Feathers and Knives

[2]

Chapter Warnings for: violence, depictions of severe injuries (+blood)

After another half a week, Mumbo started to lose hope he would ever see the dragon again. He knew he was only still looking to entertain the idea that, just maybe, he might see get to see it even if he knew it was hopeless. Even so, today he had a feeling that something was different. He had left earlier than normal, as he had woken up early and figured he'd be productive instead of going back to sleep. So when he got to the woods everything was quieter, calmer, than what he had grown accustomed to. And, he couldn't feel the invisible eyes boring into him from behind, watching his every move.

As he went deeper in, he found himself enjoying the quiet, savoring the calm before most of the animals were up and about. He walked until he reached a small clearing full of mossy rocks and fallen logs. Mumbo had been walking for nearly an hour at this point, but he hadn't noticed how much time had passed until he started to hear the forest wake up. Pausing at the edge of the clearing he listened to the birds chirp and start to flutter around.

Suddenly Mumbo heard rustling from in the clearing, and he turned his head to focus on the source of the sound. He noticed movement coming from a nest of sorts, nestled partially under a log leaning against a rock and tucked between a lopsided circle of rocks and boughs. It was full of moss and leaves, and included a person.

...A person? Mumbo rubbed his eyes, but he saw correctly. A man with messy dirty-blond hair, with twigs and feathers tangled within, sat up and stretched, yawning.

Mumbo watched as the man rubbed his eyes and stood up, dusting off the loose leaves that clung to him. The man looked up at the sky, noting the position of the sun, and shook himself off as if preparing for something. Then without warning he began to stretch out, body elongating and becoming scaly, as bunches of multicolored feathers sprung up on his tail and beneath his horns. It was the same dragon Mumbo had freed over a week before.

He flapped his feathered wings a couple times to stretch them out then turned to where Mumbo stood, presumably to leave the clearing and do whatever he normally did in the mornings. But then he noticed Mumbo.

His eyes widened and his posture shifted to a crouched, cautious stance. The two stared at one another for a couple seconds but without warning the dragon —man?— bolted to the right of Mumbo, leaping over rocks and crushing sticks beneath his claws as he ran. Mumbo stood, incredulous, for a few more seconds, then realized something:

The dragon had run in the direction of a cluster of traps the hunters had placed only a couple days prior.

Sprinting after the dragon, Mumbo could only call out to him as he tripped and stumbled his way through the woods. "Wait! Wait, please don't go that way! There are traps that way-" However, his calls were cut off by a loud snap and a yowl of pain. Mumbo nearly took his head off via a low hanging tree branch in his haste to reach the dragon.

"Shit! Shit shit shit! That's not how this was meant to go!" Mumbo panicked at the sight of the dragon, whom he had been seeking for so long, with his leg caught in a metal trap and shrieking in pain. His leg was clearly broken, sticking out of the trap at an unnatural angle, as blood pooled onto the forest floor beneath it. Mumbo was frozen; he wanted to help but the dragon was thrashing around so violently he couldn't get close enough to do anything.

But then with a jolt Mumbo realized: this was his chance to make the decision that could decide his life from that point on. If he killed the dragon now he could bring it back, be praised for the level of skill he must have used to catch such a beast, and he could blame his strange behavior on determination to achieve this feat. But... if he were to kill it he would be stuck in his life as a hunter; everyone would expect him to continue to uphold such a grand reputation, and Mumbo still wasn't sure that's what he even wanted. While he stood above the dragon once again holding the knife he brought down on its bonds the first time they met, its thrashing grew weaker and eventually it stopped, falling unconscious and shifted back into the form of the man he had seen before.

The other issue was, at this point Mumbo wasn't even sure he had the heart to kill it anymore. In fact, he doubted he would even have the stomach to hunt any other magical creatures again, ever. Having seen the glimpse of humanity in the creature's eyes, and now having seen it in a human form seemed to have taken all the typical hunter's instinct out of him. Not to mention, now that it looked like a person, he didn't think he would be able to kill it even if he wanted to. Even with wizards, fairies, other human-looking magical creatures, you could feel the magic crackling in the air around them. They never seemed quite.. human, no matter how much they looked the part. But this, this dragon—magical creature—man didn't have even a spark of magic flickering off of his body. He felt normal, looked normal, but he wasn't. Mumbo couldn't understand.

He realized that he had spent far too long staring, and he needed to make a decision fast. Either he helps the creature, kills it himself to claim the glory and praise, or lets it bleed out there on the forest floor. With every passing moment it lost more blood, and there was already enough pooled beneath it that Mumbo wondered how it could even still be alive. He reached down, realized he was still holding his hunting knife and quickly thrust it through his belt, and tried to figure out how to pick up the man —Mumbo had decided to call him a man in his head, as it made the most sense in the moment— his hands hovering back and forth. His first step was to lift the man and move him over, so that when he opened the trap he could withdraw the injured leg without bending it too far.

Having done that, Mumbo unconsciously wiped his hands off on his cloak, smearing blood all over it. He shuddered; definitely not his first time dealing with blood, but this was the only time he had cared about where it came from. Though, now that his cloak was already smeared with blood, he decided to wrap the broken leg up in it to hold it more still; it was a good, thick material, and though it wouldn't do much it was still better than letting the leg flop around as he walked. Then, grabbing his other leg and the corresponding arm, Mumbo heaved the man up onto his shoulder and set off.

Stumbling at first, as he got used to the weight, Mumbo reoriented himself using the sliver of sun he could see through the trees above him. His mad dash through the woods had led him off his normal course, and he had to get to his cabin before dusk. Finally finding the right direction, he set off to care for this creature that seemed to be a magnet for trouble.

In the shadow of a nearby tree, blending in well enough to barely be seen (or maybe, just maybe, a bit of magic was involved), the silhouette of a man with long hair and a flowing robe could be spotted. He was watching, just watching. Perhaps the faint tinkle of a bell could be heard, like that of a cat's collar. Mumbo had no idea.

———

Mumbo's cabin was more of a, well, cottage. And not a very large one at that, nor very clean. But, it was his home, at least outside of the hunters' base when he stayed most days. After all, he had no real reason to trek back every night just to be in a familiar bed, and even then his bed at the base was more familiar at that point.

However, he couldn't very well carry in the injured man and tell his colleagues, "Hey wow, look, it's actually a dragon, that I caught in a trap and didn't kill! By the way, I'm just gonna keep him in my room and nurse him back to health. What do you mean, it's literally my job to kill him?"

He bumped the door open with his hip and shuffling in he laid the man down on his tiny bed, on a frame so flimsy he might as well remove it altogether. He grabbed some rolls of bandages he had in the cupboards, a couple sturdy pieces of wood to serve as splints, a small cloth, and a bowl of water and headed back over to work on the man's broken leg. He wiped off the blood, carefully laid it back in the proper place, placed wooden splints on either side of the injured limb, and wrapped the bandages tightly around the makeshift splints to hold his leg still. Sitting back and wiping his brow, he sighed. Only thing left to do now, was wait.

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