Pic is the base inspiration for cave lake
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Nat attends the white dragon's wounds the next day from sunrise to sunset.
She finds herself constantly walking back and forth from the lake to clean the makeshift rags and hunt for fresh fish. Twice throughout the day, the Asdorian woman had to ask for access to the 'facilities'.
Other than that, the woman has learnt to stay mostly quiet on top of Fortison. Every now and then, she seems to like to mutter to herself.
When Nat had started pulling out the dead skin from the white dragon's wounds, the woman had called down through the silence.
"What is that material you're pulling out?"
"Scale residue." Nat had calmly explained and brought one of the small-scale pieces into the woman's view. The midday sun had shone off the tainted white surface, "they can cause infection or pain for the dragon."
The woman had then turned away and fades back to silence.
********************
As the air turns colder, Nat returns back to the clearing with her bruised hand clutching a large stock of feverfew. It grew in plenty by the riverbed and she had noticed it's bright white flowers poking up from the wild weeds.
At first, it looked like yarrow, a small white-flowered plant used to treat infected wounds. Her heart had nearly burst with promise. But upon a closer look, it was the common feverfew plant.
Yarrow paste is a remedy used to cure open, infected wounds but the feverfew is an ingested recipe that will hopefully break the white dragon's fever.
She creates a poltuce of feverfew leaves, working with the small rock in repetitive rhythms to attempt the famous medicine that will plausibly bring down the creature's growing heat.
"You better swallow this," she crawls to the dragon's slightly ajar mouth, hands holding the mushy, smelly paste that makes her stomach churn.
The steaming breath of the white dragon boils through her pants and she can already feel herself start to sweat. The fever had made it dangerous to work so closely around its snout.
Taking another step into the heat, Nat offers her moist palm of feverfew to the white dragon.
***Dream***
Her whole frame sinks into the soft chair, enclosed within the sheep wool blanket that drapes over her relaxed shoulders. She lets her tired head lean back and take advantage of the warm, cushioned seat in front of the alive stove fire.
Resting in her palm is a warm clay mug, a delicate smooth handle caressing around her clean fingers. A fragrant smell lifts from the steam of the hot drink, dragging Nat in closer, lifting the mug up to her soft lips.
The water is unexpectedly boiling hot and takes Nat by sudden surprise, gasping as it stings, scolding her tongue and throat. She makes to place the mug down to cool but something stops her.
A shadow falls over Nat's face as a strange, ghostly woman presses her misty hands on the mug. In utter silence, the woman redirects the drink back to Nat's open lips. She desperately tries to struggle but the stranger overpowers all her attempts to escape.
She chokes on the hot water as the woman forces her to drink. She can barely move or breathe, staring wide-eyed at the ghost-like figure.
A shift in the light and Nat can make out the familiar piercing blue eyes.
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...
