OathBlade (Wattys2015)

71. Obstacles*

The gentle chirrups of sispins nesting under the eaves of the manor ushered in the morning. Elery woke and shifted in the arms of her bedmate, her bare flesh pressed against his. His arms tightened around hers as though out of reflex, keeping her still and in full contact of his body. Her chest pressed against his to allow her to feel his steady heartbeat.

The manor was devoid of other voices, hinting that the others had yet to rise. It was little wonder—a quick glance to the window showed the sun was only then rising, peeking above the dreary horizon to cast its muted glow through wispy clouds in the distance. Farther to the east she spied darker clouds moving in, carrying with them the promise of snowfall before too long.

"We need to dress," Elery said softly. She raised a hand, smoothing it slowly up his well-toned arm to his shoulder.

"Can we not spare just one more moment?" he murmured. "Once we leave this bed we plunge ourselves back into chaos and pain. Let us just linger here a moment and pretend it all a bad dream while we're able."

Her hand slipped down to his back. As her fingers brushed against the base of his wing the muscles there rippled. His wing stretched and fluttered. "Are they sensitive?"

"Seryn skin is far more tender. The nerves usually hidden beneath thick skin and scale are more easily stimulated." He opened his eyes and smiled. "Good morning, Beloved."

She shivered. "First 'Princess', then you begin to use my name, and now 'Beloved'?"

"Do you object?"

"No." She chuckled and let her hand drift lower, tickling her fingertips against the smooth scales above the base of his tail. "Merely wondering how many more names you'll give me."

"I hope the next to be 'bondmate'."

His honest and unexpected reply stilled her hand. She lay it flat against his lower back as she stared into his eyes, transfixed by the shimmering red and light hints of gold buried deep within. Had she any doubts of his sincerity and intentions before, his words would have dashed them. She sensed no deception in his voice, nor saw any in his eyes. Instead she saw what she had never truly seen in Dallyn's eyes.

Love.

She hugged him tight but both knew they were out of time. Footsteps down the hall, voices, and the clamor of armor signaled it was time to leave.

Isandel released her and stood, lifting his robe from the floor. Elery reached for her own ill-fitting clothes and he shook his head. "You cannot battle in that."

"There is nothing else, most everything else is too damaged."

He smiled. "Stand."

Elery stood and watched as he stroked his hand slowly over the dragon hair fabric over his arm. The hairs unwound and began to separate, disassembling the beautiful robe strand by strand. She opened her mouth to protest but he only smiled wider.

"Just be still," he said.

The hairs twisted and moved toward her to begin weaving a new set of clothing. A well-fitting black tunic first, then pants, both woven to perfection as though by a master tailor. The remaining hair formed around Isandel to create a near-matching outfit, no doubt because he lacked the hair to reassemble the luxurious robes she'd come to know. "How...?" she breathed.

He chuckled. "You think my ability to control my hair extends only as far as shedding it? It has not been long since this hair was shed. Enough aura remains within the strands to allow me to reweave it." He smoothed his hands down the front of his tunic. "Of course, there is a time limit. Much longer and this hair will be devoid of the aura needed to guide it. It will stay in this form." He reached out and took her hands in his. "I can think of no more lovely form than this."