Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
Pharcellus the young dragon of the mountains woke when he felt the
sun warming his human face. His muscles were weary and his back still
ached from the tear in his wing. His dreams had been of chasing a
younger brother through the sky, but they vanished with those rays of
light dancing through the pine needles as the warbling of birds
welcomed Spring's tenuous warmth.
The dragon stretched carefully and climbed out of his bed of stone
and moss, blinking until everything came into focus. A soft dew
covered the ground, and the air smelled sweet and fresh. Not too far
to the south he could hear the thundering rumble of the river. He
neither heard nor smelled any sign of Gmork or his pups.
He chided himself for sleeping as long as he had. Pharcellus had only
intended to sleep for a few hours, and here it was already morning
and the day was fast advancing. He was still several miles from
Fjellvidden and on the wrong bank of the Arabas. With his wing torn
he couldn't even fly, which meant he'd have to run the whole way
back. Who knew how long Calephas or Gmork would leave his younger
brother alive.
Pharcellus could well imagine the look of dismay in his mother's
countenance, the way her head would hag low on her dangling neck, her
wings folded back, tail stilled, and her claws digging through stone
in silent draconic melancholy, if he returned to tell her that
Lindsey had been killed because he hadn't been there to save him.
He took a moment to stretch his legs as he listened to the forest.
Apart from the call of the birds and the roar of the river, he could
hear a distant tremble of needles as a herd of deer moved past
somewhere to the north, as well as the little claws of squirrel and
rabbit as they made their way through the diverse foliage scouring
for food. There was nothing else.
How he wished he could find another dragon to help, but it would just
be up to him and whatever help the birds could find. Pharcellus took
a deep breath, and orienting himself, started to run westward through
the forest, not caring if he left a trail this time.
----------
Their master bid them search the woods to the south of the castle,
and so the three faithful dogs did just that. They sniffed through
the trees, exploring the varied folds of hills and absorbing all the
odors that accumulated and were released by the Spring thaw. Hard
earth and stone met their paws, but their noses uncovered a wealth of
knowledge that fascinated them, but for the most part was
uninteresting to their master.
And if their master wasn't interested in it, neither were they.
Eventually, after an hour's search, they began to hear the sounds of
something moving through the stream that flowed past. They turned
their heads, ears lifted to catch the sound, eyes fixed with canine
intensity, tails stiff. And then, certain of what they heard, the
three hunting dogs loped at a stately pace beneath the brush and
through the hills, being very careful not to make any noise and to
keep downwind from their quarry.
The hills sloped down to a little gully through which flowed a stream
flush with snow melt. Little dirt tracks passed back and forth
showing where the forest animals trod on their way to the water.
Pines and firs clustered about and sheltered the river, their boughs
stretching with a million green slivers, some thick and others thin
and flimsy. Beneath that verdant expanse and through the cascading
ripples falling from stone to stone down the gully came a small group
of humans just as their master had predicted.
The three dogs stepped back into the hillside where they would be
very difficult to spot and just watched as they'd been instructed.
Eight men, mostly seasoned men with long beards held in braids, and
one woman passed through the river. Their pace was quick but
measured, and apart from the light splashing, they made no noise nor
gave any other indication of their presence. Their scent which blew
across the dog's black noses was also muted as if they had recently washed.
They each thought on this, noting the bows, hand axes, and short
swords they carried in as much detail as they could see. They could
not smell any food about them, so knew that they had gone into the
woods without provisions.
Master wanted them to watch without being noticed. This fact became
all important to the dogs when the humans were finally close enough
to pass by their hiding place. The dogs crept backward on their paws
until they were sheltered within a cairn of stone. The humans kept
looking over their shoulders but otherwise gave no sign that they
knew the dogs were there.
Once the humans were out of view, the dogs wagged their tails and
loped to another vantage point from which to watch. Their master was
going to bee so happy with them.
----------
On returning to his listening room, Gmork bade his eldest join his
two youngest pups in slumber while he remained before his hundredfold
baubles and listened to the multitudinous voices of his pets. Most
had nothing to say to him, even those living in Fjellvidden whom he
had conscripted to keep watch for the Resistance. That shipwright had
gone down to the mill after his pups returned to keep an eye on the
road for the rumored men of the tundra but had seen nothing, not even
a fleeing merchant. Usually they were the first to flee when the
soldiers began knocking on doors and dragging people to the castle.
Once all three of his pups were sleeping in the pile of furs in
various guises of human and beast, Gmork allowed himself the luxury
of sparing a few minutes to study the one who until last night had
been kept chained in the dungeons. He crept on all fours, allowing
fur to blossom all across his back, neck, and arms, while his snout
stretched out to its full length. Gmork sniffed the sleeping beast
coated in patches of fur with a half-grown snout and soft fur coating
his otherwise human cheeks.
The first thing he noted was that the wounds he'd suffered to his
face had healed completely. Gmork was glad to see it; he hated seeing
his pups wounded. The other thing he noticed was that the lines of
stress and confusion that had always been present before were
completely gone. There was no confusion in him anymore; this pup knew
who his father was, knew that he loved his father, and knew to obey
his father. This pup had finally accepted that he was a beast.
Or so it appeared at least. Gmork peered deeper into his spirit,
noting the confluence of magical energies that wound ever more
tightly inside him. Unlike his previous ventures into the magical
nature of his pup, this time the lines of energy yielded easily to
his entrance. They knew him know, and knew that his presence amongst
his pup's perplexing power was permitted. His will stretched forth
and wound through those lines, gently coaxing them and soothing them
as they coursed round and round their central core.
With only a little bit of effort, there was some residual resistance
to his delving so far, he was able to unwrap the tangle of cords that
hid the closed fist at the center of his pup's being. He felt his own
flesh shudder with the surprisingly taxing exertion, before he
glimpsed it. The hand, once clean and purely human, was now coated
completely in black fur, while the hard callused flesh beneath was a
dark cream in hue. Claws, pointed and thick tipped each finger as the
beastly hand remained fixed and immobile, hiding whatever might be
inside from all view.
Gmork stroked the hand with his will, brushing down the fur along its
back with soft kisses. Yet the hand did not relax even after several
long minutes of his contact. What could his pup be hiding there? Was
it some level of his personality that he had not yet surrendered?
Gmork would have to watch him very carefully in the weeks to come to
make sure that his acquiescence to Gmork was true and complete. Even
a sliver of defiance could be dangerous.
If not for the Resistance so active and troublesome, he would have
spent a few hours stroking that clenched fist. Eventually he knew it
would open and he could be fully certain of his pup's complete
adoption. His transformation into a pup of Gmork would be wholly
complete then. But he could not afford such time now and had to trust
in his pup's love. What few things his eldest had said of him about
their foray into the city delighted him.
Gmork had been right. This one would be a ruthless and devoted son to
his father.
Contended for the moment, he withdrew from his pup and gently stroked
one paw down his fur-coated back once. A triangular ear twitched and
he pressed more protectively against the still human boy whom Gmork
had only begun to adopt. The great wolf mage of Fjellvidden smiled
with all of his jowls to see it.
No amount of defiance and no spell would ever make this one human
again. He would always be Gmork's pup now.
Satisfied, Gmork returned to listening to his many pets spread
throughout Arabarb. His mind wandered on their words, thoughts as
varied as the stars of the night. After so many long years of
listening he had attuned himself to picking out the thoughts he
wished and drawing them closer for deeper consideration. For many
minutes he heard nothing, minutes that trickled past like water
washing through his toes. But, after what seemed a very long time, he
finally heard something worth listening to.
His three little hunting dogs had seen the humans in the woods. Gmork
smiled as their thoughts betrayed the Resistance. Nine humans, eight
men and one woman, armed modestly but still armed. Heading east
through the stream to the south.
There couldn't be so few could there? Surely there must be others or
they would never have risked revealing themselves. Even an assault on
the eastern gate would fail with so few. Did they trust in their
little powder to give them an advantage?
Gmork took a deep breath and continued to listen. His dogs would
follow them. There was nothing more for him to do just yet. He would
wait. And as he did, his tail swept out the floor with his agitation.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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