Chapter 4: Climax
The cave felt different after. The raw, frantic energy from their desperate coupling had bled away, leaving a heavy, complicated silence. Maree shivered, pulling her damp undershirt back on, the thin fabric offering little warmth against the pervasive chill. Todd was already moving, his movements stiff and practical as he shrugged into his damp sweater. He avoided her eyes, focusing instead on rifling through his pack with fierce concentration, pulling out a small, battered metal box – his field kit. The dragon’s low, wet breathing filled the space between them, a constant reminder of the impossible task ahead.
"Right," Todd grunted, snapping the kit open. It held more than Maree expected: rolls of gauze, antiseptic pads, suture kits, a small bottle of clear liquid she suspected was strong spirits, bandage scissors, and oddly, several thick leather straps. "Field expedient dragon surgery. Just another Tuesday." His tone was flat, hiding the turmoil she knew was churning beneath. He tossed her a roll of gauze. "Start tearing strips. Long ones. We'll need pressure pads and ties."
Maree caught it, her fingers numb. She looked past him at the huddled bronze mass. Its visible eye was half-open, glazed, tracking their movements with a dull awareness that was somehow worse than blind fury. "How do we even get close without it freaking out? Or biting me in half? Again."
Todd paused, following her gaze. He picked up his rifle, not to aim, but to detach the long leather sling. "Knowledge is power, Carter. And occasionally, a way to avoid becoming lunch." He handed her the sling. "Dragons... especially young ones... their sense of smell is incredible. But right now, it's probably overwhelmed by pain and blood." He gestured towards the flask lying nearby. "Douse a rag in this. Hold it near its nostrils. The fumes might soothe it, dull the edges. Or at least confuse it enough not to incinerate us while we work."
"Whisky fumes? Seriously?" Maree raised an eyebrow, skepticism warring with the need to do something. "That your expert dragon lore?"
"Part of it. Also learned from patching up drunk idiots after bar fights in Inverness," Todd retorted, a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes. He uncorked the flask. "Better than nothing. And better than getting chomped. Trust me." The word hung between them, weighted by everything unsaid – the hunt, the kiss, the frantic coupling.
Maree took the flask and poured a generous amount onto a piece of gauze Todd handed her. The pungent, peaty smell filled the small alcove. She approached the dragon slowly, moving like she would near a spooked horse. "Easy now," she murmured, keeping her voice low and steady despite the hammering of her heart. "Just taking the edge off, big fella." She held the damp gauze a few feet from the creature’s nostrils.
The dragon flinched, its head jerking weakly. A low growl rumbled deep in its chest, but it was a feeble echo of its previous power. Its nostrils flared, twitching. Slowly, the tension seemed to seep from its massive frame. The growl subsided into a trembling sigh. Its eye drifted shut, then half-opened again, looking unfocused.
"Alright," Todd breathed. "Working window. Let's not waste it." He moved swiftly but carefully, crouching near the deep gash on the dragon's neck. Maree knelt beside him, holding the whisky gauze steady. Up close, the wound was horrific. The scales were torn and peeled back, revealing dark, oozing muscle and what looked like the white sheen of bone beneath. The coppery reek of blood was overwhelming.
"Merciful hell," Todd muttered, pulling on a pair of thin leather gloves from his kit. He soaked another pad in the clear liquid from the small bottle – antiseptic, Maree assumed – and hesitated only a second before pressing it firmly against the deepest part of the wound.
The dragon shuddered violently. A raw, choked scream ripped from its throat, a sound that scraped Maree’s nerves raw. Its head thrashed, jaws snapping inches from Todd’s arm. Maree shoved the whisky gauze closer. "Easy! Easy! We're trying to help, you stubborn lizard!" she hissed, her voice tight with fear and a sudden surge of protectiveness.
The dragon stilled, panting, its breath hot and sour against her hand. Its eye fixed on her, the fog of pain momentarily clearing into something like confused accusation. Todd didn't flinch. He kept pressure on the pad, his jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. "Pressure first," he gritted out. "Stop the bleed. Then we clean. Then we stitch or pack it. Hold that gauze steady, Carter. Your life insurance policy."
Minutes crawled by, measured in the dragon’s ragged breaths and Todd’s muttered curses as he worked. He used the torn strips Maree provided to pack antiseptic-soaked pads deep into the wound, then layered more dry gauze over the top, binding it tightly with long strips. The dragon flinched and whined with every pull of the bandage, but the whisky fumes and Maree’s constant, low murmurs – a nonsensical stream of reassurances and pilot jargon – seemed to keep the worst panic at bay. "Just another system malfunction, big guy. Gotta troubleshoot. Patch the leaky fuel line... or artery. Same principle." Todd shot her a sideways glance, a ghost of something almost like a smirk touching his lips.
The neck wound stabilized, Todd turned his attention to the crumpled wing. He ran his hands along the leading edge, fingers probing gently. The dragon tensed but didn’t pull away. "Broken here," Todd said, pointing to a specific joint where the leathery membrane met the bony strut. It was bent at an unnatural angle. "Needs splinting. Or it’ll never fly right."
He pulled out the leather straps. "Hold this section flat," he instructed Maree, positioning her hands on either side of the fracture. Her touch was lighter, more precise than his calloused grip. She braced the delicate joint while Todd expertly wrapped the thick leather straps around it, creating a rigid support. He used shorter strips of gauze to secure the straps, tying them off with efficient knots. The dragon watched them, its eye moving between their faces, a flicker of something other than pain – curiosity? Bewilderment? – surfacing through the fog.
Finally, they moved to the torn scales and gouges along its flank. These were less critical but numerous. Todd cleaned each one meticulously with antiseptic, while Maree followed, applying pressure pads and securing them with more gauze strips. The sheer size of the creature meant the process was slow, exhausting labour. Maree’s ankle screamed, and her fingers grew stiff with cold. Todd’s movements became slower, more deliberate, the strain showing in the set of his shoulders.
"Seonaid was right," Maree murmured as she smoothed a bandage over a nasty scrape. The dragon flinched slightly but remained still. "About it feeling pain. And... learning." She looked at its face. The clouded eye seemed to hold hers for a moment.
Todd paused, tying off the last bandage on the flank. He didn’t look at her, focusing on stowing his bloody tools back in the kit. "Aye," he said finally, his voice rough. "Didn't think... didn't want to think they could be..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought, unable to reconcile a lifetime of hatred with the wounded, trembling creature they’d just tended. He wiped his bloody gloves on his trousers. "Think that's the best we can do with what we've got, Carter. Stopped the main bleed. Splinted the wing. Cleaned the rest. Now it's up to nature... and whether it decides we're dinner or... something else."
He stood, groaning slightly as he stretched his back. The dragon watched him move, its head lifting weakly off the stone floor. It let out a soft, rumbling sigh, almost a purr, and nudged Maree’s leg gently with the tip of its snout – a gesture startlingly like a giant, scaly cat seeking comfort. Maree froze, then tentatively rested a hand on its massive head, just above the bandages. The scales were surprisingly smooth and warm beneath her touch. The dragon closed its eye.
Todd watched them, the permanent scowl softening into an expression of profound, exhausted bewilderment. The hunter stood silent, the rifle forgotten on the cave floor beside his pack, gazing at the pilot and the dragon.
The hunter stood silent, the rifle forgotten on the cave floor beside his pack, gazing at the pilot and the dragon. Maree’s hand rested on the bandaged head, the creature’s heavy breaths stirring the damp cave air against her skin. Todd’s scowl had vanished, replaced by a profound, exhausted bewilderment that mirrored the surreal quiet.
Then, the air changed. A deep, subsonic thrum vibrated through the rock beneath them, rattling loose stones. Outside, the storm’s howl seemed to twist, morphing into a shriek of rending metal and tearing wood. A wave of heat, thick with the stench of ozone and burning pine, blasted through the cave entrance, making the damp walls steam. The injured dragon’s eye snapped open wide, not with pain, but with primal terror. It let out a thin, desperate keen, trying to scramble backwards, its splinted wing scraping uselessly against stone.
"Mother," Todd breathed, the word strangled. The colour drained from his face. He lunged, grabbing his rifle and pack in one frantic motion. "Maree! Move!" He hauled her roughly away from the young dragon towards the alcove just as a shadow deeper than night filled the cave mouth. A guttural roar, shaking the mountain itself, drowned out the storm. The sound wasn’t fury; it was sheer, agonized grief given terrifying voice.
The mother dragon filled the cavern entrance, her immense bronze form radiating heat like a forge. Flames licked around her jaws, illuminating eyes burning with a grief so intense it felt like a physical blow – eyes Maree realized, with a jolt of pure terror, were not clouded by pain like her offspring’s. One immense claw, gleaming like obsidian, raked across the stone where Maree had knelt seconds before, showering sparks. The heat radiating from her scaled hide was suffocating.
"Back! Deeper!" Todd yelled, shoving Maree bodily towards the narrow fissure at the rear of the alcove, their earlier refuge. He fired his rifle towards the mother’s eye, the sharp report echoing uselessly against the larger roar. The bullet sparked harmlessly off a scale near her temple, only intensifying her wrath. She inhaled, her massive chest expanding, the air crackling around her maw.
The young dragon screamed again, a piercing counterpoint to its mother’s rage. Propelled by terror and instinct, it lurched forward on its good legs, throwing its body clumsily between the humans and the gathering inferno. Its bandaged neck craned upwards, letting out a series of frantic, yelping cries – not aggression, but desperate communication. It tried to spread its splinted wing, a pitiful shield.
The mother dragon hesitated. Her fiery gaze shifted from the humans huddled in the fissure to her wounded offspring trembling before her. The building inferno in her throat dimmed slightly. Confusion flickered amidst the grief and rage in her ancient eyes. Her massive head tilted, nostrils flaring as she scented the blood – Maree’s dried blood from the ridge, Todd’s sweat, the sharp tang of antiseptic, the whisky, and the overwhelming scent of her own child’s injury and fear.
The young dragon shuffled closer to its mother, whimpering, nudging its head against her colossal foreleg, then turned its bandaged head towards Maree and Todd, hidden in the shadows. It let out another soft, insistent cry.
The mother’s gaze snapped back to the fissure. The hatred was still there, a banked fire. But beneath it, something else warred. Recognition? Of the human scents mingled with her child’s? The lingering smell of aid? Her head lifted, sniffing the scorched air towards the cave entrance. Another sound reached them through the storm’s abating fury – a distant, rhythmic thumping, mechanical and relentless. Helicopters.
Her massive head swung towards the noise, a low, dangerous growl rumbling. The young dragon nudged her leg again, more urgently. The mother dragon looked once more at her child, then at the dark crack hiding the humans. A final, frustrated snort sent sparks dancing across the damp floor. She turned, her immense body blocking the light entirely for a terrifying second, then she was gone, exploding upwards from the ledge with a thunderclap of displaced air, shattering the remaining scree outside.
Silence rushed back in, broken only by the young dragon’s panting breaths and the fading thrum of the departing mother. The helicopters grew louder. Todd sagged against the rock, breathing hard. Maree stared at the cave entrance, then at the young dragon, which had collapsed back to the floor, exhausted. "It... it stopped her," Maree whispered, her voice shaking. "It protected us."
Todd just stared at the young dragon, his expression unreadable. He pushed himself upright. "Doesn't matter. We need to move. Now. If they see that thing..." He gestured sharply towards the entrance and the approaching helicopters. "Get your pack."
They scrambled out of the fissure. Maree grabbed her soaked gear. The young dragon watched them, its good eye wide and frightened. "What about him?" Maree asked, shouldering her pack, her gaze fixed on the creature that had just saved their lives.
Todd hesitated, a muscle jumping in his jaw. The hunters were closing in. He looked at the dragon, then back at Maree. The decision was written in the grim set of his mouth. "Bring him," he said, the words sounding foreign. "If he can walk. Or hobble. Move!" He grabbed the young dragon’s uninjured front leg near the shoulder. "Come on, you overgrown lizard. Unless you fancy ending up a trophy." He tugged. The dragon scrambled, unsteady, trying to rise.
It was agonizingly slow progress. They half-dragged, half-urged the young dragon towards the cave entrance, away from the approaching rotor wash now whipping the trees outside. They emerged into the aftermath of the storm. Rain still fell, but lighter. Pine smoke choked the air. The mother dragon was a dwindling bronze streak against the heavy clouds, veering sharply away from the incoming aircraft. Below, through the shattered trees, they could see the roofless ruin of Seonaid’s cabin. Fire still licked at the walls.
"Seonaid!" Maree gasped, starting forward.
Todd grabbed her arm. "She wouldn't be near it if she was smart. She’ll have gone to ground. We need to get this one clear." He pulled her towards a denser thicket downslope, away from the cabin and the circling helicopters whose searchlights were beginning to stab through the mist. The young dragon lumbered awkwardly beside them, its splinted wing held tight against its body, its breath coming in ragged gasps.
They crashed through wet undergrowth for what felt like hours, driven by adrenaline and the fear of sky-borne hunters. Finally, deep within a stand of ancient pines where the ground was thick with moss, Todd signalled a halt. The young dragon sank down with a groan, trembling. Maree leaned against a tree trunk, gasping, her ankle screaming anew. The sound of helicopters had faded, circling further south.
A figure materialized silently from behind a massive oak. Seonaid. Her shawl was singed, her face smudged with soot, but her eyes were sharp as flint. She took in the scene: Todd and Maree, breathless and mud-streaked, and the hulking, bandaged form of the young dragon resting heavily on the moss. A flicker of grim satisfaction crossed her weathered face.
"She came for her child," Seonaid stated, her voice low and gravelly, cutting through the dripping forest silence. "As any mother would. Driven mad by its pain and your scent."
"Attacked her own nest?" Maree panted, disbelief warring with the image of the grief-stricken leviathan. "She nearly roasted us inside it!"
"Nest?" Seonaid’s sharp eyes swept over the young dragon’s injuries. "This one was no infant in a nest. Driven out. Hunted. Like all his kind." She stepped closer to the trembling creature, her frail hand reaching out, not to touch, but hovering near its bandaged neck. "Healers," she murmured, almost to herself. "Not killers. Not unless cornered, terrified, driven to it."
Todd straightened, his green eyes intense. "Healers? Don't spin me fairy tales, Seonaid. I've seen what they do. I know what they did." The old anguish hardened his voice.
"You saw what they do when attacked," Seonaid countered, turning her piercing gaze on him. Her voice remained calm, ancient, implacable. "When their young are slaughtered for scales and bone and sinew. For sport. For fear." She gestured towards the south, where the helicopters had searched. "Who flies metal birds to hunt ancient things? Not the dragons. You hunt them, Todd MacLeod. Your kind hunts them to the edge of oblivion. They fight to survive. That is not evil. That is desperation."
The young dragon let out a low, pained sigh, its breath stirring the moss. Seonaid finally lowered her hand, her fingertips brushing lightly over the edge of a bandage. "They feel fear like you. Pain like you. And a grief," her voice wavered slightly, "that can shatter mountains." She looked from the dragon to Maree, then finally back to Todd, her expression stark. "The enemy wears two legs, not wings. You found the truth bleeding in a cave. Will you see it now?"