Dawn broke in a wash of gray and gold, mist curling like smoke between the pines. I had barely slept, lying curled beside the dragon, listening to the ragged rise and fall of its chest. Every shallow breath reminded me that its life–this impossible, magnificent life–was now in my hands.
I packed what little I could carry: dried meats from previous hunts, water in a hollowed gourd, and a few herbs I knew would ease pain and inflammation. Every movement felt heavy, my mind racing with the questions I dared not speak aloud: How long could I hide it? What would the villagers do if they discovered me? And if the queen's soldiers ever came searching… could I even stand against them?
It stirred as I approached, its golden eyes opening with a flicker of recognition. I offered a piece of dried venison, and it sniffed cautiously before accepting. The warmth of its breath, the way its head leaned slightly toward me, made my chest tighten. The bond–the pull I had felt yesterday–was real. Stronger than anything I had known.
I crouched beside it, brushing mud and debris from its scales. Each movement, each touch, felt like a silent promise. "I'll keep you alive," I whispered. "No matter what comes."
And then I paused, realizing I hadn't given it a name. A name mattered. Names gave identity. Names gave power.
I let my eyes travel over its wings, jagged and dark like the shadows that crept through the forest at dusk. Its scales shimmered black as night, catching the light in fleeting flashes, and when it moved, it was silent, almost as if the darkness itself had learned to fly.
"Shadow…" I whispered, testing the sound. It stirred at my voice, raising its head slightly, as if listening. "… Wing," I finished.
The name felt right. Simple. Strong. True. Shadowwing.
The dragon lifted its head fully now, golden eyes meeting mine. A low rumble rolled from deep in its chest, almost like acknowledgment. Maybe it didn't understand words, but it understood meaning.
"Shadowwing," I said again, louder this time, letting the name echo in the misty clearing. "That's what you are. That's what you'll be to me."
From the trees, a faint rustle caught my ear. I froze. The wind carried more than the scent of pine and rain. There was trace of iron, leather, and the unmistakable rhythm of marching boots. Someone–or something–was coming.
I looked at Shadowwing, its head tilting as if sensing the threat. My jaw tightened. The first choice had been mine alone. But the next would test not just my skill, but my courage.
And I had a feeling the forest itself was about to change forever.
I pressed myself against the thick trunk of an ancient pine, listening. The sound of boots crunching leaves reached me, steady and deliberate. Scouts. Queen Maris' soldiers. They were moving carefully, but there was no mistaking their purpose: someone–or something–was out her that shouldn't be.
Shadowwing stirred beside me, its injured wing brushing against my leg. I whispered, "Stay low. Don't make a sound." Its golden eyes flickered toward mine, and I thought I saw understanding. Or perhaps impatience.
I scanned the clearing. The forest offered few options for concealment, but then I spotted it: a narrow ravine overgrown with brambles and vines, shadows pooling in the depths. The jagged rocks formed a natural alcove just large enough to hide a growing dragon. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it would keep it out of sight.
"Come on," I murmured. I guided Shadowwing gently, careful not to jostle the broken wing. The dragon hesitated, snuffling the air, wary, but followed my movements. It was slow-going–every step measured– but I kept my tone calm. "Almost there… Steady…"
Finally, we reached the alcove. I shoved aside thick vines, creating just enough space for Shadowwing to fold its wings inside. The shadows clung to its black scales, masking its form almost perfectly. I crouched beside it, running my hand along its side. "This will do for now. Your safe… at least until they pass."
I pressed my back against a tree and peered through the underbrush. The soldiers were nearing, their torches slicing through the thinning mist. They paused at the edge of the clearing, scanning the forest with hawk-like precision. My heart hammered, every instinct screaming to flee, but I forced myself to stay. Once wrong move and they would see us.
A twig snapped under a boot, and Shadowwing flinched, smoke puffing from its nostrils. I exhaled slowly, stilling the tremor in the hands. The soldiers moved on, unaware of the shadow hidden just beyond their sight.
I let my forehead drop against the bark, tasting the cool sap. My chest ached–not from fear, but from the weight of responsibility. Protecting Shadowwing was no longer a choice. It was survival. My survival, its survival… and perhaps something far greater.
And somewhere deep in the forest, I felt the pulse of the wild responding, as if it too knew that the hunter and the dragon had found one another–and that together, we might just change everything.