Dragon!
Disaster took the form of a small gold dragon. Small, however, was a relative term. It was three times as tall as Éadra, and twice as long as it was tall. Its head was free of horns, but its tail ended in a sharp spike. It was frantic--whether from fear, or from being driven mad by the mental fog, Éadra did not know. A broken chain dangled from its neck.
The soldier swore under his breath and dismounted his horse, leaving Éadra to deal with the terrified beast. Éadra barely noted her captor drawing his sword and charging the dragon. The greater part of her attention was focused on keeping her seat as the horse beneath her bolted away from the dragon. Fortunately, the human had kept her in front while riding, so she was able to take the reins. She held them firmly but gently in one hand while she patted the horse's neck with the other and spoke soothing words. But the horse would not be quieted, so she jumped off and ran back to the knight, allowing the horse to flee with all their supplies.
The knight's sword lay shattered on the ground; his battered shield hung precariously from the tail spike. The knight himself was attempting to climb the broken chain as the dragon reared and batted at him with its front claws. He somehow managed to evade the angry claws long enough to take a stab at the dragon's neck with the knife he'd carried up in his teeth, but then the dragon knocked him to the ground. But one claw scraped through the scales where the knife had found no purchase. Its skin shone white underneath the golden scales. Éadra nabbed the knife from the now-unconscious soldier and leaped for the chain. The dragon grasped at her as it had at the human, but she swung from the chain onto its claws, and jumped from there to its neck. She managed to drive the knife into the now exposed skin. Her weight pulled the knife from the top of the exposed skin to the bottom, and boiling blood dripped from the wound. Éadra let go of the knife and fell to the ground, but not before a drop of blood hit her arm, burning it. The dragon shrieked in pain and flew off.
Éadra groaned in pain and crumpled to her knees, clutching her burned right arm with her left hand. She forced herself to let go and look at the burn and saw that it was already blistering. She grabbed her flask of water and poured some on the burn. The momentary relief from pain allowed her to clear her head and concentrate. She shut her eyes and reached into her core, summoning her healing magic. She pulled it up to her burn and felt the quick relief. Healing herself was easy and usually required little energy because the magic was so attuned to her body. Now for the human.
She walked over to her captor and knelt down beside him. His forehead was covered in blood, but she knew from experience that even minor head wounds bled a lot. She used a little water from his flask to wash away some of the blood and find its source. There—it wasn't bad at all. It was long and it might scar, but it had already stopped bleeding. But that didn't mean there wasn't internal damage. She put her hand on the still-damp portion of his forehead and pulled her magic forward again. This time, the water served to conduct the water out of her and into his, while still allowing her to be connected to it. She shut her eyes and felt around with the magic. She found a ruptured artery near the back of his skull. If she didn't act quickly, the damage would escalate beyond her ability to heal. But did she want to heal him? If she left him here unconscious, she could return to the elves with the information about the spell surrounding the mountain. Except that the horse had run off with the potion. There was no way she'd make it out. But healing him would as good as give away her true identity. Even if he didn't know that Éadra was the only one of the twins who could heal, Erron certainly would. Maybe she should just continue on to the fortress herself. Could she find the way? Was it even ethical to leave him? Without treatment, he might die. She was always the one who insisted on healing the enemy soldiers left wounded on the battlefield after a battle. She was always in control of the situation then, though. If she healed him, she'd just be putting herself in his mercy all over again. She writhed inside, weighing ethics against pride and freedom. Then she realized she didn't have much of a choice: even if she could find Erron's fortress all on her own with no supplies, she couldn't just waltz up to the gates and turn herself over. Not only would it look incredibly suspicious, but also they'd expect her to tell them everything she knew in return for sanctuary from the mountains. Either that or they'd just kill her. Decision made, she went to work.
As quickly and neatly as she could, she drew the pooling blood back into the artery, aiding it with extra magic to make sure it integrated neatly without disrupting the flow. Then she sealed it off and searched for signs of brain damage. There was some, but less than she'd expected. Good. She didn't have enough energy to do much more repair work, and even a little brain damage would be difficult to fix. She threw the last of her magic (and energy) into reviving the dead cells, pulled back out of his head, and passed out.
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