The tale of the fox and the dragon egg

Chapter 6 - Knowing is caring

"Your ears are red. What, I was right with you being shy?"

"Boring."

"Always those heavy robes on your shoulders, how many layers are you even wearing?"

"Shameless."

___________________

Sleep.

And awake.

No. He wanted to finally sleep.

He needed to sleep.

There was movement.

Why was there movement?

Even though his eyes were shut close, his ears became alive again. They straightened, against his aching muscles. A sniff. A scent he knew. It pushed him into the right direction.

Still, he remained unmoving under the blade. The blade that cut right through his stomach. He felt how it graced his rips. How it broke the bone there. And traveled further. Scratching his spine, just slightly. Just the way that he feels it.

Silver eyes were drowning in red.

He drowns in red.

A color he knew so well was drowning in the approaching darkness.

A scream, high pitched and horrible, horrifying, truly shaking him towards his senses. Or not.

Another movement.

The blade didn't budge. Then it twisted. He wanted to scream. Only to drown again. Only to be swallowed by the darkness. Nobody listened to him.

A silver glint. A bell calling. Him?

Then all air was pushed out of him.

He wheezed and coughed, trying to get the blood out of his lungs. He coughed and wheezed and coughed again. Every time something pushed against his back, right into his rips. Was it the sword, still stuck within his body?

The pressure doubled in his panic, sweat covering him.

He choked. He needed to get the blood out. He needed. To. Breathe.

Another push, much stronger than the last ones.

He choked. And he spit. Red covered his mouth – no – snout and the floor. His muscles spasmed, twitching with the fear of death. The pressure on his ribs and back lessened instantly. Was there movement again? A noise? He couldn't tell.

There was the sword – the sword between his rips – between his bones.

He felt it – right there – right there –

Something pushed against his snout. Something warm, something tiny. He wanted to crawl away, to never come back, to vanish within the darkness again, to not feel anything.

Was there noise again? He couldn't tell.

A smell.

Something hit his snout again. The smell was stronger in that place. Something fresh. Something – something good. And calming. He knew this smell.

He wheezed. Breath still erratic and burning. He almost drowned once more, but his mind focused on this single smell. On the movement grounding him.

His nose decided to work, so why wouldn't his ears? He chased that thought. For a few seconds he wanted to scream again, only to choke on red. A minute later he was willing to try again and finally.

A chirp.

His heart flipped. Everything flinched within him, until tension removed itself.

His nose pushed against the being, still rubbing against his snout. He heard the whines and chirps and felt the warmth and caught the scent.