Storm clouds rumbled above, blocking the world from a scarlet moon. Mists swirled precariously around the fields of the Old Land, swirling like the nightmares in a child's dream. The smell of dew, and the scent of a wet landscape only masked the odor of spring. A knoll, covered in fresh flowers, blooming to life, cloaked itself in the residue of a storm's approach.
The wind, which was strangely silent, only whispered warnings to the forest and the grassy hills. On one particular knoll, a path of crushed flowers marked the trample of horses, and a creature known only to time and myth. Laying in a sad patch of wild flowers and grasses, a brilliantly white dragon lay astray. The wingless body, much like a snake's, was strewn out, in a slightly curved way. The head, a wolfish shape, turned, as it let out a pitiful moan of pain. Long whispers, tendrils of beaming white, nestled beside the body. The horns, like a stag's but missing the prongs, glittered a medium brown. Cow-like ears swiveled, listening to the Old Land, for any sign of danger. Her legs, strangely angled, gripped the grasses and tore deep holes in the ground. Her left, hind leg throbbed painfully, where a long, brutal, slash lay against her stunning scales. Again, the once-proud-beast let out a moan of pain, and swung her head against the grasses. The wound, made from a claymore so dark, was riddled with crawling maggots. She turned her head, to gaze at the wound, and only murmured her discomfort. The Dark One, with magic so evil, had cut a wound deep enough, so painful enough, her own magic couldn't heal it. Her long tail swayed, as she let out a groan again, staring at the throbbing, pumping flesh, watching the insects climb between the folds of flesh and scale.
I curse you... thought the young dragon. She stared at her wound, baring her teeth for a moment, before putting pressure on her claws, and pushing upward. She let out a loud groan of pain, one that made the earth recoil, and her voice carry across the knolls and turns of the Old Land. The mists covered her for know, and as she unsteadily balanced herself, she glanced at her wound, where a few handfuls of maggots fell. Globs of blood, and dark flesh dripped to the grasses, and the once beautiful wild flowers rotted away, as dark magic touched their petals. The graceful, pained blue eyes of the beast stared at the black, rotted plot of land, and frowned subtly. It would be easy for The Dark One to find her with such a map, leading to her. She would have to return to the river, to restore her wound. Flying was not an option, sadly. She was weak, and would have to put a good amount of pressure on her hind leg, which wasn't on the top of her list to do. With a heavy limp, she took a long step towards the direction of the river.
Another glob of maggoty flesh rotted another plot of flowers, but she had to move. She knew The Dark One would follow her wound, the trail of dead life that lead to her. But, if she reached the river, or even the lake, she would be fine. She preferred the lake, of anything. The River Dwellers, the ones that had been there since the Goddesses had appeared, stayed there. Just like The Rock People, they too respected the Four Dragons. She, Shiroi, was the Wind Dragon. The female took another unsteady step towards the direction of the lake, and gave a gasp of pain. Another large glob killed the flowers, and she murmured an apology to the daisies. Turning her wolf-head, she gazed back at the darkened splotch in the horizon, where a massive, fire-breathing mountain, perched. A dark ring was distinctive in the sky, growing darker, and darker, as they days flew by. A frothy breath spewed from her mouth, adding to the surrounding mist.
The Dark One grows closer...And The Hero hasn't arrived...She thought, with a saddened heart, and continued her painful walk towards the lake. She clambered between knolls, and over rocks as carefully as she could, before resting a while. The mist was staring to disappear, and she was her chance of escape. The Dark One was nearby, she could smell the stench of lies and betrayal, and the lust for power. Even in her state, and the want to escape, she knew little of what she could do. As she lay in a patch of grass, listening to her blood rot the earth, she heard the gallop of horses, the clopping of hooves, and the talk of an older man. She hissed, knowing he was closer than she had hoped, and turned her head to stare at a rod, may I say a little broken, fence. It was the object in her path that bothered her.
Shiroi's leg ached painfully, a red hot burning, and throbbed even more so. The maggots didn't bother her much, the wound itself burned with dark magic. The noble dragon knew what she must do, before The Dark One found her, and before the mist gave away altogether. She slowly unraveled her body, grunting as she did, and coiled herself carefully, but very painfully, over the fence. She groaned as her left leg touched the metal, but tried her best to stay as silent as she could. The hooves of horses grew closer, and she needed to disappear to the lake. At least then, she didn't need to apply pressure to her wound. She moved over the fence slowly, and her beautiful sky blue mane glittered with sweat. It's strange, you'd never think of a dragon sweating, but as Shiroi could tell you, her kind did. She stepped over the fence, groaned again, and with a very fearful feeling, began to wobble as fast as she could down the slope, towards the smell of fresh water, and fish. It reminded her of being human again, like a small child and playing with your friend. A fear that suddenly rises in your chest, when you know you're being chased. A fond memory, but at the worst timing possible. The dragon turned her head, and in the distance, among the mist and the outline of the fire-breathing mountain, she noticed a black horse, standing at the base of a knoll, where she had laid down, where the rot of flowers began. A frown formed more-so on her wolfish face, and she hurried down to the lake. Between a few cracks and chasms, and stumbling several times, she finally fell, laying on a grassy area, panting hard, surrounded by massive trees, willows, oaks, and other kinds, and stared at the glittering lake. She panted and huffed, licking her lips, as she listened to horses move closer. She couldn't stand again, and with all her efforts, wiggled and heaved herself into the crystal water, and dived as deep as she could into the safety of it's depths.
The water was cool against the dragon's wound, and even though the throbbing still ached, it was at least tolerable. Diving down to the murky depths of the lake's bottom, she held herself fast to the bottom. The dragon, in no need for multiple trips to the surface every few minutes, remained calm under the water. Her eyes scanned the surface, as she noticed the black horse reach down, and take a drink. Even through the few hundred feet of water, she could hear the mumbled voices of her hunters, and The Dark One. It was hard to make out, but she knew that there was disappointment, yet, something else in their voices. The river only led so far, and she guessed (because dragons know all) that The Dark One would post a encampment here and up the river, to watch for her. Shiroi blinked, a soft smile formed on her face, a wolf smile, a devious one at that. The Dark One couldn't find her in one place, the only place aside from Yggdrasil, down a secret tunnel and into the cavern of the River Dwellers. For now, she knew they'd accept her company, and once she was rid of this dark magic, investing her hide, she'd scurry back to Yggdrasil, to find The Hero, and then, she could finally make the Old Land succumb to a safe future. She watched the inky black horse sway his head away from the surface, and with a slow, swimming gait, made for a darkened hole in the lake's bottom. Shiroi turned her head up to the surface, and only missed the days she could freely roam the sky again. Her nose let out a few air bubbles, and watched them float to the surface, before darting into the dark confides of the tunnel, where she heard only the gushing of water, the murmur of the Ancient River Speech, and the beating thud of her own heart.
