Saphira backed away warily, a low growl humming in her throat. The soft sound wasn't supposed to deter the other dragon. She was equally enticed by his alluring scent, the warm, pleasant color of his glistening hide that sparkled like bright rubies. Yet, she did not encourage him to approach her.
His head bowed, Thorn slowly moved towards her, nipping at her tail gently. Remarkably, Thorn had somehow regained his vigor. He wasn't the dead dragon she expected to encounter, but a powerful, majestic male. And he found her first.
Hissing slightly, Saphira abruptly turned her body, regarding the male with clenched jaws that trapped his neck. He tersely squirmed in her grip, testing the force of her grip. When pleas, accompanied by delicate hums failed, the mighty tail intervened, shadowed by impressive unfurled wings. Saphira was not only forced to relinquish her prey, but subdue to the male who playfully rammed into her, gaining the upper position.
The impact sent shudders across Saphira's frame. Her limbs helplessly grabbed, scratched and pushed against his impressive bulk. Her tail, pinned under Thorn's, could barely twitch. Saphira growled, snarled, hissed like a brewing storm, struggling to release herself, to continue the prelude to a moment she yearned for.
Thorn, however, growled tenderly, arching his neck towards hers. A few encouraging licks across her scales, and Saphira's throat vibrated with the same hum of joy. Thorn overpowered her. Because she surrendered.
But the male was not interested in petty brawls. Overwhelmed by her sweet, enthralling scent, Thorn intently sniffed a certain area of her exposed underbelly. A warm, smooth surface slide across it.
Saphira shuddered, shifting on her side instinctively. Her body claimed by a much too powerful lust, she could not deny the male his well-earned right. After all, he did overpower her, even if she fought poorly.
Thorn towered above her. In this moment, when her choice had been made, Saphira was not certain if Thorn was the right mate, if he was the dragon she always craved. But she was tired of being alone, and her desire to mate was strong.
Muffled roars rippled through the forest. Saphira's hind paws twitched and gripped at nothingness. Her tail rocked to the sides, bending, curling around Thorn's in an attempt to pin it down. This new, fiery sensation she felt was so intense that her body felt numb. It squirmed and raked at her lower belly gently, dispersing into tingles of elation.
Like her dazzling flames, the ephemeral delight extinguished as fast as it exploded to life. With it gone, her senses felt dull, as if life itself fled them. The blurred excitement slowly faded. Only Thorn's growl maintained part of its former smoldering mass. That, too, stopped when he surfaced from her depths and lay beside her, licking her snout frantically, expressing his gratitude for allowing him to mate her. To Saphira, the reason did not matter. Thorn's licking was filled with affection and desire for her, and Saphira wanted nothing more than feeling his caressing tongue across her scales.
Under Saphira's hum of delight, confusion dwelled. Influenced by the turmoil of her pressing instincts, she mated. Not because Thorn was her mate—after all, she loosely allowed the only male dragon to smother the urge that slowly consumed her. She wanted not to be alone anymore.
Thorn sought her. In spite of the hate Eragon bore for him, Thorn came to her. What had that proven to her?
Saphira rested her head on his paws, surrendering to his pleasant treatment. She was not yet convinced of Thorn's intentions and capabilities.
Eragon's betrayal still weighed hard on her. Without her approval, he brutally assaulted her mind, using her own energy against the same dragon that mated her. Eragon—her partner of mind and soul—was a hypocrite.
Instead of being sullen at a puny human, Saphira vented her rage on Thorn. Agilely, she slithered her snout past the darting tongue and gently gripped his serpentine neck in her jaws. Before the surprised dragon could react, Saphira tackled his jerking limbs using her own, growling victoriously.
In her haste, however, she allowed the loose tail to swat her side, unbalancing what was supposed to be an unyielding pose. Leaves rustled. Dust rose in the air, perturbed by the commotion. Before Saphira could sway him off, Thorn wrestled her down. From her lower position, she could barely twitch under his stronger, more muscular form. But instead of displaying his dominance, Thorn released her captive tail and feet and licked her neck soothingly. Then, it stopped.
Something prodded at her underbelly. Growling harshly, Saphira's limbs jerked with force, digging into Thorn's haunches and side. Her maw, clenched around his vulnerable neck, added pressure until blood trickled between her teeth. Thorn roared—a weak, muffled roar of submission. It was not an attack, but a warning, and Thorn promptly complied.
Moving away from Thorn, Saphira curled her body on the soft grass, watching Thorn closely. The wound she inflicted was located on the upper part of his neck, and he could not reach it, despite his attempts. With no success, Thorn crashed his jaw on the ground. A deep feeling of confusion settled in his eyes, matching Saphira's sprouting regret.
She did not know why her retaliation had been so fierce. At that moment, it felt natural. Her instincts urged her to punish Thorn, and she obeyed, for instincts were never wrong. Still, she could not comprehend the reason behind fending off a dragon that had already mated with her. Ever since she encountered Thorn in the Beors, her body felt alien to her.
When the land gave her no peace, Saphira took to the skies. She grudgingly abandoned Thorn, leaving behind a wounded, confused dragon.
Among the clouds and winds, Saphira hoped the air currents would carry away her troubles, but the farther she flew, the more she missed Thorn. There were times when Saphira relished the wind under her wings, the verdant forests below, the warmth of the sun upon her scales.
Back then, she wasn't alone, confused and not in control. An impressionable hatchling, both she and her Rider learned the ways of life by helping one another. Her wisdom tutored Eragon, who, in turn, shared the meaning behind life experience.
Raised as a bonded dragon, Saphira's instincts remained dormant. In a world conquered by intellect, the ways of the wild were often contested and frowned upon. It was a confusing world of customs and laws. Without Eragon, Saphira would not have found her place in it, no matter how much the Riders of Old worked to make it possible.
It was during the travel to Ellesmera when she was first surprised by the power of her instincts. A small smoldering spark, which had been all forgotten, began to crackle and expand, its dim light reawakening a powerful yet somewhat familiar sensation of longing for something she had been deprived since she hatched.
At that time, she did not know what it was, nor could she discover why this mysterious and slightly tormenting feeling that claimed a part of her mind assumed control. Without understanding its cause, there was no way to put an end to it. She yearned for a change that would fill this expanding gap, but even Eragon, her partner of mind and soul, could not offer what she was looking for.
When she met Glaedr, joy and happiness surged through her. She was not alone, after all, and the majestic golden dragon whose scales sparkled like fiery embers when the light reflected off them was a living proof that her race was not completely dead. But there was something else she felt, something hidden, and only now was she able to decipher this complex feeling that ceaselessly nudged her mind and sharpened her instincts.
However, her enthusiasm was unrequited by the older dragon, who did not appear to share her interest. Persistent as she was, Saphira never felt discouraged. After all, Glaedr was one of the last dragons, and that strange feeling that she began to grow accustomed to spurred her into following her instincts and sway her rational side away. It was a battle she could not win, and by accepting her inner turmoil, Saphira felt relieved of a burden and ready to tackle any challenge that might prevent her from fulfilling what that ardent desire commanded her to.
Everything revolved around Glaedr. Every ounce of her increased energy was solely used on capturing the male's attention through a series of curt displays of power, aerial maneuvers and even soft nuzzles and licks, whenever they would rest after the exhausting training sessions. Although she tried her best to respect the rigors of her training, her mind simply refused to obey, and Glaedr himself grew irritated with how much attention he suddenly began to receive.
Almost unsympathetic to her efforts, Glaedr merely focused on her training, nothing else. But unreturned feelings had a deeper meaning, and Saphira's persistence and stubbornness could not be defeated by a male's indifference. She had to win. She knew she could. A dragon's instincts were never wrong, and she solely relied on them during that time.
Alas, Glaedr yet again proved her wrong. By rejecting her through a fierce attack, he completely shattered her hopes, throwing her into a deep state of sadness and confusion. Not even her bond with Eragon was powerful enough to mend her inner wounds in an instant.
Days had passed, and the urge her instincts pressed against her began to subside. She had felt a deep and consuming regret for the slow vanishing of that strange feeling that now blackened out, reducing to a mere smoldering and unnoticed spark.
Returning to her senses, Saphira felt guilty for what she did to Thorn. A male dragon was finally enticed by her, and she brutally rejected him. Almost the same way Glaedr had rejected her.
Saphira extended her wings into a glide, swerving to her left, where the air currents were not so strong. As she turned to face the wind, a much too familiar smell trapped in her nostrils. Unlike her—a dragon terrified by mistakes—Thorn braved the skies, following her trail, accepting his mistake.
In an instant, Saphira broke into a dive, an azure spear that splintered the sky. The winds howled harshly, their might almost perilous for a dragon that had no intentions to fly idly. The forest below was patched with clearings, and Saphira skillfully darted through the thick canopies, allowing her extended wings to reduce the momentum that preceded the landing.
As soon as she touched the earth, Saphira lowered herself to the ground, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey.
Thorn landed not far away from her. Saphira trudged her body over the moist soil, raking the dirt with her sharp claws. The sparkling water present on plants, leaves and grass transferred on her light colored underbelly scales, coating them with fresh smelling grime.
No smell mattered to her. The plants lost their alluring fragrance, and the sky was a wan, lackluster mass of color and space that failed to sparkle with crimson brilliance, like the dragon in front of her.
When she was close enough, Saphira licked his snout a few times and rolled on her side, pawing at Thorn playfully. Humming softly, Thorn nuzzled her snout affectionately and nipped her paw. There was a reluctance in his sluggish moves, a hint of hesitation in his delicate strokes of tongue.
Slightly irritated, Saphira shifted on her belly and fidgeted around him impatiently. For him, the attack bore a deeper meaning, but Saphira persistently strolled in front of him, growling lustfully and occasionally exposing her belly.
Her efforts paid off. With his doubts abolished, Thorn's moist tongue darted out, brushing against her snout lovingly.
Pleased with the attention she received, Saphira grumbled with delight. She was not alone anymore. There was no reason to doubt Thorn, even if they had not been sympathetic to one another in the past.
Thorn had been an enemy. The soft rumbling, the hum of joy, the inquisitive poking at her underbelly were once the fierce growls of battle, the roars of enmity. She only approached him during a battle; in no way to satisfy the urge of her instincts.
Instead of pushing him away aggressively, Saphira allowed him to sniff and lick her underbelly. It took her a mistake to realize that Thorn was a suitable mate, while her wildness prevented Saphira from acknowledging the trust Thorn harbored for her.
From her lower position, she buffeted Thorn with a flick of her wings and licked him encouragingly. Her nostrils flared with anticipation, her hind paws brushing and clawing gently against Thorn's front legs. The choice had already been made. Thorn would be her mate.
Saphira growled in delight when a presence poked her underbelly. For a female, allowing a male to surmount her challenges, her fiery passion, her enthusiastic nature and demanding playfulness by giving him the privilege to brave her silken depths was the ultimate display of trust. Only after this mating ritual should Thorn rightfully bear the trust reserved only for the one Saphira would call her mate.
A low roar of delight erupted from Saphira's throat as a mystifying mix of pleasure and fiery passion consumed her. Ethereal embers seemed to shift in and out of existence, poking at her scales playfully, tickling her warmer-than-usual body. Fluttering her wings docilely, her hind paws brushed against Thorn's flanks involuntarily, claws trying to grab onto something. Her tail, wrapped around the base of Thorn's own lengthy tail, applied a little pressure every time he would lower his hindquarters, closing the distance between their bellies. The bulging muscles of his hind legs acquired a slight shiver, and Saphira could only suspect the reason for it.
The mating itself brought pleasure to both of them, encouraging their kind to produce offspring using an ancient yet effective method to pair two dragons. But more important than that, however, was the unyielding bond of trust that thickened its form. It was the trust that made Thorn the right choice for mate, having all the qualities and abilities needed to care for her and their future hatchlings. A male that oozed confidence was often the best choice for a female.
Saphira's limbs jerked slightly, her head inching closer to Thorn. The sensitive and stimulated walls of her depths contracted and relaxed rapidly around the intrusive member which ceaselessly brushed against them, its moves slow, enticing, in a repeating cycle. Consumed by pleasure, Saphira's body shuddered as she extended her neck, nipping gently at Thorn's paw.
Fettered by the thrill of the mating, Thorn arched his head, clenching his jaws around her neck. He bit at her scales repeatedly, licking her between each bite.
The dragoness roared, the sound not harsh and full of rage, but melodic and soft. Her mind became clouded, the fiery pleasure that engulfed her body preventing her from focusing on anything else that did not include the mating. Thorn's bites became stings, the soft scratches at her haunches mere itches.
With the mating past its pinnacle, the male emitted a similar piercing sound, and then, the fuzzy presence that clouded Saphira's mind began to lessen in intensity. The delight of the mating, the fiery pleasure, the instincts that overpowered her, it all came to an end as Thorn oozed hope in her underbelly. Together, they would resurrect their once thriving species.
Saphira felt restless after the mating, and she chose to spend all that unused energy in battling Thorn.
At first, Saphira assumed that agility and speed would grant her victory. Thorn's constitution and skills, however, provided worthy traits. When Saphira swiped her tail at him approaching form, Thorn advanced through her powerful hit and used the momentum to topple the surprised dragoness.
Defeat was not sour at all. The victor soothingly licked the overpowered, and Saphira relished the touch of his caressing tongue.
In Thorn's presence, she felt alive. Unknown reserves of energy—even wrestling skills she was not aware of—came to her aid from the unfathomable depth of her wild side. Among the presence of her own kin, Saphira could unleash her ferocity without the fear of hurting her mate. In the sky, Thorn flew besides her—not a burden saddled on her back.
Saphira shivered slightly, her tail coiling around her mate's when Thorn licked her sensitive underbelly. She was vaguely aware of her mesmerizing scent, and Thorn seemed particularly interested in that certain area. Saphira had to bite his neck lightly to gain back his attention, and with it, the pleasant licking.
But that too bored Saphira. After nuzzling Thorn's chest—all the way up to his jaw, Saphira hummed playfully and moved away from the shadow of the trees, into the clearing. Thorn shortly followed her. This time, Saphira wanted to win a flying contest without a head start.
By frantically flapping her mighty wings, Saphira faced fatigue faster than Thorn, who trailed behind her. Their target was a ledge in the mountains that overlooked the gorge.
Being the more experienced flier, Saphira skillfully made use of her knowledge and training with Glaedr. On upward currents, Saphira glided. Against gusts, she flapped with force, trying to defeat them swiftly.
Thorn was not quite majestic, but his stamina lasted longer than hers. Saphira narrowly won the contest against a lesser flier with better endurance. She dwelled not on it, however. More urgent thoughts demanded her attention.
Saphira looked over the gullies that made up the gorge. The wind howled relentlessly, whistling against their huddled forms. With their wings tucked to battle the ferocious wind, the dragons had to preserve heat by staying close to each other.
Somewhere below, her deluded Rider continued his absurd quest. Having discovered a part of her wild nature, Saphira cared little about a human that granted her nothing but captivity, false promises and betrayal. Left, his party moved.
Saphira roared harshly, unleashing her inner flame. With her mate perched next to her, Saphira was no longer alone. By mating repeatedly with Thorn, she would soon lay eggs. The part of her life as a bonded dragon was over.
Even if the significance of this place eluded Thorn, he still licked Saphira. She welcomed his comforting and reassuring touch by rubbing her cheek against his neck affectionately. Her link with Eragon was a trick of magic. Easily forgotten, unlike her bond created with Thorn. This bond was hers, and they were both equal. Not dragon and burden on her back. But two distinct beings of the sky.
Positioning herself against the wind, Saphira unfurled her wings and plunged into the chilling breeze, flying to the right side of the gorge and beyond. To a place where Eragon could not find her.