Lyra Dracorider's Arc

Chapter 2 of 15

The injured basilisk arrived at dawn, carried in a hunter's arms. Lyra saw the blood first, then the shredded scales along its spine. The hunter set it down outside the enclosure and backed away without a word. Lyra counted the spaces she had left. Three wyverns, each in its own enclosure. Two foxes sharing the recovery pen. The basilisk needed isolation, and it needed it now. She moved the critical wyvern first, humming while she opened the crate. The creature limped after her across the snow, its damaged wing dragging. Lyra led it to the stone and ice den she'd built last month for a dragon that never came. The space was larger than the enclosure, with walls thick enough to block wind. The wyvern settled inside and closed its eyes. Lyra watched the swollen joint on its wing. Moving it now could undo everything. But the basilisk would die without the enclosure's shelter and the medical supplies stored inside it. She dragged the basilisk into the emptied space and cleaned the wounds with the salves from the cabinet. The scales were torn deep enough to see muscle. Lyra worked fast, humming without thinking, the same melody she used for the wyvern. The basilisk stopped thrashing. Its breathing evened out. She wrapped the spine in bandages and marked the veterinary hospital's symbol in frost outside the enclosure so anyone passing would know not to disturb it. Then she walked back to the den. The wyvern was standing when she arrived. Its weight was on the damaged wing. The joint had shifted during the walk, and the bone was setting at the wrong angle. Lyra knelt in the snow and pressed her palms against her knees. She'd saved the basilisk. She'd lost the wyvern. The choice had been hers, and she'd made it. She couldn't unmake it now.