Wings of Fire • Dragon of Warriors [3]

Chapter Twenty-two

Quickclaws was walking through a cave. He was hurrying, actually, following a gray tail that slipped into the crack in the side of the wall leading to the lower levels of the tribe's new home. He sped up to catch him, hoping he would reach him in time. Quickclaws knew he had to confront the dragon before it was too late.

     When was it too late, exactly?

     Shaking his head, he quickened his pursuit. Quickclaws slipped in and out of the narrow passage just in time to catch the mystery dragon about to turn the corner. Quickclaws stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. Now that he had caught up to him, what was he rushing to accomplish?

     Before he could say or do anything, the dragon – faceless – turned slowly and chuckled at him. The voice was low, distorted, and far away; as if they were speaking through water. Quickclaws couldn't tell what he said, nor decipher what he roared after that.

     All he knew was that one minute he was standing and the next he was trying to rip the mystery dragon apart.

     His opponent met his leap halfway, rearing up to intercept Quickclaws' pounce. In a panic, Quickclaws was able to catch his neck and dragged the dragon forward into a hold. It let out a strangled gurgle and Quickclaws looked down to realize his claws were unusually long and shiny. He thought he had silver claws but he could've sworn they weren't this large...

     To his horror, the gurgling noise was coming from the dragon's neck: his enlarged metal claws had cut deep. Blood was spurting from the sides, but the faceless warrior did nothing to stop the flow. With a strangled and desperate roar, Quickclaws' opponent thrashed and tried to breathe fire. What came out of his mouth – and throat – was only more blood.

     This did not seem to deter the dragon. He roared again and went on the offence, drooling blood as he threw Quickclaws off and ruthlessly attacking. Quickclaws barely had enough time to dodge and even then, he was badly wounded several times. His opponent's last attempts to save his life gave him an edge that Quickclaws couldn't match.

     One time, Quickclaws was slammed into the wall so hard he thought he saw stars dancing in his vision. Both of their endurance's weakened, and, eventually, they both crumpled to the floor, exhausted.

     Quickclaws could not raise his head. Gashes were everywhere on his body, most notably his stomach and neck. Pain laced his entire being, unforgiving and punishing. It was all he could do to gasp for air until his vision darkened.

     "This is not the answer."

- ❈ -

"Wake up," someone hissed to him. Startled, Quickclaws woke with a scream, nearly clawing Stratusstream's face off.

     "Reflexes?" she asked him with a tilted head.

     He shook his head, then nodded. It was another one of those sleep-fighting dreams. This one felt worse somehow. Every bone and scale in his body ached and Quickclaws felt sore in each muscle. A wicked headache pounded at his skull. Were they getting more real?

     With a groan, he sat up slowly, rubbing his head. Looking around, he realized it was morning. Snow was falling gently from the clouds. Lightningtail stirred beside him and Quickclaws felt guilty about shouting.

     "I had a dream too," Stratusstream said, grabbing his attention by grabbing his snout to face hers. "You need to leave now."

     Lightningtail groaned, annoyed, rubbing her eyes. "What is it this time?"