The sun is well into the sky by the time the dragon thinks about landing- and not a moment too soon. The dragon lands, back feet hitting the ground first and then running on all fours before coming to a stop to slump onto the ground exhausted from the hours of airtime. You pry Ilya’s hands from around your waist, her knuckles white from clenching tightly and roll off, hitting the soft grass with less force than you expected.
“Oh sweet and merciful ground, may I never leave you again.” You murmur with closed eyes and grabbing tufts of grass tightly in sweaty palms. The dragon rumbles, chuckling as he turns to look at you.
“First time flying little one?”
“And by the gods the last. From now on you’re walking from A to B.” That earns another low chuckle from the dragon that infects you and then Ilya. And before you know it you’re all laughing. No idea why- relief, the idea of the dragon attempting to sneak through a city unnoticed. Or maybe tickle dragons just have that air to them. Either way it’s a few minutes at least before you can stop laughing and push yourself to your feet.
The sky is bright and mostly clear with a few wisps of white clouds drifting lazily across the azure vastness. The knee-high grass brushes smoothly against your legs as you make your way around to the other side of the dragon. On this side of him, the grass continues for about twelve feet before ending abruptly with a steep slope of ferns and bracken. Down there is pine forest with a river that snakes through the middle of the valley and continues so far as you can see- a few miles before the valley turns to the left and out of sight. So far as you can tell it’s uninhabited which is probably for the best. The last thing you want is a farm running to the local militia and screaming about a dragon on its way to steal his sheep and burn his crops.
Quite the view you can’t help but notice. And it reminds you that you’re no longer chained up and no longer a prisoner. You’re free. Granted, there’s still the matter of the shackles, but hey, one step at a time right? After all your head’s still spinning from the flight.
“So.” Ilya says as she slips off the dragon behind you and makes her way over to where you stand. “What now?” In the light of day and now that she isn’t squeezing the life out of your lungs, you can see the ex-slave girl is quite pretty. Her hair, long and ruffled by the wind cascades over her back and shoulders like a dark waterfall. Her attire, though revealing, is in far better shape than the rags you wear. Her top is scarlet silk- close fitting and sleeveless with a plunging, gold-trimmed neckline that draws wandering eyes down to her cleavage. It covers nothing below her breasts, leaving her slender torso exposed, down to the rune on midriff. Her hips are wrapped with a short skirt, again of scarlet and gold silk, that covers so little that maybe the tailor should simply have moved onto a material that wasn’t rationed. Worn leather sandals care all that remain of her outfit, save for the collar and bangles on her wrists and ankles that somehow weren’t lost during the flight. Had she not been a slave, you’d wager she could have had any man or woman of her choosing.
“Well. I guess the dragon and I had a plan before you arrived. But-”
“I have a name.” He grumbles indignantly. Oh, right, yeah. Huh- you’d have thought you’d ask something like that before.
“And what is that oh great, noble and groundeduntilfurthernotice steed?”
He thinks for a second as if wondering how best to put it simply. After a moment or two of thought he does what you assume to be a shrug and gives it to you straight. “You cannot pronounce it with a human tongue. But the rough translation is Freefall.” The name earns a raised eyebrow from Ilya and barely covered smirk from you.
“Freefall?” You say. “Tell me that doesn’t reflect on your flying?”
“No. But dragons have a sense of humor that most humans don’t seem to appreciate.”
“So- what does it sound like in dragon tongue?” One unrepeatable noise later and you nod in agreement- human tongues can’t bend like that. You glance across at Ilya who looks equally perplexed. “All in favor of a new name?” you ask. Two hands in the air beats the one paw on the ground and the two of you start spit balling, recounting the name of every dragon you’ve heard tales of.
Some he simply shakes his head for, others outright snorts at in disgust which is a shame- he looks like an Eirón. Eirón would have suited him. Finally, you think it was Ilya who suggested it, he settles upon ‘Murtagh.’ More of a name for some roguish mercenary you think but, if he thinks it fits.
And what of your name maiden?” Murtagh asks you after rolling it off his tongue a handful of times. “Little-bare-footed-one does not seem ideal.”
“Teyla.” You reply. At least- that’s what you always your parents calling you. And that’s what you’ve called yourself up till now. So to change it to something like Rebekah now would be silly. “Anyway as I was saying. Murtagh and I agreed upon something before you arrived.” You continue, turning back to Ilya. “He lost his parents, but hunters took his brother. Somewhere out there is a tickle dragon named Fenrir and we’re going to find him.
“Of course, you weren’t part of that agreement. You’re free now and like you said, you’re a slave to no one. Next town we come to we can part ways.” Ilya thinks for a moment, looking between you and the Murtagh. And then, with determination in her eyes she meets your gaze with a grin.
“Sounds like an adventure. I hear that’s what free people do. Travel the world. Adventure.” Well you’ve been free most of your life and that wasn’t adventure. That was struggling to stay alive. But then you didn’t have a dragon at your side back then. “I’m in.”
“So it’s settled then.” You smile. Feeling as if you need to pose dramatically. You turn back to the slope, one leg in front and to the side of the other, one hand on a bent knee, the other on your hip. “The three of us are going to go out there. And whatever happens, wherever we go and whoever we meet along the way- we are going to find Fenrir. Even if we have to uproot all of Zenith to find him.” Epic music strikes up in your head as your hair is blown in the wind. Ilya and Murtagh must be giving you looks behind your back, but this is your moment damn it and you’re determined to enjoy it.
“But do you mind if we rest first?” Ilya asks as she wraps slender fingers around the skin of your waist and rests her head on your shoulder.
“I… yeah, sure, I guess.” You grumble, as you feel your moment blow away into the wind.
“Resting sounds good.” Murtagh agrees as he looks towards the two of you, eyes seemingly focusing on the exposed skin, of which you both have plenty. “And one more thing.” He adds. “I’m starving.”
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