Deathstrike loped along the border of the Scarred Wasteland and Dragonhome, heading southeast toward the Sea of a Thousand Currents. His time back in his homeland had proved most profitable; several lairs he had spoken with had been surprisingly open to the idea of exchanging information with a small but growing Water lair. He was not necessarily expected to report back to Clan Aquaurora any time soon, but he felt that the good news deserved sharing.
Also, although he hated to admit it, he was even beginning to like it a little there. He had fathered hatchlings there, and there was no denying that it smelled better than his homeland.
As he neared the edges of the Tangled Wood, the breeze shifted just enough so that he caught the scent of fresh greenery. He glanced northeast toward the great Behemoth, the towering center of the Veridian Labyrinth, visible even over the expanse of the Shadow Realm.
A wave of curiosity flooded him. He had never met a Nature dragon before his arrival in Clan Aquaurora, and the ones there had been friendly enough, if a bit shy. One of them had even had Plague parents. He had never completely understood the ancient feud between the two Flights, anyway.
On a whim, he decided to take a short detour. His time spent in the Water Realm had not been wasted, anyway, he considered as he swam across the channel dividing the Viridian Labyrinth from the mainland. He scrambled onto the sandy beach and made his way into the dense jungle.
This was no place for Mirror dragons, he immediately decided. It was difficult for him to fold his wings down well enough to not get caught on the overhanging branches and vines. Every time he started to run, a vine would spring up in his path and bowl him over. Finally, with an exasperated hiss, he scrambled up the nearest tree and took to the air.
As he glided inland, he heard shrieks and roars below. Curious, he landed near the sounds, only to be met by a fierce onslaught of armed Spirals and Nocturnes.
"Deathbringer! Deathbringer!" they squealed, pricking him with their little spears.
He had forgotten that the Ghost marking across his back, highly prized among Plague dragons, was frequently considered to be an omen of death among the other flights.
"All right, all right, I'm going," he shouted as he took wing again, shaking them off.
He soon tired of flying, so he hopped from treetop to treetop. As the day drew to a close, he found that even that became too strenuous. The little ***** marks
hurt, he realized. He half scrambled, half fell down the tree. Turning to look down his side hurt even more, and he saw that the wounds were slowly oozing.
The Spirals' arrows had been poisoned. His instincts were torn between the primal urge to survive and the Plague dragon's gleeful fascination with a new way to kill.
Bricka's going to kill me, he thought as he passed out.
He awoke some time later--how long could it have been? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that his head felt like it was on fire and he was dying of thirst. He could smell water nearby, so he slowly and painfully crawled that direction. There was a little brook there, but as he approached the water, a tiny gossamer green Fae landed right in front of him. Her back was to him, and somehow she had not noticed that there was a massive bleeding black dragon right behind her.
"Excuse me," he said. "Is this your stream?"
The Fae turned around and let out a little scream of fright. She froze, trembling, in the greenish light that filtered down through the leaves. She looked like a little Nature nymph.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I didn't mean to startle you. But I've been poisoned by a pack of crazed Spirals, and I need a drink and a bath before I pass out again."
Her frills fluttered. He wished he could speak Fae.
"You...you may drink," she said shakily.
"Thanks." He tottered forward and bent to get a long draught of water. Plague dragons certainly overlooked the value of fresh, clean water, he thought. Suddenly he felt his legs trembling. He only managed to back up one step before collapsing again. Just before the world turned black again, he saw the anxious little face of the Fae looking at him, worried, but also...hopeful?
Oh yes, you've definitely got a way with the ladies, was his last thought.
When he woke up again, he was in a cluttered but well-lit hollow in the trunk of a still-living tree. The Fae was bustling about her little room as best she could. How in Sornieth she had managed to get him there, he had no idea. What he did know was that his head felt much better.
“Don’t try to get up,” she said as he shifted position. “You’ll probably knock something over, and who knows what might happen.”
He obliged. “What’s your name?” he asked.
Yeah, that was probably subtle enough. He would not be ready to breed again for a few days, thanks to a run-in with a very persuasive Coatl, who was
just desperate to have hatchlings with the ghost marking to raise her status in the clan. But the little Fae was very pretty, and with his current weakness, he might still be in the area when it was time.
“Skiv,” she replied. “And yours?”
“Deathstrike.” The Fae flinched. “Now, don’t worry, my parents named me and I can’t help my markings.” He tried to throw her a dashing smile and immediately regretted it. The headache was back.
Unbelievably, she smiled back. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” She gestured toward his body, which was now swathed in bandages. “Do you want to tell me about that, or not.”
He told her. She nodded in all the right places, laughed at all his jokes, and generally acted like the perfect little foil for his next attempt at romance. This would be too easy.
“So, how did you know what to do for me, here?” he asked.
Her smile faded. “I’ve learned a lot about potions over the past few years. Trying to break a magical curse is not easy.” She flinched as she said it.
He was intrigued. “Plague dragons are more into physical curses than magical curses, but perhaps I can help you out.”
“You won’t have a choice.” Skif’s mouth clamped shut as though she were trying to hold back tears.
Deathstrike was taken aback. “What in Sornieth can it be?” he asked.
“I’ve been cursed,” she replied, “to fall in love with every single male dragon I meet. And they always fall in love with me, too. But after our first kiss, they always have to leave. It’s like nothing happened, other than the hatchlings. Sometimes they are thoughtful enough to stay and incubate the clutch, even though they are no longer in love with me, but usually not. One day, I will meet my true love, the dragon to break the curse. We will fall in love and stay in love and live happily ever after. But until then, I have to live with the pain and heartbreak of a string of failed romances.”
Deathstrike felt an odd sensation. Perhaps it was pity, which was strange enough in and of itself for a Plague dragon. But he decided it was probably the effects of Skiv’s curse on him.
She was very pretty.
Well, if I’m going to be stuck in a cursed romance, it could be a lot worse.
***********
They stood together over their nest, looking down at their clutch. Skif’s eyes were filled with tears as she watched Deathstrike restlessly turn his head toward his homeland.
“You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you.”
With an effort, he shook his head. “I’ll stay until the eggs hatch. I owe you that much. I owe you my life, Skif, and I’ll never forget you. No matter how many future romances I may become entangled with.” He meant every word.
((He will be RTB in 5 days. I'll send him over then.))
