Lyra Dracorider's Arc

Chapter 10 of 15

By dawn, the creature's breathing had smoothed out. Lyra checked the stitches one last time, then leaned back against the stone wall. Her satchel lay empty beside her. Every bandage, every vial of salve, every clean cloth—gone. She'd used it all to keep this one alive. Matthew left before the sun cleared the trees. Lyra watched him go, then turned toward the wooden hatch near the perimeter wall where she kept her reserve supplies. The snow had piled deeper around it overnight, but she cleared it with her boot and pulled the door open. Inside, three sealed crates sat stacked against the wall—everything she'd set aside for the wyverns' next session. She crouched there, staring at them. The critical wyvern's wing would set permanently in less than two days. It needed fresh wraps, splints she could adjust without causing pain, salve to keep the tissue from scarring too tight. She'd planned for this. She'd been ready. She pulled one crate out and opened it. Then she carried it back to the outdoor enclosure and used every single item inside to reinforce the creature's bandages and prepare a clean recovery space. When the crate was empty, she went back for the second one. Then the third. By midmorning, the new creature was stable enough to be left alone, and Lyra's reserve stock was gone. She walked back to the hospital and opened the medicine cabinet in the corner. Two rolls of gauze. A half-empty bottle of antiseptic. A single splint that wouldn't fit a wyvern's wing structure. She closed the cabinet and looked at her reflection in the mirrored door. Her hands were steady. The choice had already been made the moment she'd opened that first crate. She walked outside to the herringbone wooden floor she'd laid near the cherry tree—the place where her three wyverns rested in their enclosures, where she'd spent weeks teaching them that stillness meant safety. She knelt beside the critical one and hummed, low and steady, until it stopped watching her and closed its eyes. Tomorrow, she'd have to sit with it empty-handed. And she'd find out if trust alone could hold a bone in place.