Very good, Malliath expressed. Very good.
30
Old Friends
The morning returned to the forest accompanied by a white mist, a concealing vapour that spread across every inch of the land. Asher cursed their luck as he kicked dirt onto the fire. Doran was already by the edge of their camp, crouched low to better inspect the wolf’s departing tracks. Whatever his mood, the dwarf had certainly found some sleep that night if his snoring was anything to go by. Asher was just pleased to see his old friend in better spirits and rested for the hunt.
The ranger himself had only found sleep after Avandriell had relaxed and closed her eyes beside him. He watched her closely now, looking for any sign of lasting damage to her injured leg. Judging by the way she stalked a mouse through the foliage, the young dragon had fully recovered. While she devoured the mouse, he moved to Doran’s side and cast his experienced eyes over the ground.
“This damned fog’ll slow us down,” the War Mason complained.
Asher stepped ahead and to the side as Avandriell bounded through the gap. “Forget the tracks,” he told the dwarf. “The blood will lead us to its lair.” Even as he spoke, the dragon was sniffing the ground and following the trail of blood.
“I could get used to huntin’ with a dragon,” Doran quipped.
As beneficial as Avandriell’s natural talents were, Asher wasn’t comfortable with her leading the way. Every now and then she would get excited by a different scent, or simply the prospect of hunting their prey, and dash ahead. The ranger could always find her, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed losing sight of her. Still, he had been impressed with her assault on the Werewolf and the dragon knew it, his pride filling her with happiness.
As the morning dragged on, the mist refused to fade away. They relied on Avandriell alone to guide them across the landscape. Without her, it could have easily felt like being stuck in a labyrinth with the trees and fog closing in on them.
It was hard to measure the amount of time that had passed since setting off from the camp, but Asher guessed it to be nearing midday when they came across their first real obstacle. The ranger looked up at the rock wall, unable to see the top or any ledge beyond the mist. What he could see, however, was blood and claw marks running up the stone.
Doran tapped the steel of his axe against the wall. “Sheer,” he observed. “We won’ be followin’ it this way.”
Avandriell rested her front claws against the wall as if meaning to mimic the wolf’s ascent. “No,” Asher warned her with an outstretched hand. The dragon dropped her claws back onto the ground and exhaled sharply.
“No bear could make that climb,” Doran said, craning his neck. “There must be another way up there.”
“Agreed. Let’s keep the wall on our left and follow it round.”
Filled with confidence from a morning of leading the hunt, Avandriell moved to the front again and pounced between the trees.
Asher focused on their bond, an almost tangible part of his mind. Avandriell, he called, giving the dragon pause. Stay by my side. A cornered wolf is a dangerous wolf.
Avandriell raised her head and assumed a regal pose. There were no words in response but Asher could feel the confidence of a creature that knew it was an apex predator.
Soon, he reassured. For now, stay with me.
The young dragon waited for the ranger to catch her up before falling into line beside him. He enjoyed the level of understanding that currently existed between them, though he longed to talk to her, to know her thoughts and opinions on the world.
“There,” Doran said, breaking the ranger’s reverie.
Asher looked over his shoulder and followed the dwarf’s finger to a muddy slope. The path had been forged in a break in the rocky wall and gently rose up and round the stone. Avandriell moved towards it and ducked her head. Asher came up on her side and crouched down to waft away some of the fog.
“Bear prints,” he announced.
Doran took a long breath as he examined the slope. “Let’s finish this.”
Together, they took to the slope and navigated the cliff side. In most places, the path was only wide enough for single file, certainly a width where even a bear would have been forced to tread carefully.
“I don’ like the look o’ that,” Doran voiced, staring at a cut in the rock. It was a straight path that led into the heart of the cliff but, if they were attacked while passing through, they would struggle to swing their weapons.
Asher checked the prints at their feet. “This is the way - we have no choice.”
“I’ll lead,” Doran volunteered, his courage never to be questioned.
Following him in, Asher was sure to keep Avandriell between the two of them. At least, of the three of them, she could fly away, her wingspan just within the walls. Of course, the ranger knew that would be the last thing she would ever do. The dragon would rather die fighting by his side than abandon him and survive. Asher both loved and hated that fact.
Sacrificing stealth for speed, they crossed the narrow path while constantly scanning the fog above and behind them. Asher’s head twitched to the side, sure that he had heard something scrape across the stone. A few moments later and a small collection of loose pebbles trickled down the wall on his right. Looking up, there was nothing but fog and more wall.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before they emerged on the other side, where the path was wider. Even the mist seemed clearer here, giving them a better view of the surroundings. Continuing to follow the rock face round to the left, they soon came across a smear of blood where the wolf had climbed over the edge.
Doran frowned with disgust. “Ye smell
