Heroes, Chapter 7

Preface: Greetings, all! This is the seventh chapter of the tale that began with “Heroes – Chapter 1,” and is the third story is a series that began with “What You Don’t Know,” also located on this site, although it features a mostly-different cast of characters.

As always, my standard disclaimer: The monster girls featured in this tale, and many elements of the setting, are based off of the works of Kenkou Cross, and as such this work is intended to be a tribute to his creativity. The characters, however, are my own. Pray neither sue nor steal; I have very little to take, but I love that which is mine.

Chapter 7 – Crossing the Threshold

For the first time in a long while, sitting under a tree with the chill wind tousling his hair, George watched the sun rise in the east.

He had been awake for hours already.  Indeed, he had barely slept at all the previous night, keeping a light doze to maintain his watch.  His excursions during his training had gotten him accustomed to late watches and, when he was older and trained alone, sleeping lightly enough to waken at the snapping of a nearby branch.  His trainers had taken enjoyment in catching pages and squires off-guard, and punishment for being unprepared had been more and more severe, despite the increasing harshness and physical demands of the training.

Still, he had always loved this time of day.  Even during his most taxing training marathons, when his instructors had kept him awake throughout the night with random ‘attacks,’ he had loved the peace and silence of dawn, the promise that those glowing hours held.  But today, weighed down by the thoughts of what had happened the night before, this first new dawn free from his prison cell held little appeal to him.  Both his mind and body were exhausted, his mind from racing all night, and his body from resting on the cold, hard ground, propped against a tree.

He might have slept better in the bedding he had brought from New Haven, but it was currently occupied.

That thought sent a cold chill rushing into his stomach once more.  His tired mind didn’t, this time, run back over the events that had led to this situation – the bow shot that had brought the beast down, the discovery of the wounded girl, the realization that she wasn’t his target, and everything after – but instead just prodded at the question in front of him, like a tongue poking relentlessly and fruitlessly at a loose tooth: what was he going to do with her?  What could he do?

Sighing, George stood from his post, restraining a grunt at the soreness of his body.  He stretched as best he could as he made his way down the hill, almost enjoying the physical distraction from his thoughts.  He wished that he had someone else here to talk to, to help him figure this situation out – Simon, preferably.  But Simon was far away, and they were on different sides now.  No, George had to figure this out on his own, without help… but spending the night agonizing on the matter hadn’t brought him any closer to his decision.

He came up to the fire he had built the night before, where he had made his small camp.  Even the ashes had given up their smoke, not even a hint of a glow remaining, but the camp’s other inhabitant looked warm enough, swaddled in the bedding Simon had given to George.  Only her face, placid in sleep, was exposed – and the claws and scales of the peaks of her wings, one of the pair wrapped tightly in bandages that were darkly-stained.  He stepped in that direction, thinking to check on the wound underneath the bandages, but checked himself as her eyelids stirred.  Better instead to put off the conversation, to let her sleep – and to hope an answer to this situation would come to him before she woke up.

Quietly, he sat down on the smooth stone that had been his seat the night before, when he had first seen the shadow in the sky.  He stared into the motionless pile of fire-blackened wood as if watching the fire it had been before, his mind forcing him to go over the memories of the last night once again.  The first spotting, the shot, the crash, the roar of the greater beast – it played again in his mind with pristine detail.  He only seized up at the moment he had approached this girl, bow in hand, ready to- But he couldn’t.  She was…  Unconsciously, a ragged sigh ripped itself out of him.  Instead, he had tended to the very wound he had just made, pouring potion after potion onto the wound after he had pulled the arrow from the scaled flesh, snapping it just before the fletchings and cleaning it of splinters before using the arrowhead to pull it free.  She had screamed at both, the breaking and the pulling, and the sounds had pierced him in turn – her pain was his fault.  She was a monster, but she was… innocent.  She didn’t have to hurt like this; he had done it.

And so he had to make it right.

The potions had done their work; that alchemist Roger apparently knew his stuff, because, even as George had watched, the flesh had begun to knit itself closed, swelling and then spreading.  He had worked the fluid deep into the hole, keeping it from pouring back out the other side, but it had been viscous enough to cling to the torn flesh readily.  Once George had run out of the potions, he had cut cloth from his shirt to wrap the bend of the wing, making sure the cleanest portions of the fabric came into contact with the wound as it was the best he could do in the circumstances.  Throughout it all, the girl had been dazed, and he worried that the collision had perhaps concussed her.  When his ministrations were complete, she had fallen still, and he forced himself to watch her chest – inadequately-covered and expansive, he noted with a blush – to see it rise and fall.  Reassured that she was still alive, if battered and helpless, he had stood over her for long minutes, his mind in a crisis of what to do with her.  But, to leave her there would be asking for something less concerned with her well-being to find her, and so he had done the only thing that seemed responsible: hefting her in his arms, he had carried her all the way back to his camp.  After wrapping her in his bedding, he had taken his watch on the hill above, thankful she hadn’t woken through the whole experience, dreading the moment that she would, yet hoping that she hadn’t been too hurt by the crash that she wouldn’t wake at all.

But he didn’t know what he would say to her when she did.

Leaning back, he looked up at the mountain beyond.  This wasn’t what he had expected when he had taken this mission.  Instead, his real target was up there, at the mountain’s summit.  And, once that battle was over, he could leave all this… complicated conflict behind, and return back to his home, to the Capital.  Then life could go back to being straightforward… as soon as this was finished.

That thought made him glance to the side, and into the yellow eyes, almost human except for the vertical slits, staring at him.

George froze in place.  Though she looked like a girl, this was a monster he was dealing with, and not one of the civilized ones that lived in the town.  She might be more like a wild animal, and wounded at that.  If she lashed out, he would have to be ready to run or fend her off-

“Meanie.”

George blinked at the childish insult in the woman’s voice, his eyes widening.  Her expression didn’t change; she wore a frown, her lips almost pouted, and her sullen eyes bored into him.  She didn’t seem inclined to say anything further, and George found he could only stammer at first.  What- what could he say to that?

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed.  He spread his hands before him, leaning forward slightly. “I… I didn’t know.  I thought…” He took a deep breath, looking to the ground. “I’ve been sent here to deal with the dragon at the top of this mountain, and… I thought you were her.”

Glumly, he turned to glance at her during the pause after his explanation, to discover her eyes were wide, staring at him as if he had just declared the sun would be purple tomorrow.  Her slow blink left him unnerved, but not nearly as much as what came next.  The explosion of raucous laughter rang out across the nearby hills as the girl bellowed with guffaws, kicking and writhing inside the bedding at the absolute hilarity of his statement.  Frowning instantly, George stood and stepped towards her, trying to clarify his statement. “It was dark, and when I saw you flying overhead-”

“Stuuupid!” she managed, grinning maliciously at him. “Stupid knight thinks I’m a dragon?  Does he think he is a rabbit?”  Her smirk showed a wealth of white teeth as she sat up in the bedding, shrugging a bit to wiggle the fabric further down her body. “Maybe Mister Knight shouldn’t go shooting his bow at night if he can’t tell me from a dragon!”

“You have wings, you have a tail-”

“You have fur, you have legs, ears – rabbit?”

George struggled to form a response.  As he did so, the girl continued to squirm her way out of the embracing bedding, careful not to jostle her wounded wing needlessly.  As soon as she was able, she stretched out the unharmed wing, testing it gingerly, inspecting it with her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry-” he managed.

“Should be.”

“But I’ve never seen… whatever kind of lizard-girl you are-”

“Not lizard!” she interrupted, her eyes alight with fury. She scowled at him. “Callie is a wyvern!”

“A w-what?”

“Not awutt, a wyvern!” the girl leaned towards him, capturing his eyes with her own. “Wy-vernnn.” She enunciated the word as if speaking to an especially slow pupil, despite the fact that she was the one with the oddly-childish speech pattern, a stark contrast with her husky voice and a body that definitely belonged to someone around George’s own age. “Two wings!  Two legs!  Not big and dumb and fat like dragon.”

George nodded slowly.  He did remember something like that from one of his classes back at the Capital.  There had been a day about the various types of dragons, but… he had never done well in those classes.  Too much to read, too little time to do it…

“But, you didn’t look like that when I shot you.”

The girl finally extricated herself from the bedding, standing up.  She was shorter than George, coming up to his chin.  Her hair was oddly-colored, almost like a lilac, and only came to the nape of her neck.  Two ridged horns colored the same deep green as the scales elsewhere on her body protruded back from her temples, and two fins took the place of her ears.  Her body was mostly that of a slim – if chesty – human girl, to her elbows and knees.  Her forearms became her wings, which had light-green webbing that connected from their tips to her back.  Her legs were heavily scaled and ended in brutal talons, much like the hooked claws at the upmost tips of her wings.  Behind her, a thick tail hung to the ground, likewise scaled in the same deep green.  She wore only the most minimal of outfits: a chestwrap with clawed decorations that helped to support her breasts, and a waistband that was also scaled, and had a cloth triangle covering her most intimate places.  Blushing, George looked away from his inspection of her as she glanced at him, coming closer.

“Of course not, stupid!  Flying is easier in bigform!”

“‘Bigform?’” George asked.

“Yeah!”  The girl nodded, and, to George’s shock and alarm, began to transform.  She splayed her wings as she began to grow, her neck lengthening and her face extending.  Scales grew over every pale part of her, until her underside was uniformly palely green, while her dorsal side was the same dark-green as her legs.  As she changed, she grew, and despite himself George took a step back, gawking at her as she lengthened and smoothed.  The transformation itself wasn’t traumatic or apparently painful, and in a moment she stood proudly before him, towering over the campsite, bigger even than the horse he had ridden to this place.  Her head now was wedge-shaped and narrow, but the eyes were still the same he had seen in her face moments ago – the same serpentine slit, the same teasing gleam. For that moment, she stood there, blocking out the sun, her head raised, her wings half-spread, and she was somehow… beautiful.  But the moment was lost when she let out a triumphant roar, and George stumbled back, nearly tripping over the stone that had been his seat, starting to reach for his sword-

“See!  Bigform!” The creature’s voice was much deeper now, inhuman, yet still somehow childish, and the fangs she revealed to him had all the feeling of a human’s grin. “I can-” And then she opened her wings fully, and screeched in agony.

George covered his ears at the sound, and when he opened his eyes once more, the girl was shrinking back into her human form.  He rushed forward as she tipped into the fall, holding her wounded right wing tight against her body.  By the time he caught her, she was back to her mostly-human shape, and he could hear her protestations of pain. “Owie, owie, owie…”

He scowled down at the now-girl in his arms. “Of course it hurts!  You’re still wounded!”

Her return grimace was just as fierce. “And whose fault is that, stupid knight?”

“Stop calling me stupid!” he growled indignantly at her, and she stepped away from him, crossing her wing-arms in front of her chest.

“You thought I was a dragon!  You shot me!  You made me crash!” she bellowed back, stamping a clawed foot. “Stuuupid!”

George’s anger was boiling over, leeching away the concern he had felt at her pain. “Fine, you dumb lizard!  Just let me go take care of my business here, and you won’t have to worry about me, or me shooting you, ever again!”

“Don’t call me ‘dumb!’ Or ‘lizard!’ Callie is wyvern, you stupid, smelly…brute!” Her jaw was set, and she leaned towards him furiously. “And you…!” She paused, her face softening, and she straightened. “What do you mean, ‘business?’”

“I told you,” George replied, his anger still hot in his voice, “I came here to get rid of that dragon.  That’s my quest, and once it’s done, I’m free to go.” He didn’t feel inclined to tell her the reasons behind his quest – she didn’t need to know about his imprisonment, or his loyalty to the Holy Orders – in just the same way he didn’t feel the need to correct her about ‘Knight,’ since he was still one promotion away from being able to use that title.

Callie’s laughter this time was considerably more subdued, and felt humorless. “Really?  You… want to fight the dragon?  Alone?” She shook her head, her gaze weighing his credulity. “Quests are dangerous.  Knights don’t come back.  Like this one – dragon-lady is strong, and mean.  She took…” Her jaw shut with an audible ‘click,’ and she paused before continuing. “She takes what she wants.  She might like you and keep you – or throw you off the mountain.”

George’s eyes narrowed, and he stood proudly above the girl with his shoulders back, his chin lifted. “I won’t give her the chance.  I know I will win.  Knights don’t always come back from quests – but heroes do.”

He instantly regretted that.

In the heartbeat before her face changed, his mind raced through the dozens of times he had said similarly-ambitious things to his peers back at the orphanage.  He had stoically dealt with the mocking, and the one-sided roughhousing, that came with such declarations.  Inside, he still felt the same way, but experience had taught him to temper his words better than this – and yet, still, sometimes things slipped out.  He didn’t have time to wince, but internally, he prepared for another eruption of the cawing laughter from earlier.

It didn’t come.

Callie looked up at him, her mouth open in a small ‘o’ of wonder.  Blushing, she looked away from him, scowling at the dirt. “Even heroes don’t fight dragons alone,” she grumbled. “And they don’t always come back.” Her eyes peeped at him sidelong. “But… you are serious?  About chasing off the dragon?”

Well, in his mind, ‘slaying’ was the plan, but no need to mince the details. “Yes.”

Callie turned to face him directly once more, looking over him appraisingly. “How you going to get up to the top?  Mountain is steep.  Lots of monsters on the way.”

“R-really?”

“Um-hmm.  Snow ladies and bat ladies and deer ladies and wind ladies and rock ladies and-” With each type named off in her singsong, Callie ticked her head back and forth like a metronome.

“I… see.” George frowned, considering his feet.  He had expected to have to dodge some monsters on the way up the mountain, but this was sounding a bit more than he had expected.

“Yep!  And then there’s the path: rockfalls and mud pits and dead ends.  Easy for someone with wings, but…”

“I’ll be fine,” George assured her, thinking about her words. “Look, the sooner I go, the further I can make it up the mountain before it gets dark.  I need to find a cave partway up, to rest up for the fight, but I should be able to do so if I don’t take too long.”

“Only a few caves higher up,” Callie pointed out, ‘helpfully.’ “Not easy to find, and full of monsters.” She paused, watching as he started to gather his things, stooping to roll back up his bedding. “You’re… leaving?”

George nodded, sighing. “I have to,” he told her. “My quest-”

“But I can’t fly!” Callie seemed torn between anger and sadness. “How I supposed to hunt?  To get to cave?”

The pain in her voice made George pause. “I… know,” he admitted, the words dragged from within him. “I can leave my food supplies, and when I come back-”

“If!”

He sighed, then turned to face her. “I can’t stay here until you are better.  It shouldn’t take terribly long anyways, with how much the potions healed you.  Within a few days, you should be able to fly again.” Her jaw was stubbornly set, and he spread his hands in a plaintive gesture of helplessness. “Do you know of any way I could help you heal quicker than that?  Or somewhere I could take you, where you would be safe?”

His questions made the girl pause, and she looked down, thinking. “Maybe…” she murmured, then looked at him as if weighing his trustworthiness. “New-old nest is halfway up the mountain,” she explained, “and on the way, there are springs.  Water there is good for healing, Mama always used to say.” She stepped closer to George. “Take me that far, and I will help you find a way.  It’s quicker, I promise.” She leaned closer, sniffing him, and withdrew, her nose wrinkled. “You could take bath in springs, too, stinky.”

“Stinky?!” George protested, withdrawing from her.  He turned slightly to the side, surreptitiously lifting his far arm to sniff at his pit.  He wasn’t bath-fresh, but he certainly had smelled worse on occasions.  He had just bathed the day before!  Sure, he had worked up a sweat, carrying her back to camp, but… “Fine, we can stop at the springs if you think it will help,” he accepted grudgingly, his mind working over her suggestions. “And if I take you to your nest, you’ll be safer?”

Callie nodded eagerly. “Have food there, too.  No one finds that cave.”

George nodded once more, still weighing his options.  If he escorted her up the mountain, then he would have to protect her… but that was his responsibility anyways, since he had wounded her.  And since she knew the way, he might make the journey even faster than going alone.  And once she was safe in her cave, he could feel absolved of his guilt over wounding her. “Alright then,” he said, meeting her suddenly-eager gaze. “I hope you can keep up, since I set a quick pace.” Taking her extended tongue as rude agreement, he smirked and returned to gathering his gear.  His eyes slid to the mountain looming over them, and he didn’t bother to restrain a grin.  His quest was back on the right foot, and soon enough, he knew he would prove his words to her, too.

“Let’s go.”

 

******

 

“Wow…” The open-mouthed utterance seemed hardly adequate for the wonder George felt as, shielding his eyes from the midday sun, he rounded the low ridge to gaze upon the highland springs that Callie had spoken of.  A wide fan of stepped pools sported deep blue water that gleamed in the midday sun, the view only occluded by the misty haze in the air produced by the irregular pillars of lumpy stone that fountained forth intermittent sprays of steaming water.  The springs dominated much of the slope, but further down the waters drained into a cauldron formed by a curving ridgeline.  There, the trapped waters had dissolved the earth into a deep muddy bog that seethed and bubbled, a wide lake of viscous mud, too deep and liquid for plant life, that looked ready to swallow up anything that stumbled nearby.  Despite that hazard further down the slope, the springs nearby seemed safe and pleasant, some of them forming pools that looked deep enough for George to swim in.

“See!’ Callie crowed, trotting past him in a hurry to get to the waters. “Springs!  Healthy and fun!”

Chuckling, George followed after the winged girl, eager to take a break and set down the gear he was carrying.  He had set a quick pace since they had departed the campsite, and had permitted only brief rests for water.  Fortunately, the wind off the mountain slopes was refreshingly cool, but the constant uphill march was daunting – as was the need to keep Callie on track.  She hadn’t complained about the hike, but had tended to get distracted along the way, asking questions, stopping to look at interesting plants or views, or just meandering off a bit as she sang to herself.  The songs she vocalized were wordless, yet felt oddly nostalgic to George, despite his sole exposure to music coming in the form of the often-militant choruses of the Church.  These songs felt much more soothing, and had taken George’s mind off his exertion as they ascended the mountain, wrapping around to the west as they traveled.

According to Callie, the mountain’s slope was easier to ascend on its western and northern sides, though there was one exception: the ‘snowlands’ she had told him laid just beyond the crevasse at the end of these springs.  With the steam in the air, it was hard to see, but he thought he could see the cliff’s edge some distance beyond the pools.  It seemed odd to George that there would be snow so far down the mountain; after all, they were scarcely half-way to the summit, and the rocky hills around here were still sparsely covered in fine grass and wildflowers.  Still, the areas further around the bend of the mountain would be largely in the shadows of its neighbors even during the morning, and so snow could survive better at a lower altitude, he supposed.  It still felt strange to him – though, so did half of the things the girl said, so for now he just accepted her words without questions.

George followed Callie down the slope towards the pools, nodding to her when she glanced back at him to prompt him to hurry.  As he walked, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the lingering smell of rotten eggs in the air, but that reek of sulfur didn’t seem to phase Callie, despite her quick accusation of ‘stinky’ to him earlier.  Indeed, she rushed up to one of the bigger pools, waving for him to join her, but he took a moment to deposit his pack and bow a distance away, safe from the dampness in the air.  Once that was done, he turned to follow her once more, his hand briefly reaching to unbuckle his swordbelt but not finishing the gesture, leaving him one measure of protection in this unfamiliar place.

“Come onnnn, slowpoke!” Callie scolded, wingtips on her hips as she tapped a clawed foot.  He didn’t alter his pace, drawing close a moment later.  She extended her wounded wing to him, and obligingly he unwrapped the bandages, giving the cratered wound a once-over before freeing her with a warning to still keep the injury itself out of the water. “Okay, okay!” she whined, and turned to rush to the water’s edge, her scaled tail wagging behind her.

As she reached the slope that fell into the pristine water, she closed her eyes for a moment in concentration.  George’s eyes widened as her clothing seemed to vanish, clawed accessories and all.  All but instantly, she stood before him in the nude, and he couldn’t help but follow the generous lines of her body with his eyes – though as oddly immature as she could act, her body was breath-takingly beautiful, and he swallowed against a too-tight throat as he saw parts of her he had never seen on any other woman.  She smiled at him guilelessly as he gawped at her, glancing to the water before looking back to him. “Coming?”

“Ah- oh, into the water, uh, yes!” George stammered artlessly, looking away with a scalded blush.  Shrugging, Callie stampeded into the pool, shrieking with delight at how warm the water was as she kicked rainbows into the air.  George watched her go, noticing without discomfort the way her tail rested at the base of her spine but didn’t interrupt the rounded curve of her backside, until she fell forward into the water and his view was lost in the splash.  Forcing himself to turn away, George began to remove his own clothes, pulling off his shirt and folding it roughly before setting down on a patch of dry stone.  The rocky ground here was oddly nobbly and smooth, though in some places mud was congealed into drifts, mere fragments of the goopy pit downhill from the springs.  Blushing, George glanced behind him to see Callie splashing about in the water, laughing out loud as she surged through the pool.  Reassured that she was occupied, he reached down to undo his belt and pants and lowered them to the ground, hastily folding them and setting them atop his shirt along with his boots.  It was only then that he noticed the splashing had ceased, and he glanced back to see Callie staring, unabashedly, at his own backside, a sloppy grin on her lips as she ogled him.  Before he could think better of it, he whirled to face her – only to realize his mistake as her eyes shot open wide and her jaw dropped, and with an audible ‘Eep!’ she dove under the water.  His blush now flaring hotter than the geysering steam jets around them, George attempted to cover himself as he approached the water’s edge, though his steps were wobbly on the uneven ground.  Callie re-emerged from the water with her face covered by her wing, though George noted, with some embarrassment, that despite the protective barrier he could see her peeping over its edge, her yellow eye locked onto his poorly-shielded groin.

George made his way into the water, sighing at the comfort of the soothing warmth as well as the security of his now-submerged nakedness.  Callie still stared at him as he came closer, her eyes roaming his chest before finding his face and turning away with a scarlet blush.  George felt suddenly uncomfortable as the awareness of a naked girl within arm’s reach sank into him, and he, too, looked into the water awkwardly.  The tense moment lingered, until George looked up at the watery sound of- a tsunami crashed into him, and he spluttered, shaking his head to free the water from his eyes as he looked up to see Callie grinning at him, her good wing still held out from splashing him.  His eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth at her in a competitive growl, “Oh, so that’s how you want to play?” and, with both hands, he sent a forceful blast of water surging into her face.  She laughed, shaking her head, her body and breasts sparkling with droplets of the water, and with eagerness dancing in her yellow eyes she returned fire, and their peace dissolved into aquatic combat worthy of the history books, all awkwardness lost in the heat of their joyful battle.

Once they had spent all their breath laughing and gasping and roaring battle cries, they mutually agreed to an armistice, both of them finding stony perches to sit, half-submerged, to let the warmth of the water languidly seep down into their bones.  George closed his eyes against the reflection of the water, noting with contentment that his own territory came with a patch of muddy bottom that he could dig his toes into, the slippery muck sliding between the digits with a repulsively-pleasing sensation.  It was tempting to stay here, in the deep blue water with a pale blue, nearly cloudless sky overhead, free of everything that had weighed him down, but he had a mission to do, had to get up soon, had to…

He closed his eyes, sighing, as a flickering torch within his heart tried to fight back the growling melancholy at the edges of the shadows of his mind, at the echoes of voices of the men who had taught him how to be… a Purifier.  A killer.  A hero.

That flickering hope within him still burned, guttering but unrelenting… “Father Wulfe burned too.”

Blinking out of his trance, he opened his eyes to see the half-formed face emerging from the waters, a nightmarish vision that seemed melted and poorly-shaped.  It was quickly reforming into the shape of a woman’s visage, though apparently made of the silty mud that lay at the bottom of the pool.  As George recoiled, trying to stand and lurch out of the pool, huge monstrous hands approached him in the same way from either side, thick earthen fingers grasping his thighs as the woman’s face took on a lust-drunk eagerness, drawing closer to his own. “Hiii…” she moaned, her voice deep and yearning.

Desperately, George looked past the mud-maiden towards Callie, only to realize she was floating on her back almost at the other end of the pool, her tail twitching in torpid waves to propel her along effortlessly.  He opened his mouth to call out to her, but another muddy hand reached from behind him, cupping his face before his voice could emerge.  The soil-skinned woman looked him over with a slatternly smile, her eyes tracing his abs as the mud along his legs tensed and gripped, relaxed and caressed, all at once. “Wanna rubbb…” she sighed in her subterranean tones, her face drawing closer to his own. “Wanna taste…”

George threw himself back, dragging his legs free of the sucking clutches of the mud-hands, his fingers clawing at the stone and gripping, pulling himself further from the looming figure of the earthen woman.  His legs broke free with a loud slurping sound, and he fell back out of the pool, rolling on the lumpy stone.  Her face distressed, the mud-woman surged after him, and his panic drove him to sprint away as fast as he could, ignoring the anguish of his foot-soles as he skidded along the stones.  A flailing hand made of the same soil as his assailant bloomed from a patch of mud nearby, grasping for him, but he managed to dodge it, pushing off one of the stony geyser-pillars as he searched for his salvation among the heaps of stone.  Finally, as he ducked under another sweeping arm, he spotted his bag – and the quiver beside it.

“Stoppp…” came the sepulchral moan, just behind him, and terror gave him speed.  He dove for the quiver, and, despite the lines of fire along his bare skin where he scraped against the stones, he was able to smoothly snatch up his bow and yank an arrow from his quiver.  That practiced motion was all but instant, and that speed left only a whisker between the yellow-gleaming arrowtip and the face of the muddy woman as she froze in place, her turbid eyes crossed as she stared at the sharp point just in front of her nose.

His own eyes narrowed as he glared at her, and the whole world seemed to shimmer in gold. “Any closer, and I shoot.” She recoiled, more from his edge in his voice than the cutting tip of the arrow, and he moved with her, driving her back. “You made a mistake, coming after a Purifier,” he snarled, his muscles tensed.  She looked at his face, cringing away from him, and he almost smiled – but felt no joy, just satisfaction.  The scrapes on his skin burned with pain, but that only made him feel more honed, more ready.  The string of his bow sang as he pulled it back slightly, ready to release, almost hungry to let go.  Who was afraid now?

“Mister Knight?”

It took an uncomfortable effort to tear his eyes away from the fearful creature before him, but he managed to glance to the side.  The wyvern stood there, her eyes wide and scared, now fully covered once more, and she looked from him to the mud-monster and back.  He didn’t relax, looking to her for only a moment before returning his gaze to the other, but… something had changed.  The glow at the tip of his arrow pulsed, flickered, faded, – died.  He swallowed, and something in the pit of his stomach recoiled, and for a moment he felt sick.  The arrowpoint wavered, then lowered, down and away.  With a bitter growl, George’s lip spat a command at the grimy woman in lieu of the arrow he had nocked: “Go.”

Without even a nod, the mudbeast retreated, flowing to the nearest patch of soil and submerging itself into it, as if it were diving into the lake of mud further down the slope instead of a puddle.  In a moment, scarcely a sign of her remained; just the splashes of drying dirt along the stones where her swipes had only just missed grasping him.  George scowled at those instead of meeting the other girl’s eyes, his chest heaving.  He had been attacked.  She could have dragged him under the water, drowned him.  She had tried to subdue him, capture him-

The touch of a claw against his shoulder made him jump, made him want to raise his bow… but it was Callie, Callie.  His eyes wide, he met her gaze as she reached up with her other claw to touch his face.  He started to flinch away, but his eyes fell on the hole in her wing left by his arrow, and his stomach lurched, and it took all he had to keep from heaving.  He had almost done that all over again, but worse!  He had almost…

“Mister Knight…” Callie started, nervously. “You are… a good knight, right?”  He blinked at her, his head cocked to the side. “Mama once said there are good knights who serve with good dragons and wyverns, and bad knights who serve evil, greedy dragons.  Are you…?”

Knights… serving dragons?  Ridiculous.  Swallowing down his nausea, George shook his head. “I’m George.  That’s my name.”

Callie blinked, an odd smile crossing her lips. “George?  George.”  She mouthed the word, as if tasting it. “What is it short for?”

“Short for?” George shrugged, confused. “Nothing.  Just… George.  Well, Lambton is my family name.”

“Family…name?”

George’s smile wavered. “Yeah.  From my mom.  Is Callie short for something?”

“Of course!” Callie proclaimed, offended.  “But…” Her face fell, drastically. “I… don’t want to say it.”

George watched her, noting the fragility of her frown, and nodded.  He didn’t understand, but he could see the hurt there.  It was the same pain he could see flicker in her eyes whenever she mentioned her mother.  He knew well enough the pain of loneliness to recognize it in another. “You don’t have to, okay?” he reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder, and she smiled shyly at him.

A moment later, her eyes shot open wide. “You’re all scratched up!” she protested, frowning at him as if it was his fault.

“Well, that monster was trying to-”

“Mud lady isn’t so bad.  She likes to give back rubs!” Callie proclaimed happily, but her face lowered towards the scratches along his ribs.

“My back wasn’t what she was trying to rub,” George grumbled, but his sentence ended in a less-than-masculine sound of surprise as he felt something wet and soft touch the first red line across his chest. “What are you doing?” he asked, flustered, looking down to see Callie with her tongue still extended.

“We have to wash cuts!  Clean it out!” she explained, as if he was the one who didn’t know better.

“Well, there’s…” George started, trailing off as he realized he was none too eager to return to the springs.  Callie ignored him, lapping the blood away from the next scratch, and George found himself standing there, uncomfortably, as she ministered to him.  His discomfort shifted as she continued – the sensation itself was rather nice, oddly… caring.  After a moment, he blushed as he heard himself release a soft grunt of pleasure, and her eyes flicked up to him for a heartbeat before returning to her work.  A moment later, she paused, and he glanced down to see her looking further downward – and that was when he realized he was still naked.  Part of him, enthusiastically so.

“I need… clothes!” he squeaked, turning to the side and shuffling away towards the pile of apparel.  He could swear he heard her chuckling behind him, and he could feel her eyes on his body the whole time.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, and that scared him.

 

******

 

“So, this is it!” Callie proclaimed proudly, motioning with her wing towards the rickety bridge before them.  They had left the hot springs behind not long before, with George fully dressed and geared up, and now they reached the cliffs that marked the transition into the ‘snowlands.’  It was hard to see that place ahead; the cliffs across the ravine were higher and angled up, meaning that the plank bridge that connected the two areas also served as a ramp upwards, which somehow made the prospect considerably more daunting.

George stepped to the edge of the narrow defile, looking over to the abrupt descent.  A stream of meltwater had carved the mountain like a knife along a raised ridge, leaving a gap that was sharply vertical, like a crack in the mountain.  He whistled down into the crevice, fighting down sudden vertigo, stepping back with wide eyes. “Long way down,” he observed lamely.

“Yup!” Callie chirped, oblivious to his discomfort.

“And the bridge… is it well-maintained?” George asked nervously, eyeing the swaying wooden passageway.

“How I know?” Callie demanded, lifting a wing with an incredulous frown. “This place is fun to fly through, though!”

“Yeah?” George asked, without enthusiasm.

“Yeah!” Callie’s eagerness made up for his lack. “Cold air that way makes you go ‘woosh,’” she explained, lowering her head and spreading her wings into a pretend dive as she approached him. “But the air at the springs makes you go ‘swoosh’!” she declared happily, lifting her wings and head to mimic a sudden climb. “Makes me dizzy sometimes, but it’s fun!”

Despite his nervousness, George had to laugh at her play-acting. “Sounds exciting.  You’ll have to show me sometime.” The words tumbled out of him easily, and it was only after they were free that he realized the problem with them, his eyes losing their luster at the glimpse of reality.  She would never show him; after he took her to her cave, he would never see this place, or her, ever again.  This wasn’t his world at all.

“Yeah!” Callie cheered, her naive exuberance making her draw close to him, her wings spread.  She caught herself, her cheeks heating, and she hurriedly turned away, walking towards the bridge. “Come on!  New-old nest is on those cliffs, just past snowlands!” She motioned towards slate-gray cliffs further up the mountain, stepping out onto the bridge with a blithe disregard for the plummet just beneath her clawed feet.

George watched her go, a trickle of coldness running into his stomach.  This whole thing was a farce.  He was on a mission, and then he could return home, to his brothers, to his calling.  He had been raised for this, and there was only one way to accomplish his dreams that he had clutched to since being a child.  He was a dragonslayer, not…

He didn’t even know that his fingers were reaching until they closed on the shaft of his bow, starting to pull it free.  She was ahead of him, framed by the bridge, unaware of anything happening around her.  “Do your duty, Purifier-Errant.” 

He froze, closing his eyes against the glimmer of gold in the air.  No.  Frowning, he stepped out onto the bridge, grasping both rope handrails, and when Callie looked back at him, he smiled back to her, making his way along the wooden slats with nervous steps.

He still had work to do, but he still had time.  He would be ready when the time came, to be the hero he was meant to be.

 

Continued in “Heroes, Chapter 8”

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Author’s Note: Chapter one of George’s arc down; one to go in the first pass of the main characters.  A new monster girl in the next chapter!  Although, I should note, not all of them get pairings just yet… George will have his hands full, I can promise you that.  But, I get to flex a bit on a longer fight scene (I hope), so… look forward to it.

One important note I should make involves deadlines.  I have been holding myself to a two-week delay between chapters as something that is manageable for me – I have a lot of stories after this one, and so I need to make all the progress I can.  However, we step next week into a personal minefield for me: basketball season.  As home bookkeeper and announcer for all five of our teams, I find myself… challenged for time, especially since I always feel the urge to write the sequel to ‘The Wildcat’s Sister’ during those games.  Never mind yearbook deadlines, and a half-week convention trip… TL,DR version, I will try to stick to my personally-imposed deadlines, but don’t be surprised if there’s a little schedule skidding over the next three months while basketball is a thing.

Another note: I try to mention when I make changes to previous chapters.  Something in this chapter necessitated a miniscule, almost-unnoticeable change to chapter two.  I won’t tell you what it is – I honestly doubt anyone will ever notice it in the first place.  But… it’s there.

And, as always, my humblest gratitude to those who vote or especially comment.  You all keep me crafting – and that, I hope, makes us all happy.

But, for now, I am due some sleep…

~Wynn Pendragon

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