Chapter Fifty-Six: Remembering the past
Over 1000 Years earlier
Namhera knew he was going to die. The forces of Darkness had struck him hard and he felt the live leaving is body with each drop of blood that dripped from the ugly and deep wounds in his chest.
The usual strong beating of his heart was decreased to a weak flutter.
He shifted uncomfortably but every movement hurt even more.
His wings were broken. There was no way of escape.
Oh how he wished to know who the battle had ended. If it had ended at all.
The sand in which he laid got between his scales and it made him even more uncomfortable.
Why, oh why had he been so careless?
Had he just stick with the others, thinks might have gone differently. He'd be unharmed and fighting side by side with his brothers, just like he should.
Exhausted he laid his tall head down. He tasted blood in his mouth. A lot of his teeth had been knocked out and broken when he crash-landed face first in this god-forsaken place.
He couldn't see anything but sand. Everywhere. There was just sand.
His heartbeat sounded loud in his own ears.
Maybe it's better like this, he thought.
Just as he was about to give up, he saw something ahead of him.
In the evening heat, the sand flickered and everything was blurred and out of focus.
But surely, he saw something coming his way.
A wild animal perhaps?
Normally nothing would dare come near a dragon of his kind. But he was dying, inured, the perfect prey, the perfect meal.
But as the silhouette got closer, Namhera realized that it wasn't an animal.
No. It was a human.
Humans. They were an odd bunch. A strange creation. He wasn't too fond of them. After all, they were the reason why they had to fight and because of that they probably were the reason why he was injured.
He'd seen some of his friends let them ride their backs.
Namhera had been hesitant. He wasn't a horse.
What was this human doing here?
Had he fallen like he had?
Had he been fighting at all?
The human had gotten closer now.
He was tall with sharp features yet Namhera was sure he hadn't seen too many winters. He had a dark skin; smooth like they all had. No protection at all!
The cloths he had wrapped around his body were dark too.
He had one of these pointy silver sticks hanging from his midsection and another, longer, thing over his back.
He stopped in front of Namhera and his calculating eyes drifted over his bloody body.
These eyes were the color of the full moon and stood clear against the dark face and the dark skin.
Namhera growled slightly.
He knew humans couldn't understand their language so he didn't bother trying to talk to him.
So his irritation was doubled when the human in a smooth voice said: "I saw you fall. I'm here to help you." and the word came perfectly clear out in the tong of the dragons.
"You…can understand me?" Namhera asked silently.
The human shrugged.
"Yes. I don't know why. Others can't. But I do." He again inspected Namhera. "What happened to you?" he asked.
"I fought. That's what happened." The human moved closer and knelt down next to the wound.
Namhera growled.
"What are you doing?" "I'm trying to help you. I'm the tribe's healer's son. I know a few things about dressing wounds."
"Why would you help me?"
"You're joking right? They won't let us fight in this war, so the least thing I can do is care for those who do."
"Who won't let you?"
"The village elder, the chief, everyone. They say we have nothing to do with the other nations and that it's not our fault that its war."
Namhera snorted and winced because it hurt so much.
"That's a stupid reason." He panted.
"That's what I said. I said we are all one big tribe. We're all humans. But they don't care about what a simple boy has to say."
Namhera heard the bitterness in his voice.
"And you want to fight?" "More than anything else. It's my destiny."
"Your destiny?"
"That's what the golden man said."
"What golden man?"
"I don't know his name. But he was huge, had dark skin like myself and golden eyes and giant sword. He said I had to fight. That being part of this war would be my destiny. And that my legacy would be needed again."
Namhera looked at the human.
All pain had faded to the back of his mind.
"What's your name human? Mine is Namhera of the Whispering Deaths."
"My name is Brave."
Hopes eyes flew open, he breath caught in her throat as she trying to calm her wild beating heart down.
Outside horns sounded, signaling that something was happening.
She threw her covers away and stumbled out of her tent, blinking into the rising run over the desert.
From her position on top of the dune where they had built their temporary camp, she could see three large and four small black figures staggering through the sand.
She had a sluggish feeling in her stomach as she hastily ran back inside her tent and got dressed.