Elon Mistweaver's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

They walked until the sky turned gray. Lunaria knelt by a sick badger and healed it with her glowing hands. Then the wind shifted. Thunder cracked over the trees. Rain fell hard and fast, soaking the clearing in moments. Lunaria grabbed for her satchel. Dried herbs and small bottles spilled across the wet grass. "My supplies," she said. She scooped them up, but the rain beat down faster than she could gather them. Her pale blue gown clung to her arms. "These take months to dry. One storm ruins all of it." Elon pulled his cloak over her satchel. "There's an inn in the town. Dry rooms, a fire. My dragon can fly us before this gets worse." Lunaria looked at the black-and-green dragon crouched under a tree. Rain ran off its horns. She hesitated. "I don't know you. I don't fly off with strangers." "Then stay and lose your work," the dragon said. Its voice rumbled low. "He's foolish, but he's dry." Lightning lit the clearing white. A branch snapped and crashed down behind them. Lunaria flinched. She clutched the satchel to her chest and looked at Elon, then at the storm. "Fine," she said. "But if you drop me, I'll heal you just to hurt you again." Elon laughed. He helped her climb onto the dragon's back. She sat behind him and gripped his shoulders. The dragon spread its wings and launched into the rain. Wind tore at them. Lunaria pressed close, her arms tight around him. For the first time she was not fighting him. She was trusting him. The dragon dropped them at the edge of the town. They ran through puddles to the inn. Elon pushed the door open. Warm air and firelight spilled out. The keeper gave them two rooms and a dry table by the hearth. Lunaria spread her herbs across the table. Many were soaked, but not ruined. She worked fast, laying each bottle near the fire. Elon brought her bread and hot tea. He said nothing clever. He just helped. She stopped and watched him. "You didn't ask for anything," she said. "You could have used this. Trapped me here, far from my clearing. But you only helped." "I told you," Elon said. "My soul knows yours. I'm not trying to trap you. I'm trying to be worth staying for." Lunaria held a drying bottle in her hand. The firelight caught her purple eyes. She did not smile, but something in her face softened. She set the bottle down and sat across from him. "Tell me about yourself, Elon Mistweaver," she said. "The real stories. Not the jokes." Outside, the storm howled. Inside, she chose to stay and listen. Elon felt the soul-bell in his chest ring soft and steady. He had wanted to win her fast. Instead, over bread and tea, she opened a door he had not dared to knock on.