Rib slowly awoke to the continued sound of rain. Water drops drummed on the leather of his wings and tapped his scales. It plopped in the puddles surrounding him and hit him square in the eyes as he opened them.
Blinking away the blurriness, he gazed at the ever gushing creek before him, his mind beginning to clear up from his sleep.
So sore?
His limbs were tucked under him, tingling terribly. He had to roll his entire body over to move them, and even then they felt like dead, useless appendages. It took him a great deal of effort to flex his foreclaws in experimentation.
Damara! he thought suddenly. With a heave, he forced his legs to work and stood up in the fall shower. Slick, reddish leaves from the nearby forest stuck to his chin, but he shook them off.
She went for Damon. How long have I been lying here?
Rib squinted up at the storm clouds still stewing overhead, rain pattering his face. He couldn't tell where the sun was, although it was apparent that some time had passed, considering how much the coastal winds and waves crashing against the cliffs had died down.
I need to get to the hunting lodge, he determined. His wings almost seemed to groan as he lifted them up from the mud. Water that had been pooling in the folds of their membrane now dribbled off them like rain from roofs.
With exhaustion dogging his every move, Rib managed to lug himself into the air and beat his wings over the creek that raced through the autumn woods below. When he reached the mountain range ahead, he followed a valley all the way to the other side, into the upper kingdom of Wystil.
Here, he was alert for any humans or dragons that may be near, keeping his eyes and ears tuned past the rain. No one appeared to be around as he glided over fields and more forest towards the hunting lodge.
Zheal knows where Damon lives, Rib reminded himself anxiously. He's been here before.
Though he flew at a slow pace, it was not long before he saw the clearing where Tyrone and Damon's homes stood, and he proceeded as silently as possible. Alighting on the hunting lodge's roof without a sound, he was relieved to see no warriors or bewitched dragons about.
In fact, there in the hut, he spotted Damara and the Wizard, busily at work crafting the plague cure, no doubt. Also inside was a healthy flame of dragon fire, Rib's inner eyelids confirmed.
He was just about to swoop down to join them when someone called his name.
Rib turned his head to see Tide fly in and land beside him.
"I was just about to come for you," the teal dragon said. "Damara says you flew all night?"
Rib barely nodded, too stirred by the sight of his mentor to speak.
He's alright?Maybe Zheal hasn't even come yet.
Then where is Memory?
Rib opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but Tide interrupted him, saying, "Come into the stablehouse so Tyrone can get that saddle off your back."
He followed without protest, knowing there he could get answers for the questions beginning to blossom inside his head.
Did Damara tell them everything that's happened? Do they know there are Huskhns after them with powder that can bewitch dragons? What should we do?
"Rib's here!" Tide called as he entered the stablehouse with Rib close behind. Here, the rain was blocked out by the roof and Rib was heartened to see Tyrone feeding the horses, which ate, indifferent to the appearance of two dragons.
The woodsman turned to them and smiled warmly.
"Rib," he said, approaching. "Damara tells me she abandoned you on the coast. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Rib answered quickly. "What else did she tell you?"
"Everything," Tyrone assured as he lifted his hands to the straps clasped over the dragon's chest. "But we were already well aware of the Huskhns' being here."
So they are here!
"Where?" Rib sputtered. "What are they doing?"
There was a sudden release of pressure when Tyrone undid the saddle's main belt buckle and its leather straps dangled at Rib's sides. Even after months of wearing the gear, his hide wasn't at all chafed, his scales tough and uniform. With the saddle he'd grown so used to then lifted off his back, Rib felt as though a part of him had been removed. But at the same time, it was a liberating sensation to be freed of the thing.
"Hiding in ghost towns near the Swaine," Tyrone replied, hanging the well-worn saddle on its hook. "Apparently they're waiting to challenge us once this storm clears. The rain has been here since they've arrived, so they can't send up any powder clouds."
Good. Rib exhaled. So no one's been bewitched.
But Memory?
"My sister?" he urged. "Is she there too?"
"Yes." Tide stepped into the conversation. "I spied her with Zheal in the camp."
"We have to go save her!" Rib blurted. "While the rain's still coming down."
"I know," Tyrone said, crossing his arms. "But there are well over two dozen warriors there. I've already sent Ivory for Lynx and your brother's gone for your other siblings. We must wait for them."
"What if it's too late by then?" Rib objected. "Once the rain ends, Zheal will just bewitch us all!"
"These autumn downpours last for weeks," the man replied. "It'd be wiser to trust in that than our ability to defeat an entire troop alone."
"Damon could craft us something to help us win," Rib argued.
"Wystil needs him to craft the cure," Tyrone said. "As soon as he's finished with the one for Damara, he's going to the castle where he can make enough for the whole kingdom. The plague can't be ignored."
Rib clenched his teeth.
But Memory?
"We won't let your sister down, Rib," Tide promised him, and Tyrone nodded.
He met their firm gaze. Outside, the rain picked up, battering the roof above their heads. It didn't sound like it would be stopping anytime soon.
With a deep breath, Rib nodded as well.
"I believe you."
Memory's too close to be lost now.
Chapter 29