Chapter Four
Chapter Four
O ryn continues walking alone until coming to the dark stone bridge spanning the river that runs from a spring deep in the wood. He watches the rippling water as it disappears under the bridge and inhales the cool air wafting up to greet him. After a few moments of listening to the burbling, he traverses the blackened bridge. On the other side, more glowing insects fly, their bright bodies blinking every so often. Before settling in his clearing between the waterfalls, Oryn always takes a trip down to the small beach in Islwyn’s territory, so he can look across the wetlands. Once, Cruor would greet him on the edge of his own territory and they would speak for a time. Given Islwyn’s explanation of events, Oryn doubted he would see the lindwyrm, but the Prince wanted to make the effort even if it didn’t result in seeing Cruor.
Green moss and grass make way for bare earth, then sand, and bright sunshine has him blinking to adjust to the change. Once he’s clear of the thick canopy of trees, the scent of the ocean slams into him. Its salty brine aroma is so different from the heavy redolent breeze of the Wood it’s jarring, but no less wonderful. The sun warms Oryn’s scales and for a time, he simply lets the warmth overtake him. The Prince basks in the warm glow, his face upturned to greet it as he inhales the aromatic sea breeze meddling with the floral sweetness drifting from the Nathairfae.
When Oryn has finally had his fill of the beautiful beach, he wanders back into the canopy and the cliffside clearing he’d chosen the first time he fed the Wood. He’d originally picked it because it was surrounded by water, and overlooked the intercoastal waterways of the island, but now it feels like a home away from home. Lifting off the ground, Oryn flaps his wings just enough to carry himself safely over a waterfall, his back claws just grazing the surface of the fast-moving water. Once he lands, Oryn sprawls onto the soft moss blanketing the ground.
A gold-winged faedragon flies toward him, one speckled saprophyte clutched in his tiny claws. The creature bobs in the air under the weight of the red-capped mushroom, and Oryn’s chest warms at the sight. His coloring proves he’s the product of the Prince’s previous visit, and seeing the proof of his care for the land brings forward a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t ever grown accustomed to. Much like Sprout bore the green coloring of Islwyn due to the wyvern’s feeding of the land with his own power, each faedragon born from Oryn’s contributions bears his gold and black coloring. Once, each species of dragon would take time to visit the various locations throughout Drandaris, feeding the land and helping it to prosper. Since relations with the humans had grown rocky, many others have done away with the habit. The land suffers, as does its inhabitants, but each year it becomes more dangerous to allow their power to be siphoned off. It left the dragons vulnerable to the attacks of the humans who had grown to hate them. With their numbers dwindling as is, it just isn’t an option as it had once been.
When another gilded faedragon bobs its way toward Oryn with another saprophyte, he sits up, holding open his clawed hands to them. After dropping off their cargo, each golden creature flies away, tiny chirping noises trailing behind them as they return to the trees. Popping both mushrooms in his mouth, the Prince chews and swallows them quickly, grimacing at their strange flavor. Despite their sour taste, the saprophytes bring on nearly uncontrollable joy more often than not, and after waiting six years to get out of his lair, the wild delight is exactly what Oryn needs.
Laying on his forelegs, his belly in contact with the mossy earth, Oryn connects with the Nathairfae, his own magic reaching into the ground he’s in contact with to mingle amid that of the Wood. He looks up at the swaying branches of the canopy and listens to the rustle of the leaves as he grows accustomed to the magic of the forest. In moments Oryn’s ears are used to the gentle blowing of the leaves through the trees, and the sound of rushing water crashing into the rocks below joins in making a song only he seems to hear. His eyes close while his body grows heavy, but the Prince doesn’t fight it. He welcomes the calm before the excitement to come. The last time he was here, he had somehow ended up dangling from a tree, insisting the faedragons feed him nothing but berries, but each time is different. Each experience the saprophytes bring is new and Oryn never knows exactly what to expect. His mind relaxes as the mushrooms take hold, and it feels as if he’s in a space between sleeping and waking. Not altogether present, or even corporeal, yet he can feel the moss under himself, he can hear the wind in the trees. Oryn’s body begins to heat and tingle before he loses himself.