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CHAPTER SEVEN
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Tundor was angry and confused. The excitement of battle had come to an abrupt end, leaving him as though he had more to do. Although he was glad Candasar was safe, a huge angry part of him wanted to have been the one who ripped the second one from end to end, as he had the first.
He regretted that in his clumsy leap from the cliff top, the ineffective way his wings slowed his descent caused him to fall too swiftly upon the neck of the first attacker, breaking it instantly. He could only hope that in the final firing synapses of death, the disembowelment could still be felt. He hoped the other male dragon had suffered. He suspected the end of such pain had come far too quickly. Tundor had wanted him to feel his rage and to know who had killed him.
As for the second, it was frustrating that he had died with the elf's arrow in his skull instead of by his claw and crushing jaw. The elf, of course, had done what he could not do himself.
Tundor had cursed his inability to swim fast enough to keep up with the water dragon as it had fled the cliffside pursued by Candasar. The elf had sprinted around to the point of the shot far faster, although his distance had been much shorter. He had watched helplessly as the big male had taken Candasar by the throat, unable to reach them in time.
He could not fly, and he could not swim. Only here on land did he have any chance of success. That came only by using a word of a language that he had also borrowed from the elf. Unfortunately, the use of the word required an internal power that he seemed to have only in short supply. He would have to make a point of asking the elf about that shortage very soon. He was getting stronger, but not nearly fast enough!
Now, as he circled slowly and carefully through the wood, attempting to gain an upwind position on an unsuspecting deer, he could still feel the fire of his fury smoldering for blood and death. He would show Candasar that he could supply her needs as well as protect her. This new reversal of their roles, without even pausing to consider it, seemed right and necessary to him.
Reaching the optimum point of attack, he jumped from behind the cover of the trees, the pounding fury of his legs and the utterance of the magical word of holding united in angry unison. The deer did not even begin to move as the dragon broke its back at the end of his charge. Tundor did not stop to savor the moment. Devouring the broken body of the deer, he did not even bother to lick his face clean before starting again in search of more blood.
After gorging on a second kill, it occurred to him that he had never felt full before. It was a good feeling, and he intended on having it often. It was as if deep inside his body, the availability of food in this quantity had turned the key to some invisible lock. This new power was giving his body permission to change and grow.
Tundor could feel the energy coursing through him. Suddenly he let out a roar, surprising himself. He quickly looked around, considering the danger of discovery. Lothinar had gone to great lengths to hide all evidence of the killing of the first water dragon. He didn't think the elf would want him attracting unnecessary attention to the area, but somehow, at this moment, he didn't care. He could feel the energy the red meat provided him and considered whether he held enough power to use the word of holding again. He didn't want to incapacitate himself. He considered heading back. He didn't think he would have a chance to sneak up on a second deer after making so much noise.
Finally, his desire to impress Candasar by bringing her a fresh kill won the debate. As quietly as he could, he began circling in ever-widening arcs through the forest.
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“Definitely a third,” Tundor chuckled to himself, moving even deeper into the woods. He was completely oblivious to the female elf that silently stood back, shrouded by the darkness of the trees. She watched him with great interest as he eventually moved off and away. When he had gone, she too vanished, fading silently into the forest like a swirling dark-haired mist.
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As gently as she could, Candasar grabbed the elf's body in her mouth and pulled him out of the water. She carried him up onto the narrow shore. Laying him down in the driest place she could find, she was relieved to feel his heart faintly beating in his chest. Reflexively, he coughed before setting into a rhythmic breathing pattern, the ribs slowly rising and falling. He was not dead yet, but what had happened? She pushed his body with her snout. It still did not move. There were no answers. She would have to wait for Tundor's return. Candasar sat alone in the darkness but as close to the elf as she could. It was the least she could do to try and keep him warm.
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Sometime later, the still water of the lagoon was broken by the thrashing body of Tundor returning with a deer in his jaws. He seemed exhausted, struggling to the ledge in fitful starts and stops. Dropping the deer, he stared at Candasar curled up next to the elf in surprise.
“What happened to him,” he asked in confusion. “Is he dead?”
“Not yet, but soon I think,” she replied. “He healed my neck, then just fell. I had to pull him from the water”
Tundor nudged the unconscious elf with the end of his nose. He did not stir. Candasar looked at the body of the deer that he had dropped carefully next to the elf, on the shelf.
“Is that for me, Tundor?” she asked, licking her lips
“Yes”, he said distractedly. “Take as much as you want. I have eaten.” “But after you have finished, I want to try and find the body of the other male that attacked you. It was important to Lothinar that we try and hide it. He will get into a lot of trouble if it is found.”
“It looks like he won't have to worry about that now,” Candasar replied sadly.
“But we probably still do,” Tundor replied quickly. “A couple of missing males is going to raise questions, even for you, and I’m getting too big to continue to stay hiding in this cave. Besides, I don't think he is going to die. I think he is unconscious because he used up all his magical power.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, between huge bites, her head twisting around from the carcass of the waterlogged deer to make eye contact with Tundor.
Tundor explained to her how he was able to hold a deer from bolting by using a word of power—a word that the elf had originally used on him the first day they had met. He told her the word “Letta” slowly and carefully so as not to invoke its power.
“The use of this magic takes away some of my energy,” he said finally. “I think the elf might have used his all up while trying to heal you”
“That is very interesting,” said Candasar at last. “I felt his energy flowing into me. We wrestled for it. I pulled it from him. It felt so good, Tundor; I didn't mean to hurt him!”
“Perhaps we can put some of it back!” said Tundor suddenly. “Can you remember what word he said when he started to heal you?”
“Of course I can.” the dragoness replied, taking a deep breath. “The word was..... Heill”
In her mind's eye, Candasar saw the blue light arc from her and land on Tundor.
“NO! Not there!” she thought, causing the light to snap and crackle like a blue bolt of lightning as it shifted from Tundor and engulfed the body of the prone elf with a shimmering glow. She fed the flow, trying to put back slowly and gently into the elf some of what she had taken.
It took so much, and she began to feel something physically shift inside her, but she continued. She stopped, severing the link only when the elf began to stir. He groaned and rolled onto his side before rising to his feet in a crouch. His eyes were wide in surprise. Leaning with his arm upon the cavern wall, he shakily stood up. Looking back and forth at the two dragons just a few feet from him, Lothinar finally spoke.
“You two are more than I expected,” he said silently, the sound of his thoughts entering pleasantly into both their minds.
“Lothinar, I would like you to meet Candasar” said Tundor.
“We have met,” he replied, grimacing. But then he smiled.
Candasar only nodded in reply. Her thoughts suddenly turned inward as she took stock of something internal, tragic, and unexpected. Not only was she no longer in heat, but the simmering flame of one of her unborn and unfertilized eggs flickered and went out. Her mind could see the darkness begin to settle upon it as the fragile life potential it bore was stripped of the magical energy that had made it special. Now only three remained.
Trying to remain calm, she returned to the half-eaten deer and began again to eat it hungrily. She took hold of the deer meat in great gulps, trying to replenish some of the energy she had so quickly spent.
Despite herself, Candasar could feel a deep groaning begin inside her, and despite her efforts to suppress it, soon it sprang forth into a full-fledged wail. Tundor, as he watched her, seemed confused, and he looked toward Lothinar for answers. Standing beside her, Lothinar touched her flank, speaking softly so that only she could hear.
“Thank you for returning my life dragoness,” he said softly.
Even through the grief with which she was afflicted, Candasar remembered her manners.
“And thank you for saving mine as well,” she replied stiffly. “If you had not killed that male, he certainly would have snapped my neck”
“It only cost me a couple of arrows.” The elf replied, “But If I am not mistaken, you have paid far more than me.”
“I have returned payment for your life with only a dream, elf. A dream that was never meant to be.” Candasar said finally, looking down on the little brown man.
As if finally understanding at last, the elf sniffed the air.
“Candasar,” Lothinar replied, “If I can have anything to do with it, I will try to see that the rest of your dreams come true.”
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