sunrise. He stayed bundled in his bedding for hours, taking in the stillness of the clan. The only other dragon awake was their leader. He could see her off in the distance already scouting out where they would go.
So much for that break.
He rummaged though his bag, finding the topical cream that would best suit Versaces injuries, and headed over to the Ridgebacks campsite. Versace was found with his tent collapsed, sleeping on the hard dry Earth. It reminded Stoat of fish he’d find on the beach, drying and bleaching in the sun.
He really does look awful.
??As Stoat reached out to wake Versace, a hiss stopped him. A spiral clawed out from under the collapsed tent and glared at him. Velvet? Was she back so soon?
“Come no closer,” she threatened.
He wanted to speak, to protest, but she cut off any thoughts he had.??
“You might’ve noticed, but dragons who cross me don’t last long here.”?
She was right, even in his short time in the clan he had seen quite a few slink away, bearing infected wounds. He had been warned that she was to be left alone, to be ignored, when he first joined. ??
Stoat placed the cream on the ground in front of her.
“For him,” he nearly whispered, before returning to the central part of camp.
Dragons there were already packing up. It soon would be time to get moving again. Stoat groaned at the thought and began to prepare for the journey himself, lonelier than ever.
