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16: Poultice

  BERT HAD GROWN so used to traveling on the back of a dragon, he had begun to take for granted just how far he could see. Now, he spotted what looked like a large group of smaller fires just past the border, on the dragon side.

  Yellow’s eyes had half-closed and Bert wasn’t sure if it was because he was tired or due to blood loss. Bert had just continued talking to him and comforting him, and hoped he could hang on until Castle Tall Tree. Seeing this group of people made him wonder if it was smarter to land here. He pointed out the fires to Yellow, and they turned slowly towards the group. Bert saw Yellow’s nostrils widen and close a few times, clearly taking in some scent, but Bert had no way of knowing what the dragon picked up on the air.

  As they neared the group, Bert was able to make out a few obvious things even from the air. There was a dragon with them. Bert could not make out the color, but it looked fairly large. Not as large as the big red, Bee’Cay’Ra, but perhaps her mate, Stree’Sta’Ba, the intimidating blue dragon.

  It didn’t matter what Bert could make out, as Yellow was clearly making his way to the group. Getting closer, Bert could make out several hundred Wyrm People in canvas and hide tents. It looked like a small army. It was, in fact, the big blue dragon, who raised his head as Yellow approached. He let out a bellow Bert had never heard before and several people ran from the field surrounding Stree’Sta’Ba, leaving a large open space. The blue dragon stood up on all four legs and looked as solid as a wall. Yellow returned the bellow, and Bert understood finally how diminished his friend really was. The sound was pitiful. Yellow flapped awkwardly, his usually level and careful flight growing haphazard. Bert was forced to hang on with everything he had. He locked his legs in as tight as he could and grabbed two spikes with his hands. Like a ship running aground on a beach, Yellow slid to the ground, pulling his legs up and sliding in the dirt and grass. Bert risked a look back to see a trail of crimson left in the dragon’s wake. The slide ended as Yellow rammed into Stree’Sta’Ba. The larger dragon absorbed all the impact, barely even needing to step slightly back.

  Yellow flopped down completely and the larger blue dragon settled in right beside him. Yellow’s eyes finally closed completely. Stree’Sta’Ba plopped his head on Yellow’s side and closed his eyes partway, but his pupils moved side to side, keeping watch of the Wyrm People who came running.

  Bert slid off the side of the dragon, his arms and legs in pain, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was much more concerned with his friend. “Help!” he shouted to the figures running from around the field. They must have been waiting to come to Yellow’s aid. “He took a large arrow to his leg. I didn’t know what to do!”

  “Bertram!” a familiar voice shouted. The man carried a canvas bag on his back and a second is his arms.

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  It was Nock, Dray’s nephew and a healer with the Wyrm People.

  “Nock!” Bert greeted the man with a nod.

  Nock slid in beside Yellow, not even stopping to greet the dragon. He immediately pulled the cloak from the wound and tossed it aside. “Nasty!” He tugged the arrow gently, earning a groan from Yellow. “Barbed?”

  “I think so,” Bert answered quickly. It was fired from an oversized bow. I saw them back in Wyrmgate. Larger arrows that were barbed, yes. I assume it’s the same.”

  Nock continued to investigate, a woman joining behind him holding a large torch that lit the area. “There was nothing you could have done besides get him here,” he said quickly. “He will be okay if I act quickly.”

  Rather than reply, Bert just stood there, ready to move if Nock needed anything. He was amazed at how calm the man was. He knew he cared deeply about healing, something the man had seen while under the influence of solhara in his coming-of-age ceremony had led him to this field. Still, he sounded like he was solving a puzzle rather than saving the life of a dragon. Several other Wyrm People had gathered around him, giving him space, but talking quietly and holding on to one another.

  “Clay,” Nock said quietly. “My blade.”

  Bert watched as the woman who had joined Nock reached into his bag and drew out a strange looking blade. It was about as long as the long dagger most Wyrm People carried, but had a strange edge. Rather than being made entirely of metal, it had a semi-transparent stone running along the edge. It looked to be made of different pieces of the stone jammed as close together as possible. It didn’t look particularly sharp either.

  “Hold Smee’Fa’Ya’s head, Bertram,” Nock said. “You do not need to keep it in place. You cannot anyways. But, let him know you are there.”

  Bert nodded and ran over to take Yellow’s head. The dragon’s eyes opened slightly. He made no sound. Bert looked around at Nock and watched as he used the blade to cut two small slits beside the wound. Even more blood began to run. Bert was scared, but Yellow barely reacted. The big blue dragon had both his eyes on Nock, but kept his head on Yellow’s body.

  “Take this wicked thing to Mira,” Nock said, placing the arrow in a canvas sack and giving it to a small boy who stood nearby. “The honey and comfrey root poultice,” he told Clay.

  She reached into Nock’s sack and passed him a clay pot with a wooden stopper tied with several pieces of twine.

  Nock smothered the paste all over the wound, working it slowly until it covered the hole left by the arrow. Then he stood, took the torch and examined his work with his face right up against the wound. He looked to Bert to make sure he was listening and then turned to the Wyrm People watching. “The wyrm will heal.” He waited for the gasps of relief to pass. “No one is to be with either dragon without speaking to me first. That includes you, Bertram Dragontongue.”

  Bert nodded, and let go of Yellow’s snout and began to walk away.

  Yellow growled quietly, and Stree’Sta’Ba raised his considerable head, looking right at Bert.

  “Incredible,” Nock said, waving Bert back to Yellow’s side. “Usually it takes decades to build such trust. You are aptly named, Dragontongue. Mira will wish to speak to you. She will bring you food and a blanket. You will be here all night.”

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