Lyra Mythwhisper's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Lyra stepped into the valley and stopped. The dragon was there, as always. But it was bleeding. A dark stain spread across its side, matting the scales she had never touched. It didn't move when she appeared. It didn't fly. It just watched her with one golden eye, breathing hard. She set down her satchel without looking away from the wound. It ran deep, carved by something sharp and deliberate. Not a claw mark. Not a burn. This was made by a blade, or a hook, or something worse. The edges were clean. Someone had done this on purpose. The dragon could have left before she arrived. It could have hidden in the peaks where no one would find it. But it stayed. It let her see. Lyra pulled out the bestiary, the one with the loose pages that smelled like dust and old grief. She sat down in her usual spot, closer than she'd ever dared before. The dragon's eye tracked her movement but it didn't pull away. She opened to the section on traps and turned the book so the dragon could see the drawings if it wanted to. Then she started to read aloud. Her voice shook on the first few words. She didn't try to hide it. She read about spring snares and net weights and the iron collars that locked around throats. The dragon's breathing slowed as she turned each page. Its eye never left the book. When she reached the illustration of a barbed hook designed to tear through wing membrane, the dragon made a sound. Not a growl. Something quieter. Lyra kept reading until the light began to fade. Then she closed the bestiary and stood slowly. The dragon didn't flinch. She left the book on the ground between them, pages spread open to show she would return. When she walked away, she heard the dragon shift. Just once. Toward the book. The next morning she returned with bandages in her pack. The dragon was still there. The bestiary lay exactly where she'd left it, but one page had been turned. The dragon had moved it with its claw while she was gone. Lyra walked to her reading spot without hesitating. She didn't reach for the wound or offer help. She just sat on the worn cushions in the stone alcove she'd built over months of visits, lit the small lantern that hung there, and opened the bestiary to where the dragon had marked it. The page showed a diagram of healing herbs. She began to read. Halfway through the list, the dragon lowered its head and rested it on the ground three feet from where she sat. It closed its eyes. For the first time in centuries, it slept while a human watched.