The Beast

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ylvir struggled to keep his increasingly heavy lids aloft, taking in the sight of the beautiful dragon before him in all her magnificent glory. It was hard to believe this was the same dragon he had saved. Her scales were vibrant and gleamed bright against the snow's reflected sunlight. The previously grimy and matted red hair was now a striking crimson that formed a majestic halo about her noble head.

Ylvir smiled faintly as that head bowed respectfully down to touch his own, her horns grazing against his tenderly. "Freedom has suited you well," he murmured.

She huffed a warm breath of agreement over him.

Hold still. This will hurt.

"What--Argh!"

The dragon drew a heated claw across Ylvir's wounds, searing his flesh and cauterizing it shut, ceasing the outflow of his lifeblood. It was agonizingly painful, but he was grateful for it when she was through.

You will live.

Ylvir's tears of pain changed to ones of gratitude. "Thank you."

No, Ylvir. Thank you. Now I may finally meet out justice. For both of us.

Ylvir watched distantly as the dragon turned about, facing the man that had performed terrible grievances against them and so many others.

Strivsky stumbled backwards into the snow as the dragon eyed him with righteous indignation, the fear it inspired rivaling that of the other beast. Before he had a chance to do or say a thing, it lashed out, a great claw slashing his eyes out and permanently blinding him. When he screamed, he felt the same claw reach in and remove his tongue, and as warm blood welled in his mouth the dragon loosed a mighty screech that rang in his ears and never stopped. His senses blinded, Strivksy fell to the cool snow, curling in agony until he felt his flesh begin to burn, realizing that the dragon had finally showed him its fire by turning it to him. He had been frightened of his own death, but now he would have welcomed it, except the dragon ensured he would live through this pain. And he would live with it for the rest of his miserable life.

The dragon forced her voice into the stubborn man's head.

Leave, and never return.

She watched in pleasure as what was left of the man scrambled and stumbled helplessly. No longer would he be able to sufficiently harm those around him. He would be lucky if anyone showed the wretch mercy.

The dragon turned about once more, seeing Ylvir asleep in the slush of melted snow. Even as he slumbered, she could sense the turmoil in his mind. He had once showed her kindness when no one else would. It was time she returned the favor.

~*~

Ylvir slowly gained consciousness, recognizing the welcoming warmth that enveloped him. It wasn't just a temperate warmth either. It was a certain serenity--an assurance that all was well. He curled tighter, never wishing to leave the blissful warmth. But soon his memories awashed him with a cold shock, and he opened his eyes to see himself surrounded by scales of ever-shifting shades of green, from lighter olives to deeper emeralds.

He attempted to shift himself, only for pain to shoot through his midsection.

You should not move so much.

Ylvir turned a red eye to the gleaming black of the dragon as she shifted her scales a little tighter around him.

"The man," he started, beginning to feel some of his anger return.

Is gone, the dragon finished. Not dead, but no longer a problem.

He nodded appreciatively. But with his wrath gone, he was left with nothing but despair.