When the dragon killer insisted he’d be hurt someday, Mercury was always quick to tell her that he trusted a cornered dragon far more than an unarmed human--and that the analogy included her, as well. Dragons were straightforward, honest creatures. They had no need for subterfuge, cared little for manipulation, and they remembered when one was kind to them. Although they wouldn’t hesitate to cause harm when it suited them, Mercury understood them.
Humans, on the other hand, were creatures of greed and spite. His assailants had ambushed him as he butchered a deer carcass for a newly released fledgling, scaring off the young dragon. Before he could even hope to defend himself his knife was stuck impotently in the dirt and he was overwhelmed by two far better prepared for this than he was.
Like it or not, Mercury was acutely aware of the fact that Emerald had inarguably saved his life. He spat a mouthful of blood on the grass, grimaced as she pulled him to his feet. A strangled groan hissed between his teeth when he struggled to get his legs under him. The freely bleeding slashes above his knees were the culprits, wicked rends in the muscle that refused to bear weight. One was far worse than the other, and the better one was not great either, but he managed to find a shuffling, one-legged gait with the aid of the last person he’d expect to show him this mercy.
“Not with me,” he ground out. The bulk of his energy was consumed by the simple act of moving forward, each lurching step a show of faith that Emerald wouldn’t let him fall. It was not so much that he truly trusted her, but the fact that he had no choice but to trust her. Distantly he thought he must know how the gravely injured wild dragons must feel when he first came upon them. He could do little else but hope that her intentions were genuine and mutter directions.
The going was slow, arduous, but in due time his home came into view. Nestled in a well-hidden valley, there was plenty of room for the roosting beasts that seemed to be everywhere. Horned heads rose one after the other as his return was noted--and with it, the intrusion of a human a few of them recognized. Vicious hisses accompanied a clamber for greater heights, a handful of the beasts seeking distance while one in particular opted for the opposite. She was of an impressive size, her age evident in the fact that she towered easily over the house by which she waited, solemnly guarding. Cobalt scales glinted nearly black underneath the night sky, the elegant anatomy of wings and tail suggesting great aerial dexterity. This was not a species meant for fighting, but if her wicked claws and teeth were any indication, she was far from helpless.
“Won’t hurt you,” he reassured again, leaning heavily on her. His chest rose and fell with slow, labored breaths. “’n don’t hurt her. Please.”
