Willow Thornheart's Arc

Chapter 3 of 9

The baby dragon shivered on the shelter floor. Willow pressed her healing bottle to its lips, but only air came out. Empty. She had used the last drop on the fox. Fox draughts were too weak for dragon wounds anyway. The hatchling's breaths came slow and thin. Flora hovered close, her wings still. "It won't last the night," she whispered. "Not without dragon medicine." Willow searched her shelves in the cottage. Nothing there could mend fire-scaled flesh. She knew of only one cure. An elixir made for dragons, sold on the black market. And she knew only one person who traded in such things. Her stomach dropped. The hunter. The same man who had trapped her fox. The same man who might already be tracking her woods. She found him at the tree line before dark. He crouched over the ground, reading prints in the mud. His leather coat hung ragged, and a hard scowl cut his face. When he saw her, his hand went to his belt. "You," Dex Hunt said. "My fox came this way. It's yours now, isn't it." "A dragon is dying in my woods," Willow said. "I need dragon medicine. The kind you sell." Her voice shook, but she held his eyes. He laughed, cold and short. "You steal my catch, then beg for my goods?" "I'm not begging." She lifted her chin. "I'm asking. It's a baby. It can't fly. It can't fight. It just needs to live." Something flickered behind his scowl. He looked away, jaw tight. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he reached into his coat and drew out a glass bottle. Amber liquid swirled inside, glowing like a live coal. "Eternal Flame," he muttered. "Made for dragons and fireborn." Willow reached for it. He pulled back. "Show me," he said. She led him through the trees. Flora watched from a branch, ready to strike with a wall of vines. But Dex only knelt beside the hatchling. He stared at the bent wing, the shallow breaths. His hard face softened. Willow saw it then, the soft spot he tried to hide. He uncorked the bottle himself. Warm light poured out. Willow tipped it to the dragon's mouth. It swallowed. Color rushed back into its scales. The bent wing straightened. It coughed a bright curl of flame and blinked up at them. Willow laughed. Flora clapped her tiny hands. Dex stood and wiped his palms on his coat. "I don't do this," he said. "For anyone." He looked at the shelter hidden in the trees, at the fox scent, at the healed dragon. "You're building something out here." "A place they'll all be safe," Willow said. He was quiet. Then, low: "Others are coming. Not soft like me. They heard about the fox. They'll come for whatever you're hiding." He turned and walked into the dark. The dragon was saved. But now hunters knew her woods held more than one prize.