The Phoenix King #1 Bed of Ashes

Chapter 4 A Trail of Feathers

Taren slowly opened his eyes, his head pounding as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He lay on the ground, surrounded by tall reeds and the distinct smell of stagnant water. The air was damp and heavy, making each breath feel like a chore. He attempted to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, making him cry out in agony. Glancing down, he saw his dragon hide armor battered and torn, and his chest covered in blood. For a moment, he had no idea how he had ended up in the bog, but then the memories of the battle with Nervag began to come back to him. All but one—where is Thorven? He tried to reach out to their bond, but the pain was preventing him from focusing.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to push himself up again, but the pain was too much, and he collapsed back onto the ground. As he was about to close his eyes and succumb to the darkness, he felt a warm, tingling sensation spread through his body. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but as the warmth grew stronger, he realized what it was. He focused all his energy on the feeling, trying to harness it and use it to heal his wounds.

Slowly but surely, the pain began to fade, and the wounds on his shoulder started to close, though not completely. Only time could heal all wounds. Taren let out a sigh of relief, grateful for the giant's vitality his ancestors had left him.

Once again, he reached out to Thorven with their bond, this time even extending a hand to increase his focus. He knew that wouldn't actually strengthen the connection, but it helped him visualize the bond connecting them. Still, he felt nothing. He let his hand fall to his side, despair creeping in. Normally, over great distances, their bond became harder to feel, but in all the 30 years they had been together, Thorven had never been so far that he couldn't feel her at all. This sent Taren into a panic, his thoughts spiraling to the worst outcomes. None of them were ideal, even those that led to Nervag's demise. No dragon was worth losing Thorven. To him, she was more than a partner; she was his one and only family member in the world. He'd rather give up his plight and let dragons rule the earth than see Thorven killed. But he couldn't feel her. Nine hells, he could barely feel his legs.

He let out another sigh and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and focus on what he needed to do next. Taren reached out his hand, and after a moment of silence, his axe flew from somewhere in the woods into his grip. Even injured, Taren caught the axe firmly. "Well, I won't be fighting dragons anytime soon, but no man alive could look me in the eyes and call me weak," he muttered to himself with a chuckle, holding his stomach as even laughing hurt him.

Just then, Taren heard a faint rustling in the reeds. He tightened his grip on the axe and tensed up, ready to defend himself if necessary.

Suddenly, a small figure emerged from the reeds. It was a young girl, no older than ten, with dark brown hair and ragged clothes. She looked at Taren with wide, frightened eyes.

"Please, don't hurt me," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to stumble upon you. I was just lost."

Taren relaxed his grip on the axe and let out a sigh of relief. He had been worried that it was Nervag, come to finish him off.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," he said, his voice gruff from pain and exhaustion. "I'm just a wounded warrior, in need of aid."

The girl hesitated for a moment before cautiously approaching him. "I can help you," she said slowly. "My mother was the village healer before she—well, before the village was destroyed. She taught me some of the basic herbs in the swamp that can help with healing."

Taren gave her a sympathetic look, "I would greatly appreciate your expertise in the field of healing if it's not too much trouble."

The girl offered a small smile that quickly faded. "I'll try my best," she said, kneeling next to a nearby log and picking a few weeds from the ground along with a large round stone.