Willow Thornheart's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

The matriarch stopped eating on the third morning. Willow found her curled by the fireproof room, breathing in slow, wet rasps. Her green scales had gone dull. The hatchling nudged her mother's snout and got no answer. Willow's stomach twisted. She ran to her enchanted chest and threw it open. The bottles glowed inside, self-renewing, but every one was mixed for small creatures. A rainbow fox. A griffin. A wounded pup. Nothing here could touch a beast this size. She had built a sanctuary and could not save its guardian. Dex arrived with news and read her face in one look. "What's wrong?" She told him. His jaw tightened. "I don't have dragon medicine strong enough. No one does. Not for a grown one." He set down his crossbow. "You need a real healer." The answer came before Willow could send for it. A staff cracked against the door. Then it swung open, and a small woman marched in, red-and-silver hair braided with living flowers. Willow's mother. Master Sage Thornhart, the strongest healing witch in the lands, gone for years while she trained others. Willow's throat went tight with old ache and sudden relief. Her mother did not greet her first. She fixed her sharp brown eyes on Dex. "You. The hunter." She pointed her staff at his chest. "You will propose to my daughter and give me grandbabies, or I curse you to never leave this land until you do." Dex went pale and opened his mouth. No sound came out. Willow choked on a laugh and a gasp at once. Then her mother turned, and her whole face softened. "Willow." She pulled her into a hard, warm hug. "I came to give you everything I know. Every charm, every potion, big creature or small, strong or weak. You will never lose one again." She stepped back and saw the dragon. Her smile fell to focus. "Show me." They worked fast. Her mother knelt at the matriarch's side and pressed a hand to the scales. "Lung rot. She flew through poisoned air." She named plants Willow had never brewed. Together they crushed them, boiled them, and poured them into a bottle from the chest so it would renew. Willow held the dragon's jaw open. Her mother tipped the draught down. The frost-carved wand lay ready in case the fever spiked, but the rasping slowed. Slowed. Eased. By dusk the matriarch lifted her head and ate. The hatchling shrieked with joy. Willow sagged against her mother, shaking. That night the cottage filled. Her father came in from the woods and stopped cold at the sight of his wife. Two years of silence hung between them, then broke. They sat at one table, all of them, the hunter still unable to walk out the door. Willow watched the food pass hand to hand. She had learned to heal any creature now. But her mother's curse on Dex had not lifted, and Dex looked like a man with a very hard question ahead.