Sins of the Father: Chapter Twenty-Seven (Patreon)

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

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Somewhere beyond the cavern, early morning sunlight spilled across the sky. It cascaded through the canopy, and spilled into the cave in scintillating golden beams. The growing illumination left the unconscious gryphon looking more red than black. Dried blood coat every part of him, matting his fur, caking his feathers. Only the fresh bandages swaddling his middle broke up the morbid discoloration. At least they hadn’t yet soaked through, Valar thought. Valar still didn’t know how the gryphon survived suffering so grievous an injury, or the loss of so much blood. He feared the gryphon’s every shuddering, wheezing breath would be his last.

The young dragon himself fared little better. His mother and younger brother had coaxed him into making enough room next to the gryphon, to allow them to clean his many wounds. As they did so, the extent of his injuries became all too clear. Blood crusted his scales, from his face to his tail. Countless deep gashes and cuts marked his muzzle, his neck, his body, his limbs. The deepest among them still seeped fresh blood, some of it coagulating on the scales around his wounds like morbid stalactites. Kylaryn and Voskyr were as gentle as they could be while washing out each laceration, yet the scrubbing motions and the soapy, herbal hot waters only amplified his pain, and left each injury burning with a relentless intensity.

“Which of these are from his claws, and which his beak?” Kylaryn dunked a soft cloth into a fresh bucket of soapy water. A red cloud spread from it, staining the foam the same rusty hue as the others. “His claws are most likely to infect.”

Valar curled his neck, gazing back at himself. The gryphon had opened him up in far more places than even he had realized. Most of their battle was a blur. The bird had moved like the wind itself, striking and retreating in a flash, only to strike again. The only part of their brawl that stood out clearly in Valar’s mind was the brutal way in which he’d ended it. He cringed, his ears flattened back.

“I don’t know.” Valar licked his nose, his frills drooping. He tasted blood. “I don’t remember. It was all too fast. He was…” His gaze wondered back to the gryphon, somehow still clinging to life. “He was beating me. Faster than me. Unrelenting. Clawing me, biting me, faster than I could keep up with me. Until I…” Valar swallowed, whimpering. “Until I panicked, I think. I didn’t want to kill him, but…”

Kylaryn stretched her wing across Valar’s back. “You did what you had to, my love. You possess far too gentle a heart for a creature like him. Do not blame yourself for defending your own life.”

Valar nodded, glancing up at his mother. “I’ll try.”

“It is not your fault, Valar.” Kylaryn pressed the soapy cloth to his foreleg, then brushed it up and down, scrubbing out another deep gash in the younger dragon’s scutes. Valar tensed and grit his teeth, hissing in pain. Kylaryn gently nuzzled his head. “You should know, my love, that if the gryphon does survive? I’m going to have to kill him for doing this to you.”

Valar chuckled, returning his mother’s gentle affection. “That’s not funny, mother.”

“Nor is it a joke.” Kylaryn worked the cloth in a circle, washing away dried blood and grime. “I promise I’ll make it quick, though.”

“Mother…” Valar tried to glare at her, but the harshness of the pain stole the fire from his gaze. “Can you not jest about that?”

Kylaryn only snorted. “Would you rather not be angry, than pained?”

Valar cringed, his frills flat, when Voskyr scrubbed at another wound. “I assure you, I’m pained either way. While I appreciate you trying to take my mind off it, I’m not sure making me angry is the best effective balm.”

His mother grunted, rinsing her cloth again. “If you say so. How’re your scars?”

Valar glanced away. “They’re fine.”

“Your inability to meet my gaze does not inspire confidence in your truthfulness.” Kylaryn moved to a new wound, washing it gently as she could.

Valar squirmed in place, his tail coiling on itself. “They hurt, alright? But there’s no sense dwelling on it. I’m sure they’ll feel better eventually.”

At least, sure as hell hoped they would. The bolt wound in his hind leg throbbed so insistently, Valar feared it may no longer properly support his weight. Then again, the dragon thought, what difference would that make? His deeper, internal scars hurt, too. Sharp pain stabbed him in the belly again and again in an agonizing rhythm. A fresh, throbbing ache further up his body left him wondering if he’d cracked his own ribs when he crashed into the wall. At least he didn’t think he’d broken them., After all, he could still breathe.

“I wasn’t there, you know,” Kylaryn said, her voice softening. Her paws stilled.

Valar glanced up at his mother. She stared at not at him, but at the gryphon, his bloodied feathers reflected in her golden eyes. He set his paw across hers. “I didn’t ask you to be. Though I realized far too late, I should have.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kylaryn swallowed, her frills drooping. “But I should have been there to protect you. From…” She waved a paw at his many wounds. “This.” Her paw drifted towards the crossbow bolt scar across his belly. She brushed her pads over its puffy, pink shape. “Just as I should have been there to protect you from this.” Her voice faltered, shaking. “I’ve never been there, when you needed me most. And for that, I will always be sorry.” She laid her head across his, blinking back tears. “I am sorry, Valar. Sorry that I have not been-”

“Mother, stop.” Valar gently stroked his mother’s neck with a wingtip. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, you’re wrong. You weren’t there today, because I chose not to include you. And you weren’t there when I was a hatchling, because you had a brother to search-”

“I had a child to protect!” Kylaryn jerked her head up, her spines on angry display. Yet Valar knew her fury was turned inward, this time. “I child I nearly lost because I refused to admit my brother was already dead! Because I chased a fallacy, my child nearly died, too. If you father hadn’t woken when he did-”

“Please don’t blame father for that,” Valar said, a thinly contained anger bubbling within him. “Of all the many things to blame my father for, do not ever blame him for that.”

“I don’t.” Kylaryn’s voice came out as little more than a broken whisper. “I blame myself. In the moment, and in the months that followed, I raged at him. I spat his name like poison. I cursed him in my heart, and to his face, that he had dared to leave you so unprotected.” Kylaryn sniffled, a few tears running down her muzzle. “But as time wore on, as I saw him cradle you, and laugh with you, and when he was gone from our lives, I finally realized, it was not his fault. It was mine. Your father did not leave you unprotected that night. I did. Your father saved you, all by himself, because I was not there to help him keep you safe.”

Voskyr gently washed Valar’s other foreleg with a fresh, wet cloth. “You didn’t know, Mother. You shouldn’t blame yourself for something Illandra did.”

Valar glanced at his younger brother, offering him a smile, his ears up. “He’s right, you know. What happened was not your fault, any more than it was father’s. The two of you always did everything you could, for me. Together, or alone, I never found anything but loving, and protective. You did not put those bolts in me, mother. Illandra did.”

Kylaryn quieted. She drew herself up, her neck curling. A low, ominous growl crept up her throat. “On that, my beloved son, we agree.”

Voskyr dunked his cloth in the water again, rinsing it. He nudged Valar with his muzzle. “Careful, or you’ll put her in one of her moods.”

Valar chuckled, flicking his tail. “I think she’s already there.”

“You two are hilarious.” Kylaryn dropped her cloth into the water. “A moment ago, when I said I wasn’t there.” She scooped up a bowlful of clean water from another basin, and poured it down Valar’s leg. The lingering heat within it made Valar hiss as it rinsed his wounds. “I was thinking about the night you were injured, yes. But I was thinking about Amaleen.”

Valar tightened his jaw. “Oh?”

“I wasn’t there when your father brought you home, to her.” Kylaryn scooped up more water, then hesitated, her paw shaking. Water dribbled from the wooden bowl. “It wasn’t even home, then. Not yet, anyway. I think…” She swallowed, then poured the water over Valar’s limb. “I think it became home to me, when you and I were living in her garden. While you recovered. Even if I didn’t realize it yet. But when I think back on it now, I think of it as home.”

Valar squeezed his mother’s forepaw. “We all do.”

“Not me,” Voskyr said, grinning as he mimicked his mother, rinsing Valar’s other limb.

“Shush, you.” Valar playfully thumped his younger brother with a wing.

Kylaryn smiled at her youngest child. “You’d have liked it. Especially when you were even younger. You could wander the markets all day, and everyone would feed you apples, and smoked fish.”

Valar rumbled, licking his muzzle. “Mm, smoked fish. Gods, they were good.”

“What if I didn’t like smoked fish?” Voskyr set about scrubbing a wound on Valar’s side, under his wing.

“Blasphemy!” Valar hissed, more from contempt than pain. “I should wash your tongue with this water.”

“Maybe I prefer my fish raw,” Voskyr said, scouring away clumps of dried blood from Valar’s rent scales. “Or just lightly seared. Not everything needs to taste like a fire smells.”

Valar snapped his jaws. “I’m ignoring you, now.” He made a show of turning his head towards his Kylaryn. “So, mother. You said you were thinking about Amaleen?”

A brief smile crossed Kylaryn’s muzzle at her children’s antics. Then she sighed, staring at the gryphon again. “I was. I was thinking of how your father must have looked, carrying you back to her. Desperate. Terrified. Covered in someone else’s blood. And then…” She took a trembling breath. “I think of how you looked, tonight. Carrying the bird here. Soaked in his blood. And how horrified you looked, when I first laid eyes upon you. Afraid not for yourself, but for him. And I just…” Kylaryn sniffed a few times, fresh tears brimming anew in her piercing silver eyes. “I just realized, that you must have looked just like him that night.”

Valar clenched his jaw, his throat tightening. “Perhaps so.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat, his tail tip twitching. “I barely remember that night at all.”

“That’s for the best.” Kylaryn patted his forepaw, sighing anew. “I wish I could do what Amaleen did. She’d have saved your damn fool bird, I am certain.”

Valar leaned against his mother, brushing his muzzle across her neck. “You did very well, mother. Better than I ever could have. If he does survive, it’ll only be because-”

“Because you saved him.” Kylaryn pulled her head back to stare into Valar’s eyes. In an instant, the tears and sorrow were gone, replaced with a familiar, steely strength. “Because you had the mercy in your heart to spare your enemy. Because you had the strength in your soul, to find a way to carry him back here, regardless of the cost. If the bird lives, it is because of you, Valar. Not me.”

“We’ll call it a team effort, then.” Valar bumped his nose against hers, then turned his attention to the unconscious gryphon. For now, at least, he continued to draw wheezing breaths. “And he isn’t my bird.”

“If he survives this, he damn sure will be.” Kylaryn rumbled again, rustling her wings. “He will owe you his life, and his freedom. And I will ensure that he never forgets that.”

Valar flattened his frills. “Mother, you needn’t-”

“And,” Kylaryn said, tapping Valar’s nose with a claw. “He will be your responsibility during his recovery.”

Valar scrunched his muzzle, pulling his head back. “So I hear.”

“And so you will continue to hear.” Kylaryn nudged at his wing. “Now lift your wing. Drape it over me, that I might tend the wounds beneath it.”

The younger dragon grunted. “Yes, mother.” He did as she asked, forcing his wounded wing to open, then stretching it out across his mother’s back. The motion sent tines of pain digging into his side, yet they were but the latest waves washing across a sea of discomfort. “You sound slightly more optimistic about his chances, at least.”

Kylaryn wiped down Valar’s blood-encrusted hide with a wet cloth. Rusty rivulets ran down his scales. The water was more warm than hot, now, but it still left his open injuries burning anew. “I must admit, I did not expect him to live long past the sunrise.” She glanced at the light pouring through the cavern mouth. “That he has speaks to his own strength. With every fresh breath he draws, his odds of surviving seem ever so slightly stronger. But we must wait for the assessments of Melira and her healer, I should think.”

Voskyr stared at the wounded creature slumbering nearby. He cocked his head. “Where are we going to keep him?”

“We’re not ‘keeping’ him anywhere.” Valar grunted. “He’s not an object to be stored, nor even a pet to be-”

“In Valar’s chamber.” Kylaryn’s tone left no room for argument, not that Valar would have presented one anyway. “Valar has promised not to leave the gryphon’s side, after all. So if the bird lives long enough to need a place to sleep, he can share Valar’s sleeping quarters.”

Voskyr rumbled youthful dragon laughter. “He should make a nice pillow for you at least, Valar.”

Valar chuckled, only to suddenly grit his teeth against a fresh burst of pain as his mother scrubbed out a long gash. “Perhaps after he’s healed. If I laid on him now I’d probably crack the rest of his sternum in half.”

“Oooh.” Voskyr cringed, laughing again. “Like when we saw those humans cut the geese in half, and then smash them flat over a fire.”

Valar’s laughter grew at the unpleasant mental image, even if only to ease the lingering tensions. He shook his head, his wing trembling across his mother’s back. “Poor bird will probably feel that way when he wakes.”

At least, Valar thought, if he wakes.

Kylaryn and Voskyr spent most of the morning cleaning Valar’s wounds best they could. Throughout it all, the gryphon slept deeply. He did not stir nor even twitch amidst his slumber. If not for the rattling sound of his breathing, Valar might have thought he’d died. The dragon imagined that if his wounded quarry did pull through, he might well sleep for days. While the wheezing of his breath did not improve, neither did it worsen.

When the other dragons were finished with Valar, they moved onto the gryphon. Kylaryn and Voskyr heated fresh water, and mixed in a dose of herbal medicines. As heavily bandaged as the gryphon was, there was only so much they could do. They focused on bathing his limbs, his face, and his wings. Throughout it all, the gryphon remained limp, and deathly still. His head lolled so easily that Kylaryn had Voskyr hold it in place for her as she wiped the blood from his beak.

Kylaryn forbid Valar from helping. Given that they had only just washed out his own wounds, she did not wish him to dirty them once more. Nor did she wish him to reopen anything by carrying heavy buckets of water, or scrubbing some unconscious gryphon’s feathers. He was allowed to supervise, and to whisper comforts into the gryphon’s ears, and that was it. Valar did not agree with his mother’s reasoning, but he lacked the strength to argue it with her.

Eventually, the distant whooshing sound of familiar wing beats interrupted their work. Kylaryn set Voskyr to cleaning up the space around them. Bloodied clothes and dirty bowls were replaced with clean ones. The stained floor was quickly scrubbed and cleaned. Fresh supplies replaced spent ones. Kylaryn nudged Valar away from the gryphon, to ensure that the humans would have plenty of room to work on the two of them.

 The wingbeats grew steadily louder, until they were nearly overhead. Then they stopped as the two dragons landed atop the rocky peak, beyond the forest canopy. A few moments later, and Voskalar entered the yawning cavern mouth. Two humans wrapped in flight leathers and carrying immense packs rode upon his back. Countless cargo bags and pouches were strapped all across his bronze scales. He stepped aside, and Valar’s younger sister Kylyra followed him. Though she bore no rider, she carried just as many packs as her adoptive father, possibly even more.

Voskyr burst into playful laughter when he saw his sibling. “Sister, you look like you’ve suddenly become covered in warts and bloated scale mites.”

“Oh, shut up.” Kylyra shook herself, the many packs rattling and shifting. “Next time you get to play pack mule.”

“Welcome home, you two.” Valar pushed himself to his feet, focusing his attention upon Voskalar’s riders. “Thank you both for coming. The gryphon is right over here.” He swept a paw towards the unconscious creature. “He’s clung to life thus far, but-”

“Sit down, Valar.” Kylaryn stared at him, her frills flared. “They will tend your wounds first.”

Valar grit his jaw. “But, mother-”

“Sit. Down.” Kylaryn spoke each word as a command. “Now.”

“Very well.” Valar eased back onto his haunches, his tail lashing. “But the gryphon-”

“Will be treated after you.” Kylaryn’s silver glared remained fixed on her son, piercing him to his core. “We have done all we can for the bird, and now it is your turn. When your wounds are clean, stitched, and bandaged, then our guests will do what else they can for your new friend. The less time you spend arguing, the quicker they’ll be finished.”

Valar looked himself over for a moment. “My wounds are already clean, so they can skip that step.”

Kylaryn tossed her head. “Cleaned, but not properly disinfected. We were simply washing them that the healer might be able to cleanse them properly.” She gestured with a wing towards the newly returned dragons. “Voskyr, help your father and your sister out of those cargo harnesses. And treat everything as if it were extremely fragile. Because much of it probably is.”

Voskalar settled down on his belly to allow his riders to dismount. The woman in front swung a leg over his back, and hopped down, her booted feet clapping against the stone ground. She turned and offered a hand to her fellow rider, assisting the second woman down. Then undid the straps and ties of her dark leather flight cloak, then pulled back her hood. Unusual, bright red hair spilled across her shoulders. She looked around for a place to hang her cloak, then finally just folded it up and put it on the floor.

When she straightened, her eyes met Valar’s for a moment. She scowled at the sight of his many wounds, her voice soft, and filled with concern. “Hello, Valar.”

Valar bowed his head to the woman who ostensibly served as his commander. “Hello, Melira.”

As Melira looked him over, she brushed strands of brilliant red hair out of her eyes. Even after living for years outside of Aran’alia, she brightly hued hair remained a rarity to the dragon. Most of those who bore it were from far flung lands, or traced their bloodlines back to those who were. As far as Valar knew, in Melira’s case her father was a wanderer, who fell in love with Aran’alian woman upon his travels. Eventually, the war chased them both to new lands.

Years ago, Melira herself was but a well-intentioned mercenary. When the Forest Ward erroneously confused Valar for a dragon with a bounty on his head, it was Melira who first tracked him down. She sought to ambush him in a moment of distraction, only for her strikingly crimson hair to slip free of her camouflaged hood and give her away. Yet, that chance meeting proved enough to give them a chance to talk, and walk away without bloodshed. Eventually, they met again, and in time Melira proved a key part of the truce Valar’s family made with the Forest Ward.

Back then, Melira claimed she was only hunting the dragon for the bounty Yet Valar had long suspected she was far more interested in protecting her neighbors than simply claiming the coin. Over time, his suspicions proved correct. Melira rose through the Forest Ward’s once-fractured ranks, until she found herself in position to forge them into something stronger. Now, she commanded their largest faction, and directed them to keep safe the many disparate peoples of the Forests of Ghosts. She saw too it they took in those displaced by Illandra’s conquests, saw that they were sheltered and provided for, and in returned, watched the ranks of her forces swell by the day.

Melira turned away from Valar, and strode right up to Kylaryn. Her features set into grim lines. “I’m so sorry, Ky. I never should have let him chase down that damn fool bird without proper backup.”

Melira was also one of the only humans Valar ever knew to simply call his mother, ‘Ky’. Why Kylaryn chose to tolerate the use of so casual a name from a human, rather than demand something more respectful, Valar never quite understood. Perhaps his mother appreciated the bravery inherent in addressing a dragon so casually. Or perhaps it was out of appreciation for all Melira had done for Valar, and the rest of his family, in helping them settle here safely. In any case, allowing Melira to address her as Ky spoke volume’s for mother’s respect for the woman.

Kylaryn arched her neck, staring down at the human. Her voice was soft, ominously so, like a trap being set. “No. You should not have.”

“It isn’t Melira’s fault, mother,” Valar said. He was not about to let the humans he worked with take the blame for his own folly. “She had no way of knowing-”

“Hush, Valar.” Kylaryn held up a forepaw towards him, though her gaze remained locked on Melira. “However, while you should not have allowed him to chase the gryphon by himself…” She glanced back at Valar, her ears back. “I’m also certain he would have done so even had you forbid him. I’m further certain he has likely mislead you about the extent to which I’ve given him permission to participate in combat alongside your people at all. Acts for which I suppose he has already received punishment enough.”

Melira gazed at the dragon a moment, a scowl still darkening her complexion. “He does look as if he’s had the shit beaten out of him, yes.”

“He has.” Mother snorted, thumping her tail. “But he has delivered far worse, and now sags beneath the burden of guilt. Tend his wounds, please. And when you’re finished, do what you can for the bird.”

Melira nodded. “Of course, Ky.” She pivoted on her boot heel, looking the gryphon over from a distance. “Voskalar filled me in on his condition, best he could. It sounds like a small miracle he’s survived this long.”

“It is.” Kylaryn swept a paw towards Valar. “And yet it is a miracle due entirely to Valar’s efforts.”

Valar looked away from the others, fixing his gaze on a sunbeam, dancing upon the cavern wall. “I’m the one who lost control, and nearly killed him. Trying to save his life is the least I could do.”

“You did not lose control, Valar.” Kylaryn snapped her jaws. “You defended your life.” She looked down at Melira again, her neck arched. “It is likely we will require the help of you or your healers for several days, if not weeks. We can certainly ferry you back and forth to the villages, when possible, but it may be easiest to provide accommodations here. I apologize for the potential difficulties inherent to that arrangement.”

“Think nothing of it.” She beckoned the other woman forward. “This is Attis. She’s the best healer…” She paused to smirk at the other woman. “That I could find on short notice.”

Attis snorted, folding her arms. “Well, screw you too, commander.”

Melira waved at her. “She’s also my healer who’s quickest to speak her mind.” Her smile grew. “Truthfully, she is my most trusted healer. I trust her with my life, and I promise you can trust her with Valar’s. Plus, she’s talked with him before, so you needn’t worry about her being too intimidated to work around dragons. Or on them, in this case.”

Valar did indeed recognize the woman named Attis. She was roughly Melira’s age, perhaps a little younger. Her ebon hair made Valar suspect she was Aran’alian by blood, if not by location. Several times before, she’d approached Valar to speak with him when he was visiting visiting with Melira, or assisting the Ward. While he did not know the woman near as well as he knew Melira, she’d always made for pleasant company. He was pleased it was her who would help Melira tend his wounds, rather than someone fearful even to approach him.

Attis approached Valar’s mother, and offered her a deep, respectful bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and an honor to serve you.” Attis slowly straightened up, brushing dark hair from her eyes. “I’ve heard a great many things about your efforts in the war, Cerulean Fury.”

Kylaryn chuckled, shaking her head. “No one calls me that, anymore.”

“Perhaps they should.” Attis slowly straightened up, untying her cloak. Beneath it, she wore the red-marked uniform of a Forest Ward healer. “My family lived in Aran’alia, before I was born. They fled here, when their homes were no longer safe. They’ve always held you and your people in the highest esteem.”

“Then I am sorry I could not do more to protect your family’s home.” Kylaryn lowered her head, her muzzle the floor, a sign of both respect, and regret.

“As I hear it told, you did more than anyone could have imagined.” Attis glanced between Kylaryn and Valar. “If not for your efforts, the lands would fallen decades before they did. Families like mine might never have escaped before Illandra’s forces…” She trailed off. “Well, we all know what happened.”

“We do.” Melira clapped Attis on the shoulder. “There are few families in the Forest who didn’t know loss and pain from that war, one way or another. Mine included.” She offered the other woman a reassuring smile. “But we’re not here to rehash old wounds. We’re here to tend them, remember?”

“Certainly.” She turned away, hurrying to where her supplies were being unloaded. “Let me fetch my things.”

Melira turned back to Kylaryn, chuckling. “When I said she wasn’t afraid to work on dragons, I should have said, she wouldn’t stop talking about them.”

Kylaryn lifted her head, relaxing again. “I’d rather than than one frightened just to be around us.” She watched Attis for a moment. “I can only imagine how many refugees must have flooded these lands, as the war progressed.”

Melira nodded. “You can count yourself in that number, after all. Hell, even before I recruited him…” She tilted her head towards Valar. “Half my ranks were already filled up with angry Aran’alians, looking for a place to belong again.”

A grin parted Valar’s muzzle. “You hardly recruited me, Melira. You were little more than a mercenary looking for a bounty, when I met you.”

“What’s that say about you then?” Melira tilted her head. “You came begging me to let you work for me and my people.”

“I wasn’t begging.” Valar shook himself, glancing away. “I was simply making an offer. Besides, that was years later. You’d organized by then.”

“Speaking of which.” Kylaryn lowered her head towards Melira. “When you’ve finished dressing their wounds, I would speak with you about a matter pertaining to your organization, and my family’s involvement therein.” 

“Certainly, Ky.” Melira frowned at Valar. He squirmed under her gaze, suddenly self-conscious about his injuries. “Though from the looks of things, that may be a while.”

“I suspect it shall be.” Kylaryn opened a wing, gesturing at the other dragons. By now, Voskalar and Kylyra were nearly divested of all their cargo. “In the meantime, we are at your disposal if you need us.”

“Thank you.” Melira turned towards the gryphon, staring at him. “If what your mate told me is accurate, we’ll likely need your help with him. We’ll need to get the bandages off, disinfect him best we can, then try to stitch him up. I’m going to take measurements, and have someone cobble together some kind of brace we can buckle around him, to help hold him together while he heals.”

Kylaryn nodded. “A wise idea. When the time is right, one of us will fly you back to your people. We will pay to have it crafted as swiftly as possible.”

Melira scrunched her face. “You needn’t pay-”

Mother sharpened her tone. “We will pay.”

“As you wish,” Melira said, holding her hands up. “May I see to Valar, now?”

“Of course.” Kylaryn swept her wing towards him. “Who am I to keep a commander away from her charge?”

“Hilarious as always, mother.” Valar glared at his mother, but his expression softened as Melira approached. He tilted his head, his frills lifted. “Greetings, commander.”

Melira arched a brow. “Did you just make the same dumb joke you criticized your mother for?”

Valar shrugged his wings. “I work with the Ward, so I’m allowed. She isn’t.”

“If you say so.” Melira brushed red hair out of her eyes, looking him over. Concern gradually spread across her features like a dark cloud drifting across the horizon. “Gods, Valar, you really did let that bird do a number on you.”

Valar snorted. “You say that as if I wasn’t trying to stop him the entire time.”

“Were you?” Melira arched a single brow. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks as though you just stood there and let him slice you up.”

Valar set his jaw, glancing away. He took a breath, then let out a slow sigh. “Truthfully, as swift as he was, I may as well have. I could scarcely even keep up with him. Despite the way the battle ended, he was winning that fight.”

“You won that fight, Valar. The fact you’re sitting here, lamenting it, while he scarcely clings to unconscious life, is all the proof I need of that.” Melira reached out, and gently stroked her fingers across the scales of Valar’s neck, away from any wounds. Her tone softened, and worry shone in her eyes. “And I’m glad you did, Valar. When you didn’t report back, I began to worry. And when your father and your sister showed up, calling for a healer, I…” She faltered, her eyes downcast. “I dreaded to think what might have happened to you. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but when at last I knew you’d nearly killed the gryphon, and not the other way around, the only thing I felt was relief. There was no room left to pity the bird, so glad was I that you were not mortally wounded.”

“I understand.” Valar offered her a smile. He lifted his paw and brushed his pads across Melira’s arm in gratitude. “Though I think you’ll find room for pity yet, when you see how previously I’ve injured the poor thing.”

“Perhaps.” Melira cleared her throat, then managed a small smile. She patted Valar’s hide. “But let’s deal with you, first. Attis, what can I do to help?”

“Help me carry some of this shit.” The other woman hauled several heavy, leather bags towards the young dragon. “Anything with an green oak leaf on it. That’s my general wound treatment gear.”

Melira walked towards the piles of cargo, frowning. “Half these bags have an oak leaf.”

“And half that dragon’s body is covered in open wounds.” Attis dropped her supplies down near Valar, then turned right back around to fetch more. “So, get carrying.”