S látra flew across the Boltanic Plains while I was strapped to the saddle of a Moltenmaw, begging for one of the blue beads to summon a cloud of moisture and shelter her from the sun’s singeing rays. The rider ignored every word.
Every plea.
Every fucking scream.
She followed me all the way to Dhomm, her silver flesh bubbling and bursting. Flying until her wings had too many holes to maintain her soar.
She plummeted, and I felt what was left of my heart rip from my chest and plummet with her, hopeless and powerless as she crawled across the burning dunes, making keening sounds I’ll never be able to unhear. Nor will I be able to unsee the milky sheen of her eyes from staring at the sun while she screeched—over and over again.
I doubt a healer will be able to help her regain her vision, nor do I expect her to trust anyone to get close enough to try.
I certainly wouldn’t, nor would I have blamed her if she never let me cuddle her again.
But she did.
The moment she balled up in the safety of a hutch near the Imperial Stronghold, she tucked me so close to her chest that I could feel the fluttering thump of her heart—barely clinging on. For me. Of that, I’m certain.
She didn’t want to leave me here alone.
I almost begged her to solidify around me and take our pain away.
King Ostern agreed to let me sleep in the hutch with her, so long as its entrance is heavily guarded.
Don’t know why he bothers. We both know I’d never leave this place without Slátra. Since I donned the Aether Stone, I can no longer summon a cloud for long enough to escort her back across the plains. Meaning I’m stuck here in this hot, humid place while my kingdom is run by a vile male I did not choose for myself. A horror that pales in comparison to the pain I feel whenever I look at my beautiful, broken Moonplume …
I’ll never forgive myself for climbing upon her back all those phases ago. For riding her until she listened to me.
Trusted me.
I’ll never forgive myself for taking her from her home. I’d do anything to go back to mine again.