Talons Of Glory Book 1: For Glory

Chapter 3

The whole way, Fen'r couldn't help but wonder why the faux drake dozing on his cranium was so seemingly calm and collected so soon after experiencing such trauma; the scaled passenger had its jaws open, tongue flopping this way and that in the fierce wind like a pup. He just couldn't wrap his head around it: first its parents are murdered in front of it, then a Wyvern drops it down her throat (promptly moving through her preliminary entrails, which must have been its own horror), and to top it all off, a strange scorcher is practically abducting it. He could not, for the life of him, figure out how this animal was so complacent. 

It occurred to him for a moment that it might have gone into such severe shock from the ordeal and was choosing not to acknowledge it. A lump formed in his throat. He'd seen other dragons do this before, but it was mostly hatchlings who lost their pets or got knocked upside their heads in the training grounds.

The glob of saliva hitting him square in the pupil dissuaded the notion that it ever had a care in the world. But back in the clearing, it seemed so mortified..

There it was; the bustling Wyrm's March, one of the most well-known urban dwellings of Dragons in the province. The trip here was oddly shorter than I remember,  he noted to himself as the city's walls came into view. I guess encounters with supposedly long-dead dragon cousins who want your neck for palm warmers will do that to you.

The Dracopolis Fen'r hailed from was by no means the largest or most densely populated. In fact, the city was hardly big enough to even be referred to as such, despite the malcontent of the historians. However, it was one of great significance, being the birthplace of the Flame Legion and the site of several wars of Succession during its most recent dynasty, which just so happened to be the reason he was so fascinated by their history; he'd likely have been born into swampland if not for it, and his kind aren't terribly fond of the marshes as a whole (although, coincidentally, basilisks are).

A dragon of significant size whizzed past Fen'r as he was lost in thought on his way down into the city, yelling intangible slurs at the youngling as it continued along its flight path towards the outer plains northbound. Fen'r shook his head and reacquired his bearings while simultaneously calming the shaken lizard on his maw; that wasn't the first time a careless dragon had nearly slammed into him, and he was betting it wasn't going to be the last, so long as he lived here. He was fairly used to it, but he couldn't say near the same for his newfound lizard abductee; one would assume a Stormclaw was giving it shock therapy from how rapidly it was convulsing. He did his best to calm it down, but, surprise surprise, talons aren't exactly the best condolence tools.

The city landing terminal looked as packed as always, with all manner of scaled and furred creatures enering and exiting faster than the mind could register; normally, one would see this kind of activity in the individual terminals spaced on the borders of larger towns, but seeing as this was the only one in the whole city, it was forced to take the bulk of both the resident and tourist populations, which made it a living nightmare for anybody trying to get in or out, perhaps even moreso than in the capital.

Well, legally, anyway.

Fen'r veered to the right of the terminal and dipped below the city walls into the surrounding moat (both of which were more decoration than tactical construction choices). After a brief look-around, he spotted his favored ditch, a pit with blackened walls and swiveling claw marks surrounding it, and dove in, retracting his wings and hooking his talons into the earth around and beneath him. Steadily, he put one clawed foot in front of the other, advancing through the dirt tube; his new friend dropped off his back, wriggled to his feet and continued in front of him, deftly avoiding the jagged stones jutting from the soil.

I better widen this thing after dark one of these days, Fen'r thought. I'm either gonna get myself stuck in here or rip something on these sharp rocks, which, in hindsight, I probably should have gotten rid of, too. Wish I had thought of it then, damn me.