Dragon Blood Bond - A Dragon Rider Fantasy

Chapter 2 - A White Dragon

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Nat takes in a deep breath.

"Ignis!"

Upon the ancient Westland word, Fortison's long muzzle snaps open. A full stream of blazing fire lights up the dark clouds, heading straight toward the white dragon.

Nat watches through the blazing heat as it swoops away too late from the attack. The fast fire catches it's side, burning through its scales like a knife against soft butter. It howls in pain, pulling away.

Nat frowns.  It shouldn't have been that easy to scar the dragon. Their scales are natural armour plates, strong enough to provide protection from the burns of dragon flame. Something isn't right.

"Wait," Nat pulls back on Fortison's attack, letting the small dragon circle away.

She peers deeper at her opponent. The white dragon's small eyes lazily move as though it's life is fleeting away. Its rider appears to remain oblivious to the creature's suffering. The Asdorian woman pulls the poor dragon back to the fight with a harsh yank on the reins.

Nat directs Fortison to go past the white dragon as they meet again. She avoids it completely, pulling her dragon higher into the dark clouds.

A harsh whack signals that it isn't a complete miss. Fortison's flicking tail knocks the dragon into the empty air.

The white dragon seems to have lost its balance. Through the small flashes of light, rich red blood coats it's side and drips to the land below.

Yet the Asdorian woman jerks the dragon around, keeping it airborne even though most riders would have headed back to base by now.

Nat couldn't take it anymore and fiercely calls to the blonde woman, "Back down!"

The Asdorian shouts at Nat but the words get carried away with the rushing wind. Both she and the white dragon start to climb the sky again, heading straight to where Nat and Fortison wait.

Despite the white dragon's weakness, Nat has a duty to Hills. She is fighting this war and cannot let herself be weakened.

"We're not the only ones making sacrifices today," she whispers to Fortison, even though it is clear she intends the words to herself.

With a heavy heart, Nat lines up again, readying herself in the saddle. Her next actions won't be in her proud moments nor will she boast about them once this is over. But she is doing this for Hills and everyone who relies upon their warriors to win this war.

The white dragon comes within range.

Fortison's wings bite against the wind, twisting his head to the sky. Nat's fingers circle tighter around the reins, holding her position.

Without a second to spare, Fortison kicks out with claws extended, hitting the white dragon with a mighty blow to the chest. It rings with a scream.

"Stop it!" the female cries once her dragon has stopped spinning out of control, it's head hanging loosely.

The plea reaches Nat and her heart. It almost hurts to watch the Asdorian warrior wipe away the spray of her dragon's blood. Almost.

Fortison makes to finish them off.

Nat lets him approach at an increasing speed, wanting to force this newbie off the battlefield. She no longer desires the satisfaction of death. But she is done with this rider. She is done with this game of cat and mouse.

The clouds grow tighter, darker with the sign of heavy rain. But Fortison pushes on, dead set on the exposed dragon and its rider.

"Please stop!" the woman begs again as Nat enters within firing zone.

Why this Asdorian warrior won't give up her pride is a mystery. A disgusting, life-ruining puzzle.

Nat gives no sign of halting Fortison. If she can only chase this unyielding rider off the battlefield.

The white dragon can barely fly at this point, gasping constantly as blood drips from its jaw and chest, staining its beautiful pearl scales. Its head hangs like a dead-turkey, all slaughtered and ready for the dinner table.

"Move," Nat whispers through her gritted teeth, fuming at the woman's childish behaviour, "Move, you stubborn-"

"She's only-" The wind scorns Nat's ears, cutting off the woman's yell.

Her mouth opens again with wide-eyes of terror, "Please stop! She's only a baby!"

Nat's racing heart drops like an anchored weight, stomach churning. Without even thinking, she applies an immense force against the leather reins in her hands. Her palms cry in pain with the stress. Fortison fights against the pull until his head finally flies back. He halts, wings beating in mid-air.

Nat peers over her fuming dragon to glare at the Asdorian warrior, "You're kidding me."

But as she stares at the white dragon, she can see nothing but a baby.

How could she not see it before? The weightless appearance, powerless flight, it hasn't even shown signs of breathing fire.

"I beg of you-" the woman pleads.

And like fresh snow, the white dragon drops.

A/N

This chapter has had me buffled for so long and I've decided to post it and then come back to it. I didn't realize writing dragons fighting would be so hard.