WEEKLY 4:
https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1101211849/
Part 1: Inuit
512 words
“He's hurt.”
As always, Kela was the first to speak. The first to take advantage of the gaping silence.
The dragon lay on its side in the mud, its wings askew, breathing shallowly. It was a Wild One, unbonded to any human—as Tirak could see from the lack of a saddle and its thin, malnourished frame. The beast's speckled blue scales refracted the glaring sunlight, an unnatural shimmer rising in the air around it.
Tirak had seen it all. In pursuit of a flock of sparrows, the dragon had misjudged the distance to the ground and had crash-landed in an ungainly manner, odd for a species as renowned for its grace and precision. The result was this: a broken wing, possibly broken ribs. Either way, the beast could not be expected to survive.
Tirak folded his arms. “We should leave it there. It will only be a liability if we bring it back.”
Kela glared witheringly. “I'm not leaving.” She knelt next to the dragon's head, heedless to the mud that stained her knees. Hesitantly, almost reverently, she lifted a hand, as if to touch the creature's snout. The dragon snorted and turned its head away, a slight tremor running down its spine-crested back.
“No!” Tirak's instincts kicked in. He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his knife, though managed to restrain himself when Kela glowered at him once more. “With all due respect, Kela, that is an injured Wild One.”
Kela unfastened the pouch of herbs from around her neck, pulled it open, and began sifting through the contents.
“Kelanari—”
“Don't.” Kela stood up abruptly. "Don't call me by my full name.“
Chastised, Tirak continued to back away. ”I apologize.“
”You think it's easy for me, don't you? Easy being the most talented Herbmaster in our kingdom, blaze it, perhaps in all of Arda? Every day, I see people being brought in—men and women who risk their lives for the sake of our safety and security—and goodness knows I'm the only one who can save them. But every day, they hold me back. I have to watch them suffer, knowing that I could have alleviated their misery.“ Kela paused to draw breath. ”But this dragon—I can save him. I know it, even though I've never trained on … on wild beasts before. Just let me try. I'm done watching suffering.“
Tirak had not known it was possible to elicit such a response from her. Kela was impulsive, that was a given, but surely she had never flown into a rage like this before.
Kela mashed leaves together in her palms, muttering under her breath. She slathered the impromptu mixture over her palms and thrust her hands before the dragon's snout; in a single inhale, the dragon's eyes closed entirely. It began to snore, creating a noise similar to a distant underground explosion.
”Kela,“ Tirak said softly. ”You know how your house regards dragons.“
”I know,“ Kela said curtly, already preparing another batch of herbs. ”But I don't care, not like I used to. Not anymore."
Part 2: Navajo
777 words
“Where will we hide him?” Tirak asked for the umpteenth time.
Kela hid her growing frustration by forcing a smile. Yes, similar thoughts had crossed her mind from time to time. But as long as she was working—as long as she was keeping the dragon alive—she could keep such worries at bay.
She had worked on the dragon's broken wing first. She had no experience with wild beasts, but logic stated that he would never fly again unless she made this a priority. She exhaled on the poultice she had mashed together, imbuing it with properties only an Herbmaster could give, and slathered it over various parts of the reptilian's wing, hoping it worked the same way on animals as it did humans. Not that she'd had much practice on either.
She next had to contend with the various cuts and bruises accumulated by the fall. Dragon scales were renowned for their durability and toughness. Still, the fall had been severe. The dragon had impacted perpendicular to the earth, which had caused sufficient damage to destroy a lesser being. A griffin or a lesser wyvern would not have survived the crash.
Luckily, minor wounds were easily cared for. She barely had to imbue the leaves; their natural properties would suffice.
The work became repetitive, and she began to hum, pointedly ignoring Tirak. She could sense him looming behind her, radiating silent concern. An earnest bodyguard if there ever was one, yet she could not help but feel annoyance at his persistent refusal to let her step into the path of danger. As if she ever did so.
Her concentration deepened to a point that a crossbow bolt could have split the ground beside her and she wouldn't have moved an inch. In this intensely focused world, only three things existed: her herbs, which she imbued on occasion to care for particularly nasty cuts; her hands, which moved with steady precision; and the dragon himself, a beast that belonged to the sky, ungainly and odd when grounded. Once I've finished with you, she thought, you'll be able to fly again, Wild One.
“Kela.”
She heard it but it did not register; the words echoed meaninglessly in her ears.
“Kela!”
Louder this time. She shook it off with annoyance. What was Tirak doing? Didn't he know she was in the middle of working?
"Kela!"
The force in his tone snapped her back to reality. Thrust out of her narrow world, Kela stared blankly down at her hands—smeared with herb juice, resting on the dragon's side, feeling the creature's deep, rattling breaths. What had she been doing? She could hardly recall the previous steps she had taken. It was as if she had been locked in a stupor.
Her bleary eyes registered the dimness. Blaze it, the suns had already begun to set, dancing shadows eclipsing the wooded clearing. She had completely lost track of the time.
Tirak crouched beside her. Kela was keenly aware of how he kept his distance from the dragon, his glances toward it furtive and apprehensive. It's just a creature, old friend. Just like any other. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words came out raspy and twisted, her throat drier than a sun-baked desert.
“Your parents will be looking for you,” said Tirak. “They'll suspect something has gone wrong if you stay here long into the night.”
Kela tried to protest, but Tirak spoke over her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“You have to leave the dragon here, Kela.”
“No,” Kela finally managed to say.
“Where will you hide it? The stables? The courtyard? Someone will find it, Kela. And besides, we have no way to bring it there.”
Kela shook her head numbly. “If they find him, they'll kill him.”
“It's just another beast, Kela.”
Just another beast. Wasn't that what her parents told her whenever someone was brought into the infirmary, someone she could have helped? I can't leave.
“Besides,” Tirak said, gently yet firmly, “you can always come back tomorrow.”
That gave Kela pause. Tomorrow … I can check on him, make sure he's okay. “Alright,” she finally conceded. “Alright.”
Tirak offered a half smile. “I knew you were reasonable.” He helped Kela to her feet. She didn't realize how stiff she had grown till she staggered, nearly falling over. She found her balance after a moment, then allowed herself to be walked in the direction of home.
I won't let anything happen to you, she promised silently, throwing one last glance over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the dragon, slumbering peacefully.
Then the foliage obscured her view, and the dragon was gone.
Part 3: Aztecs
On the way to the dragon's clearing, a light seemed to illuminate Kela's expression.
“Avandir,” she said, clasping her hands together in excitement. “Avandir Brighteyes. That is the dragon's name.”
Tirak raised an eyebrow but did not protest. It did one little good to argue against Kelanari. She was not just a blaze-headed fool—she could be a stubborn blaze-headed fool.
Still, he kept the dragon secret. Keeping the secret was the least he could do for Kela, who seemed to be more and more eager to stare danger in the eye as the days went past. Spending an increasing amount of time around the infirmary, gathering herbs that were known to be poisonous, sticking her nose in places she didn't belong. One of these days she might just find that whatever she had been disturbing could bite back.
“I admit, it suits it. The name sounds … fierce.”
"At least call him a he, Tirak,“ said Kela, in average Kela fashion. ”We've been caring for him for over a week now. Have a little empathy for living creatures, will you?"
They emerged into the circular clearing. High above, the twin suns shed their golden rays onto the lush earth, illuminating the dragon who crouched beyond with a brilliant halo of light.
Instincts kicked in, and Tirak froze as if he had happened upon a snake, hand straying to his knife. He could not help it; the sight of the enormous reptile— azure scales gleaming, brilliant yellow eyes flashing, wings flared wide as if ready to pounce—sent his mind spiraling down dark routes. Routes he had never thought to encounter again. Not after last time.
Kela, however, showed no fear whatsoever. From the moment the dragon had woken, she had taken to it, and it to she. Seeing the way they interacted freely, anyone might assume they were Kindred.
Judging by how strong their bond is, they might as well be Kindred.
Kela stepped forward, and so did the dragon, fiery eyes alight with curiosity. It held its previously broken wing rather awkwardly still, though it moved with a deliberate grace that belied its condition. Kela lay a hand on its snout, and it lowered its head, smoke hissing from between its parted jaws.
“I name you,” Kela said, “Avandir Brighteyes.”
The dragon huffed, and the amount of smoke spilling from its maw increased twofold.
A wave of tension locked Tirak's limbs into an alert stance. He backed away, swinging his head from side to side, inspecting the surrounding foliage, his heartbeat quickening. Something awaited beyond, his hunter's instincts told him. And it might not be as benign as this Wild One appeared to be.
“Kela, we should go.”
WIP!
