more flying for him, not for several days, he suspected.
Oh … the creature lay right next to him, face-up to the blushing skies, breathing shallowly. It had a green cloth covering on its body, and a large patch of crimson stained its stomach area. Was that its blood? He flinched. Grotesque! Not even a hint of gold, unlike the blood of Dragons.
Wake up, weird creature, he chirped.
It did not move.
Flicker stretched out a paw curiously, hesitated, and then pricked its limb with his talon. How daring was he? The creature’s skin was so supple, it yielded immediately to his touch. More red welled up. He winced. What was the matter with its hide? It didn’t have hide? Now, what word had the scrolls used? Skin, yes. He rolled the unfamiliar word across his forked tongue. They had skin, not Dragon hide, a covering so smooth and colourless it reminded him of a newborn, blind rodent. His stomach-fires soughed uneasily. Its limbs were long but supported no wing struts or elastic membranes. How could it have hoped to fly?
Instinctively, his tongue flicked out to taste the creature’s blood, finding it rich and metallic, full of enigmatic undertones. Without warning, a vision struck him. A big creature beat this smaller one with a flat piece of metal. They exchanged meaningless sounds. The little one attacked, but it was not as powerful a beast as the one with the fungal growth on its face. The big one stuck a shard of metal into this one’s stomach.
Flicker’s throat swelled. Murder? A fight to the death?
Was this creature a female of their kind, rather than a handsome male like him?
By the fires of the Ancient Dragons, she had to be the ugliest female of a species he had ever encountered! Flicker shifted closer to examine her face, fascinated and repelled in equal measure. When she sighed and shifted, he shrank back, all three hearts tripping along, but then she made a purring sound like a sleeping dragonet. Well! What a foolish idea, sleeping outdoors at night. Perhaps she was as stupid as she was ugly? Just look at her flat, squashed muzzle, and her tiny nose. How could she scent food with that thing? Strange blades of grass sprouted from her head, grass as pale and golden as the wisps that grew lower down the cliffs, near the caldera, bleached by the heat and gases. Her paws had talons, but they were weak and clearly impractical for rending her prey.
The dragonet cocked his head to one side, his eyes roiling with Dragon fire. Well, you’re not dead, he said, speaking Dragonish telepathically. Say, ‘thank you for rescuing me, Flicker.’
She snored.
He tried speaking aloud. I do declare, you’re the bravest, most beautiful dragonet in this entire Island-Cluster, Flicker. I am eternally in your debt.
Drool slipped from the corner of her mouth; saliva laced with more of her freakish blood.
She was wounded, probably dying! Her body fluids oozed forth steadily–and he prattled on like an empty-headed parakeet about his looks? Abruptly, Flicker retreated, muttering, I’ve done you wrong, strange creature.
That night, sore-pawed and even sorer of wing and muscle, he hunted up and down the cliffs for the herbs and roots he needed. Using several broad fli’iara leaves as his worktable, the dragonet shredded and prepared his materials, making a selection of poultices which he masticated carefully in his mouth, adding his highly antiseptic dragonet saliva to the mashing process, and no small dose of magic. The Ancient One had taught him well.
Only, would his medicines work on one of their kind?
Flicker eyed the branch judiciously. At least he had picked an excellent landing place. The branch jutted four hundred horizontal feet from the main Island, but had a soft, leafy crown which he had picked out perfectly. He blinked his double eye-membranes several times, showing his happiness. Even this clumsy female could not easily fall from their nest among the leaves, although he worried about windrocs, vultures and feral Dragons, to name just a few aerial predators.
His deft paws made short work of tearing her covering and pulling it aside, revealing a deep double puncture wound in her belly. Nasty. He drew out the shard of metal which had made the wound, before licking the site clean with care. The dragonet wrinkled his nose at the odour of her skin. She tasted salty. At least it was not a foul taste, but he decided he should wash out his mouth at the first opportunity. No telling