The Phoenix and the Dragon

Part One - Chapter Thirteen

Part One ~ Fire and Ice

Chapter Thirteen ~ Wyvern Twins

Gavryn had been flying all day, and just as the sun fell past it's peak he swooped down to just above the treeline, scaled skin tickled by the tops of trees as he dove down into a clearing, shifting on the descent so that he landed, boots first, into the grass.

Flying, and shifting for that matter, were exhausting, and rivulets of sweat began to descent from his newly recovered pores.

Groaning Gav fell to his knees, the momentum of flight still pushing his heart even though he was back in his half-fae body.

One hand struck out, keeping him from truly falling face-forward into the ground.

Blinking the shifter swore, voice raspy with dehydration. 

He has smelt the scent of a stream on the wind, and with great effort he heaved himself up, stumbling towards the sound of trickling water.

Gavryn was still young, and mostly untested with shifting. Whilst his mother had coached him on most of it- there had never really been more than a few times he had become a Wyvern- and half of those were to settle a bet with Ardere. And he had never endured such a sustained flight. 

Blinking, he wiped sweat away from his eyes, undoing the leather cord that tied his hair to place it above his brows- hopefully it would do more use there as a sweat guard.

Breaking through the treeline he gripped a small sapling, almost crushing it as he bent down to bring cupped hands of water to his mouth- relishing the taste of the mineral rich water.

Gavryn waited till he had sated his thirst then washed his face in the water, shaking his hair when it got wet. He had thought he scented Wyverns on the wind, perhaps a travelling coven or even Brannon's mount Kannat, who was black like the one which rested upon the Ardalanian flag.

A lucky pick, for Bran had chosen Kannat a few years back when she was still in the egg.

Gavryn sat back, his ears twitching to the the ripples in the stream, thinking of where he must be. He was still just gracing the edge of the mountains, after flying straight across Perranth from Orynth, but hadn't yet come across the ruins of Endovier.

The thought made him chill, and brush his hands against his leggings, the water feeling like ice.

He had never visited it, only caught the smell of it on the wind when my father and Prince Rowan took him to train in the Oakwald, part of his unending preparation to one day pledge the Blood Oath to Ardere.

Still, the fact he hadn't come across it's scent was either because he was still in Terrasen, or perhaps because of the breeze which pushed itself southwards, giving him the speed able to fly so far so quickly, but also making it damn near impossible to scent anything downwind of him.

Hands dry, he cleared his throat, rubbing his hands over his face once more, trying to visualise where he might be. Of course, the one thing he had forgotten to pack would be a map.

It would be wouldn't it. He thought to himself savagely, trying to think of the estuaries this stream might come off, giving him an ideas of location.

SNAP.

The sound echoed in his ears like a drum.

Every muscle in his body stiffened, but within a second he was running his hands through his hair, staring at the earth with deadly intent.

He was not alone.

The snap, perhaps a branch or pine cone, had been followed by a soft thump, an exhale of breathe that had he had human ears, would have been impossible to detect.