The Tragic and the Pure - DreamNotFound

Chapter 12

George POV

Crystalized puffs of stolen warmth streamed from his lips. Night brought an air of biting chill, though he felt not of it. A thick pine-green cloak wrapped his shoulders, leaning comfortably against the balcony. 

George's arm hung limply down, his head propped on the elbow of his other limb. Firelight reflected in his mismatched eyes, engrossed in the nightlife of the dragons he'd shunned for so long. 

From his position, he was too far to make out specifics, but he watched lanterns flicker and figures approach one another in conversation. Light glowed in windows of resting dragons, casting warm yellow over the otherwise darkened world. One particularly loud dragon could be heard laughing from all the way up here. 

George strained to hear the cause of his laughter, though for some strange reason the words didn't seem to be English. Overall, for the beasts his father painted them to be, they were quite amiable. Well, except for the random fire that flared up an hour ago that Dream explained to be Sapnap and some boy named Tommy getting out of hand again.

Speaking of the dirty blond, he'd checked on the prince consistently throughout the day. He kept respectful distance, but always left snacks and fretted over George's wounds hurting. 

Dream reassured he'd sleep in Sapnap's spare bedroom, and urged him to get some rest. Unfortunately for him, he'd forgotten George had a habit of doing opposite as he is told. 

His head spun with an abundance of worries, ranging from Drista to his personal guard, Bad, to nightmares of torture. Sleep wasn't top on his to-do list, but exploring, on the other hand, intrigued him. Anything to keep his mind at bay.

Problem is, how the fuck does he get down from here? 

The balcony jutted out the mountain, meaning jumping would end in a George-pancake. Due to the dragons' annoying ability to fly, ladders and stairs seemed to not exist in this place. He studied the trees nearby, noting they weren't too far. 

And he had thrown himself off a roof and down a vine before without dying. 

A tree at least was more sturdy and reliable than a vine. Making up his mind, George snuck to where the balcony met the wall, hoisting himself up. His soul practically flew out his body when his foot slipped ever so slightly. He focused his attention on the shadow of the tree about four feet from him, growing tangled on the mountain side. 

Easy. He tested his knees, bending and straightening before launching himself outwards. 

Did he land gracefully? No. His picture-perfect landing he'd imagined turned out to be his flailing hands barely grasping an outer branch. The prince gasped, bark cutting his palms and something warm trailing to his elbow. 

He flailed his legs, swinging himself and shuffling his hands. His wounded body screamed in protest, but he eventually made it to the trunk, using smaller branches like a ladder until his feet touched solid ground. 

George immediately slipped a hand under his sweater, feeling along the bandages wrapped over his stomach. He breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of wetness, the tight bandages doing their job in keeping his wounds closed.

He retrieved his hand, pumping his fist as he muttered a quiet, "Let's go!"

His descendance of the mountain proceeded smoothly, excluding the ten times he'd tripped on a rock or branch he couldn't see. He'd never talk about his near death experience when a spiderweb smacked him in the face, either. 

The prince's effort proved worth it when he finally approached the first building in the center. 

"Tommy! Get your ass back here!" Sapnap's voice blasted nearby.