CHAPTER 2- A hint of resentment

Murtagh started, his eyes open wide. His vision was out of focus, yet every other sense was on fire. He heard blood rushing in his ears, dull compared to the sound of his thudding heart. The taste of blood filled his mouth, bitter and salty. In contrast to all this, he could smell the brittle pine of the forest he had camped in. And with sudden realization, he could feel a burning hot, stinging sensation covering his right arm and torso. He yelped, jumping to his feet. Only then did his vision clear, bringing with it the soft glow of the full moon through the gaps in the canopy above. Murtagh was covered head to toe in sticking sweat and, he noticed with horror, blood dripping from his arm, over his shoulder, and onto his chest. It wasn't his blood; the only blood that burned like this he knew was dragons' blood. He looked down at his clenched fists to see his black hunting dagger wielded in his right hand. His world around him came crashing down as he frantically searched around the clearing for Thorn.

It was only then, as the rest of his senses tuned to the forest around him, that he realized that the mind who touched his and awoke him was Thorn's. It was he too who was roaring at him through their mental connect, a sound he mistook for the rushing of blood.

Murtagh loosened his clenched fist, allowing the hunting dagger to slip through and fall to the earth beside him. His breathing was labored as he cried out with his mind, "Thorn! Where are you?"

Instead of answering, the blood red dragon limped into the clearing from the spot the right side of the clearing where the trees originally blocked Murtagh's view. Then it donned on Murtagh the enormity of the damage he had caused his partner. The next minute Thorn allowed all of the pain, anger, and fear he felt to flow across their mental connection. Then all was silent, for Thorn was so angry, he severed their mental connection, crouched low, and growled at Murtagh. Grief stricken, Murtagh sunk to his knees. This time he spoke, he pleaded, aloud, "I am so sorry, Thorn. Please, let me heal you."

The dragon growled at him a second time but made no effort to move, his glimmering red eyes fixed on Murtagh. Cautiously, Murtagh rose to his feet and took a few steps towards Thorn. The dragon allowed him to do so, however, he never once took the sparkling red ruby that was his eye off of Murtagh. As he neared, Thorn fluttered and lifted his wings so that Murtagh could get a closer and examine the full extent of the wound he had inflicted upon the dragon.

Murtagh summoned a werelight to hang in the air beside him as he looked at the depth of the gash. From the tip of his right wing to about midway in, the membrane of his wing had been slashed open. That was an easy fix. Murtagh placed his hand upon the membrane gently and mutter a few words under his breath and watched as it stitched itself together from the inside working its way out. Then he looked to the other, worse part of the wound. As he was dreaming, it seemed he had drawn his blade and swung his arm around. At the end of the wounded membrane, the blade dislodged, skipped the rest of the wing that he could not reach, and continued on to Thorn's right foreleg. The gash was deep yet, to Murtagh's relief, thin and appeared to miss the tendons. Murtagh knelt next to Thorn's leg and muttered the phrases in the ancient language required to mend the muscles and skin.

After a few minutes of concentration, the wound reattached itself, the muscles rippling as they reconnected. Murtagh ended the spell, feeling a large drain on his energy, which he realized he did not regain while sleep due to the fitful dream.

Murtagh backed up a few paces before he sat by the edge of the fire he had built earlier in the day, which had long since extinguished, from the wind most likely. The werelight faded and slowly disappeared from its place beside Thorn's leg. Murtagh stripped off his ruined tunic, large holes covering it from the heat of the dragon blood. He wiped the blood from his now bare and singed shoulder. The best thing to do, in his opinion, was to busy himself until Thorn's anger subsided enough for him to reconnect their mental bond.

After a few minutes, Thorn stretched out of his crouch, the tension leaving his muscles as he regained his normal composure. He lay down then beside Murtagh, placing his snout on the man's lap. "If this continues, you will no longer be allowed to sleep under my wing."

Murtagh smiled half-heartedly, troubled. "I am sorry I hurt you again, Thorn. It was by no will of my own," He said as he rubbed the hard scales on Thorn's snout. Thorn, in turn, rumbled in his chest with contempt.

Murtagh mused, "I saw her again. And him."

"How did he kill her this time?" Thorn inquired.

"It is hard to explain. Shall I show you?"Murtagh asked, knowing Thorn would be reluctant for the dragon had had his fill of disturbing things in his short life. However, Thorn consented to see the memory. Through their bond Murtagh could feel the hesitation but also the desire Thorn felt in the need to comfort his rider. Murtagh showed him the dream from the beginning to end.

When the dream had finished, Thorn simply stated, "She spoke this time."

Murtagh was equally frightened about it, never before in the reoccurring dream had Nasuada spoken. But that was not the most disturbing part about it, "She said my name this time." Every other time he had had the dream, it seemed as if she hadn't a clue who he was. There was silence between them for a while as they both pondered the meaning of his dream.

"They will not stop till you go see her and confirm that she is not in danger," Thorn said, treading lightly on the subject, but Murtagh sensed that he had been thinking it for weeks. The fact that she spoke to him this time gave Thorn the confirmation he needed to solidify the idea.

Murtagh stopped rubbing Thorn's scales then, instead taking his hands to his eyes as if to rub the weariness from them. Aloud he stated, "She does not want to see me." The finality in his voice made his statement feel all the more truthful.

"Perhaps not, but you cannot protect her from her feelings. You must do what needs to be done and suffer the consequences of your actions."

"When did you become so wise?" Murtagh asked playfully.

Thorn snorted, a puff of warm smoke erupting from his nostrils causing Murtagh to cough as the smoke encircled his face. "When I was allowed to start thinking for myself."

Sympathetic, Murtagh said no more. The chill in the air made him shiver as his bare skin was still exposed to the elements. He realized how weary he had become as he sat there enjoying the company of Thorn.

Sensing his discomfort through their mental bond, Thorn raised his head from its spot on Murtagh's lap and emitted a small flame from between his jaws that lit the fire wood in the center of their camp. Then Thorn got to his feet and moved to the edge of the camp to the spot that he chose to sleep in earlier. He laid on his side and curled in his appendages.

Murtagh sat there looking at the dragon and admiring his beauty in the glow of the firelight, keeping his distance so Thorn could sleep in peace. After laying there for a minute, Thorn opened his large eye, puffed a tendril of smoke from his nostrils, then raised his wing in invitation.

Murtagh hesitated a moment, then, with a smile, he walked over to the dragon and nestled up against Thorn's warm under belly. As Thorn's wing descended to enclose him in the warmth of the cocoon, Murtagh spied his hunting dagger on the ground. He turned to his other side, deciding he would rather not have the protection after the damage he had done to Thorn with it earlier. It did not matter anyway, for he knew tonight, he would not sleep.