At first he thought he was dead. Yet he could feel the cold on his skin, and the rustling of cloths partially covering him. Even if the place could make one think of the afterlife, it was nevertheless in Neridanne that he was. He was indeed on the continent of men.
He was still too weak to get up, but could already turn his head a little, observing what was around him.
Apparently lying on a rocky plateau on the edge of the river, he could see a large, half-frozen waterfall surrounded by snow-covered pines, whose lively waters meandered between broken rocks, on a bed of light gray pebbles, which the water seemed to change into a sparkling mirror.
The daylight pierced through a few stray clouds passing over the nearby peaks.
He didn't know this place, and doubted he had ever been here before.
His thoughts were still confused, but he could distinctly hear a heavy, harsh breathing. A huge creature, judging by the sound of inhalations and exhalations, was standing nearby. He could also hear another breath, smaller, but just as present. Perhaps it was Fusain, or the little girl.
The constant sound of the torrent of water falling from the top of the waterfall did not make it any easier to think. And his shoulder was as sore as ever. He glanced at his arm, and noticed that although the blood had dried, his wound had not been healed. His body was still very heavy, but as the minutes passed, he felt that he could move more and more.
He didn't know exactly how he had escaped death, but Vatish, the Goddess of Fate, had to be involved. How long it took, he did not know. But there came a moment when he could try to stand up, sitting on the cold ground.
A small campfire was burning near him, the wood crackling with heat. This did not bring back good memories. Then, he turned his head to the left.
Fusain was well there. His mane was somewhat scorched, but he was in good shape despite what had happened. He gratified his master with a hit of the muzzle on the back, before returning to what seemed to be a form lying on the ground. A huge shape.
Wynblow.
She was breathing, but not moving much.
"Wynblow! "Ewan shouted.
He drew on his newly regained strength, and stood up just long enough to get to the dragoness. Her scales danced under the light and to the rhythm of her breathing, which made the young man think that her name was really appropriate.
But in that silvery glow, a reddish wound sliced cleanly through the scales for a good two meters, running from the middle of the right hind leg to the bottom of the belly.
"Wynblow... Are you okay?" Worried the young man, crouching down in front of her.
The dragoness opened her eyes, and with a weary look, stared at the young man. She must have found it painful to have her nap disturbed by a human, but she ignored it.
"Yes, don't worry. I'm not going to die because of this, although I admit that the pain hasn't diminished over the days..."
"Days?!" He exclaimed with surprise.
She seemed somewhat disturbed by the rise in tone, frowning.
"Four days," she said simply.
He had been unconscious for several days? What could have been going on, all that time?
After the surprise wore off, other questions came to the young hunter's mind.
"I've been unconscious all this time?" he asked. "And... there was a little girl with me. I found her in the village..."
As if to answer his question, the dragoness pointed her head forward, to show something to Ewan.
The latter turned around, and saw that the little girl had just joined them, branches too big for her in her arms, and a panicked look going back and forth between him and Wynblow.
"She seems to be terrified of me..." Wynblow added.
"Color me surprised." Said Ewan.
The little girl, her feet wrapped in cloth that Ewan recognized as one of his blankets now reduced to shreds, hurried to go throw the branches she held on the fire. Then, just as quickly, she went to sit down at the other end of the rocky platform, as far away from the dragon as possible.
"Did you fuel the fire by yourself? All this time?" Ewan asked.
The little girl merely nodded, before burying her head in her arms.
"She didn't say a word," said Wynblow.
That was to be expected. She was probably still in shock over what had happened. And being in close proximity to a creature known to eat humans was surely not encouraging.
"You'll excuse me, but since I don't have any hands, I wasn't able to attend to your injured arm, which may be infected," Wynblow stated, before resting his heavy head on the ground.
Ewan got up again, and this time managed to stand.
"My arm can wait. What really worries me is your injury. It's much more ugly and serious." He observed.
He began to move towards the nearest bushes, slowly but surely.
"Where are you going?" She asked, raising her head slightly.
"I'm going to look for some herbs. If I'm not mistaken, we're near the Westfalls, so I'd find Elianthine, and hopefully some gray moss."
"I see..." She said simply.
Wynblow then rested her heavy head, and closed her eyes.
Even if the risk of someone finding her was almost non-existent, there was still the possibility that an attack could occur. So Ewan hurried on.
He had not thanked the dragoness, although he knew that it was surely her who had saved them.
He didn't know how she had done it, but she had certainly interfered, hence this wound combining tears and burns.
He felt a strong sense of guilt, even though it was only a dangerous creature he had known for a few days.
Moreover, he had taken a reckless risk, for the sake of the dead, at the expense of the living. He was the only one at fault.
So the least he could do was to take care of his savior and make sure she survived.
But with these events, his debt to her had become excessive. So he felt he had to get her to her destination, no matter what. He could no longer find excuses or pretexts for not doing so.
But they also had a new person in their little group. He still didn't know what he was going to do with the little girl he had rescued. Should he leave her in the next village they came across?
With these thoughts, he wandered through the forest for a while, until he found the herbs he was looking for near some old trunks covered with greenery.
The snow was beginning to melt in places, the sun's rays coming through the sparse branches. He knew more or less where they were, in what area, but not exactly where they were standing. The place seemed to be rather out of the way, and he mentally thanked Wynblow for this wise choice; although he suspected that the Salamander had to act in a hurry and didn't really have a choice regarding the location.
He returned to the area where their makeshift camp was located, and picked up some dead wood soaked by the ever-present snow. Starting a fire with it would be very hard, so he was relieved to see that the small wood fire was still burning.
Right. He would have plenty of time to ask Wynblow how she had conducted their rescue.