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"Nat!"
The frantic woman stops rummaging about in her rug-sack, throwing her irritated black eyes over to the shouting General.
A team of suited warriors race by, their weapons clanking against their metal armour plates. The last woman hauls a thick rope over her shoulder, dragging a line into the dirt. Large flames flicker from the scattered torches, casting a golden glow upon the dark atmosphere.
Nat finally spots Matthew Gade beyond the crowd, the current General for the Kingdom of Hills, standing tall with his freshly shaved scalp shining against the lit torches. He seems to be the only one who likes the idea of a bald head.
She painfully watches as he thrusts his solid hand in the sky, furiously pointing into the darkness above, "Up there now!"
Despite his sudden isolated anger, she gives her old friend a firm nod. The battlefield has made him on edge about everything and her heart painfully twists at the idea of what he must be thinking.
Probably the dangers he has placed on his warriors by going to war.
Her cloth-wrapped hands take hold of the spare iron tongue-buckle she was so desperately looking for, squeezing it tight in-between her fingers. The chill of the metal seeks her skin through the unmended holes of the dirty wrap.
She has to get back to her dragon.
Dirt flies up from the loose, dusty ground as she blindly sprints back to where she can only guess her companion is among the silhouetted dragons.
A shrill cry erupts from the airborne battle.
Nat halts at the sound of the dragon's shriek. Her wide eyes are followed by many of the other warriors standing on the ground, searching for anything in the thick, unnatural black clouds.
They suffocate the sky, leaving everyone blind to the battle above.
The only evidence of war is the echoing roars of dragons and the occasional blazing fireball that would blast out of the night fog. It would crackle until hitting the dead plains with a shaky boom.
Nat remembers her duty, tearing herself away from the never-ending darkness above.
She weaves her way through the maze of dragons until recognizing the flat-faced, fire-spitter that had settled in right behind their tack area. It had smelt of horse manure and burnt wood.
Quickly darting around its hot breath, she avoids the sparks of flame that leap from its thick, moist tongue. Past it's thick, bulky head, she finally spots the immense form of her own dragon.
"Fortison, up."
Fortison's humungous head lifts from the uneven ground at her request, his nostrils flaring to take in her scent. The variety of aqua scales armouring his body shake, moving with a distinct rattling noise, unsettling the two rows of black spikes that travel down his serpentine spine. His front set of talons scrape along the ground as Nat's numb fingers brush along his reaching muzzle. He pushes into her like a purring cat, claws needing the dry grass with bliss.
She carefully makes sure to avoid the thousand little thorns sticking out of his solid jaw. They threaten to snag her skin if she ever dared to stroke the other way. She searches for any entangled leaves or large dirt patches, roughly scraping them away with her chipped nails.
Spinning the metal buckle in-between her fingers, she moves down Fortison's long hide. Transparent waves of heat steam out from under his scales. The increase in temperature makes Nat boil underneath the various, heavy layers of protective armour.
YOU ARE READING
Dragon Blood Bond - A Dragon Rider Fantasy
FantasyNát believed she had made a new life for herself, a well-established warrior for the Kingdom of Hills. She lived everyday training with her companion, a well-built, fire-breathing dragon with scales that rattle like a snake. All seemed to be going w...
