The morning mist, thick as spun silver, clung to the dew-kissed leaves of Elicia Sephyra's herb garden. Sunlight, fractured by the ancient trees of the Whispering Woods, dappled the rich earth where chamomile and valerian bloomed in riotous profusion. The air hummed with the sleepy buzz of bees and the chirping of unseen birds. Phaeton, her magnificent Maine Coon cat, lay sprawled amongst the herbs, his silver fur gleaming, one dichromatic eye half-closed in disdainful slumber. Elicia, humming a wordless tune, carefully pruned a rosemary bush, her nimble fingers working with practiced ease. The tranquility was absolute.
Elicia had lived her entire life within the Whispering Woods, an untamed expanse bordering the south of the Empire of Celeste, a sanctuary she had never felt the need to leave. Her days were filled with tending her garden, caring for the myriad creatures who called the woods their home, and the quiet comfort of her solitary existence. She was a healer, of sorts, her knowledge of herbs and their properties almost instinctive, a skill honed through years of observing and nurturing the forest's inhabitants.
A low rumble, like the growl of a distant storm, shattered the peaceful quiet. Before Elicia could react, a colossal shadow fell over her garden, blotting out the sun. A magnificent silver dragon, its scales shimmering like a thousand moons, crashed through the trees, landing with a bone-jarring thud that sent a tremor through the earth. Dust and leaves rained down, momentarily obscuring the beast's form, before revealing the extent of its injuries; a deep gash across its flank bled a viscous, shimmering ichor.
The dragon's immense bulk shuddered with pain, it let out a pained groan that echoed through the woods. As the dust settled, the silver dragon began to shrink, its scales fading into locks of silver hair, its wings shifting into broad shoulders, its ferocious snout transforming into the handsome face of a man, his crimson eyes blazing with intensity and pain, his clothes torn and mud-stained. He looked around cautiously, a mixture of pain and suspicion in his eyes. Elicia, despite her initial shock, felt a surge of compassion. She knew instinctively what she had to do, although the sheer scale of this situation felt daunting, even for a healer of her talents.
Elicia ran towards the mysterious dragon... man, and tried to support his wobbling stature. Fear momentarily flickered across her face as the man, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pain and defiance, shoved her back.
"Stay away." He said, his voice rough and marred with pain.
He stumbled, his strength failing him, the effort of trying to escape his predicament clearly too much. Before he could take another step, he crumpled to the forest floor, unconscious.
Phaeton, roused from his slumber by the commotion, regarded the fallen man with his usual bored indifference, only twitching an ear slightly. Despite the man's harsh rejection, Elicia's compassion overruled any lingering hesitation. She knelt beside him, her heart aching at the sight of his suffering.
His silver hair, now matted with dirt and blood, framed a face etched with pain.
Summoning her strength, she called upon Phaeton for assistance. To her surprise, the usually aloof cat responded, his eyes strangely sharp and attentive as he nudged the man's arm gently. Together, with Elicia's strength and Phaeton's surprisingly deft assistance, they managed to carefully lift the injured man. The journey to her cottage was slow and arduous, the man's weight heavy on their combined strength. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of herbs from Elicia's garden, a contrast to the metallic tang of blood clinging to the man's clothes.
Reaching her cozy cottage, its walls woven from willow branches and mud, Elicia gently laid the man on her patchwork quilt. The soft light filtering through the windows illuminated his face, revealing the full extent of his injuries. The gash on his side was deep, a constant reminder of the dragon's fall. With practiced efficiency, she moved about her cottage, gathering her tools. She meticulously selected herbs; yarrow for staunching blood and several others whose names and properties were known only to her, a whisper of ancient knowledge passed down through the howls of the Whispering Woods. The rhythmic click of the pestle and mortar filled the small space, a counterpoint to the soft purr of Phaeton, who now sat vigilantly by the unconscious man, his silver fur contrasting with the muted colors of the cottage.
As the concoction simmered on the hearth, filling the room with its earthy fragrance, Elicia felt a deep sense of purpose. This man, a powerful and magnificent dragon, had found refuge in her humble home. And she, in her quiet way, would do everything in her power to help him. The air held a palpable tension, a mixture of concern, determination, and the unspoken question of who he was, and why he had fallen in her secluded woods.
Hours melted away as Elicia worked. Sunlight streamed through the cottage window, painting shifting patterns across the floor as she carefully cleaned and dressed the man's wound. The process was painstaking, requiring both skill and gentle touch. He stirred occasionally, a low grown escaping his lips, his brow furrowed in pain, but remained stubbornly unconscious. The rhythmic rasp of her fingers against his skin and the soft swish of the bandages filled the quiet space.
As she carefully removed his mud-caked tunic, revealing the powerful lines of his physique, a soft gasp escaped Elicia's lips. His body was a testament to strength and grace, lean muscles rippling beneath his pale skin. She had, of course, seen humans before – villagers from the distant edges of the woods, hunters passing through – but none like this man. His beauty wasn't merely physical; it was an aura, a potent blend of power and vulnerability that captivated her. The sight of him, vulnerable and reliant on her care, stirred something deep within her; a mixture of awe and protective instinct she couldn't quite explain.
Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cottage floor, she finished bandaging his wound. She stepped back, admiring her work, a mixture of pride and apprehension in her heart.
Turning to Phaeton, who observed the entire process with unimpressed disdain, she murmured "He's stunning, isn't he, Phaeton?"
Phaeton, unimpressed by her exclamation, merely flicked his tail and settled back down, his emerald and amber eyes gleaming with unconcern. Elicia felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, a strange mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration filling her.
She had never felt this way before, a heady mix of protectiveness and the undeniable attraction to this stranger filled her. The silence in the cottage was broken only by the crackling of the fire and the gentle sigh of the wind rustling through the trees outside.