Her scales—
Spectacular.
Like she’s dressed in thousands of crested plates of armor, all glinting in the flush light coming from the magma glug. Even the horns and tusks that curl and slash from her face and spine are the same argent tone; metallic looking, like she was smelted into shape by an otherworldly caftsfolk.
Her statuesque beauty doesn’t make her any less imposing. Not as her nostrils flare, drawing huffs of my scent, her rumbling sounds rivaling that of the active volcano we’re burrowed in.
But it’s hard to see her as a vicious, fearsome beast after placing bits of shattered shell over the open eyes of her perished young.
No.
All I see is the deep, rendered ache in her eyes, scarcely veiled by the understandable rage at finding an intruder sniffing around her hatchlings’ grave.
Kilíth was wrong. She’s not rabid.
She’s just a mourning dam breaking herself against the world. Trying to distract herself from the immeasurable loss of her young.
She tightens her grip, talons closing around my back and poking through my leathers as I’m lifted before her face. Those silver eyes narrow, reflecting me—so limp in her grip, waiting for her to eat me.
The air seems to swoop around us, alive and watching. Perhaps sadistically waiting for me to grow tense with anticipation. To scream.
Perhaps Clode doesn’t realize I’m already dead inside.
With a snarl, Ahra tosses me. A simple flick that sends me pelting through the air.
I smash against the wall, crumble to the ground. Groaning, I roll over just in time to watch her heave her large but somewhat emaciated body into the bowl, tattered wings dragging like a silver cloak frayed at the hem.
Releasing a rusty rumble, she bundles down, coiling around her trio of smashed eggs.
Within me, a wild ragegnashes.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
My words crack, ricocheting off the cavern’s vast confines. But Ahra just nestles her head beside her eggs and lowers her lids, like she didn’t hear me. Or doesn’t care.
Not acceptable.
I intruded on her place of mourning. There’s nothing more dishonorable.
My end is a penance I’ll gladly pay.
I snarl, wobble to my feet. Stumble forward and throw my arms wide, baring my chest. “END IT!”
She opens one eye, looking right at me for a single heartrending beat. Then whips her tail out and slashes my feet out from under me.
I land flat on my back so hard all the wind knocks from my lungs.
When I finally draw breath again, it’s seething between clenched teeth.
I rip off my cloak, almost strangling myself as I yank off my face covering without first untangling it from around my neck. And I charge.
Leap.
Land on her back in a tumbling roll of untethered rage.
Her energy shifts, and she rumbles low—the sound a volcano makes before it cracks the head off itself and spews.
She pushes up and shakes, trying to loosen me.
