CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:
~ PROFANITY
The pair left the dry warmth of the inn during the early morning, entering the streets that were filled with large, deep puddles. The cool and crisp air biting at their skin made them both pull their furs tighter to their bodies. The morning sun was rising slowly, its light casting the only warmth available onto the landscape. Mounting their horses, they rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Eskil's body was becoming more familiar with riding, and despite the aches and pains it caused him, he was not jostled around in his saddle anymore. His mind was tangled in webs, and he didn't know which route of the webs he should take. He was disappointed in himself. How much had he hated Libelle over the last few years? He was so incredibly angry about her blasted interference with her magic and the gods' help.
He wanted to return to his true form; he wanted his wings back. That much was true. However, was it still the truth that he wanted her life? Her blood on his hands? It was growing more and more frustrating by the second. Nothing was making sense when it came to her anymore. He didn't have answers for any of it.
The day passed quietly and smoothly, and the last day of their journey to her home was ending fast as another quaint town slowly came into their view. Libelle had stared straight ahead the entire ride. She never once spoke to him, nor did she even look at him. She seemed distracted by something.
They approached the town, and he was surprised to see so few people milling about the street. Libelle dismounted her stallion when they neared the first building and led him down the main road of the small town called Lowestoft. It was nearing evening, and many shops were closing for the night as families returned to their cottages for mealtime and rest. The sun was just beginning to dip in the sky, notifying the land they had roughly three hours of sunlight left. They had about an hours' worth of riding left to do to reach home. Eskil dismounted and stretched his legs before he walked his horse over to Libelle. Even though there were only a few people out and about in the town, several guards paced the roads and they seemed to be eyeing him suspiciously.
Libelle nodded towards a few of the guards she recognized, but never stopped for conversation. They passed the iron workers forge and both sniffed the air. There was a certain aroma that struck his nose as they weaved in between people, and it was an aroma that he would not label as delightful. The smell got stronger as they neared the outskirts of the small town, and Eskil could not help but cover his nose with his hand.
Just outside the town and behind the guard tower was the corpse of a rotting dragon, one that had been slain more than a few days ago. The smaller size of it indicated it was fairly young, but he did not recognize it in this state. Scales had been ripped from its tough hide, and it looked like the villagers had been cutting into its body to salvage its bone. The dragon must not have gone down easily, as its body was covered in spear and blade lacerations. It was unclear if these wounds were made before or after death.
He watched as Libelle paused for moment, gazing at the dragon's body with a numb expression. She stood still for a minute longer, then gathered her stallion's reins tighter in her hands and began to walk forward.
She wasn't going to stop? How dare she!
Eskil growled and grabbed Libelle by her arm, squeezing it tightly and yanking her back. "You have the nerve to condemn me? Accusing me of murder in cold blood, even accusing me of the murder of mortals that never experienced my roar. You call me death-bringer. Monster."
He pointed to the dead dragon and spoke in a whisper. "Who is the monster here? This is your kind's fault. When dragons kill a mortal, it is fast. Painless. Necessary. But, when mortals kill a dragon, it is some sick display of power that your kind do not have. Mortals attempt to rule the world."
Libelle pulled her arm from his tight grip. "We are leaving."
He stopped her again and standing behind her, he hissed into her ear, "You cannot call my kin vile when men are just as cruel. Dragons kill to keep balance in the land. I was named death-bringer when I protected what was mine; it is not a title that I obtained willingly, but your kin treat it like it was. Man fight for sport, and they kill for sport, for power. There is no reason for your killing. Dragons are no more a monster than the mortals."
She tried to pull away again. "We need to move away from here." She looked around to see if anyone had noticed them, thanking the Gods that no one had. Yet.
"Dragons were brought into this world to keep the peace and to protect it. Mortals destroyed that peace when they rebelled against our power and against our protection. They corrupted the dragons with their evil ways. Man. Corrupted. Me!"
She shook her head. "We are leaving. Let's go."
Again, she tried to step forward to try and move away from him and his cousin's body. She showed no remorse for its death.
Eskil hissed into her ear again. "You need to look at that young dragon...barely an adult. Like a child to my kind. Man killed him and by the looks of it, they ripped him from the sky and slowly slaughtered him. Tortured him. How can you expect..."
Eskil planted his feet firmly on the ground when she yanked hard, trying to pull herself free; her right hand tangling into her horse's mane, her left arm still caught in his vice-like grip. She coughed and bent forward, her stomach churning before she vomited.
Eskil's grip tightened when he felt her begin to slump forward. "By the gods, what the hell is wrong with you?"