Summer, 1325

Slowly days turned to weeks as Logan gradually recovered from his wound as the “guest” of the Dragon known as Meratezatgh.

The wyrm treated its would-be-killer well, giving the hunter a private chamber of its cave, feeding him large game- all well cooked- and allowing him access to the pool and underground stream for drinking and bathing. In fact, Logan was free to move about the cave and mountaintop whenever and wherever he wanted, confined only by his debilitated arm that prevented the hunter from escaping down the steep and dangerous cliffside trail.

It was a comfortable enough imprisonment.

Logan’s interactions with the dragon quickly became a well-worn routine. Every morning, the dragon would wake up, stretch its wings and sun itself on a rock near its landing platform, before unfurling those leathery limbs and catching a draft of wind to take off into the sky. While the dragon focused itself on catching a meal, Logan would have some free time to take care of himself and plan. After scrounging around leftovers for breakfast, the human would dress his wound, testing his broken left arm for strength by juggling a golden nugget he found among the dragon’s hoard-which the hunter always carefully placed back afterwards lest he rouse the dragon’s fury. Logan would then explore the limits of his prison: poking deeper into the crevices and rooms of Mera’s cave, squeezing through formations barely a foot in width, climbing up talus fields, ducking past stalactites still dripping with water and icy pools of water swimming with sightless fish, slowly mapping out the dragon’s home for amusement or for hiding spots in case of any emergency. By noon, the dragon would return, bearing some deer or cattle that it had caught from the lower hills which it would proudly roast for Logan’s benefit with a breath of flame. There would follow some long conversations about something that served no purpose in the greater scheme of things punctuated by jokes and snide comments. In the afternoon, the dragon would place Logan onto its back and show him the wyrm’s territory, the islands of rock in the sky that were the high peaks of the Southern Ranges floating above the late spring fog, the wind-swept arches and canyons cut into deeply into the escarpment by water and glacier, the unbroken taiga, and alpine lakes and rivers of ice that made up the highlands. In the evening, after procuring more food, the two would sit together by the hearth and argue about things in the world late into the night, leaving Logan and the dragon in a state of mutual annoyance. Their late-night conversations would finally fall apart with the dying of the flame, before they turned in, awaiting the next rising of the sun.

It was enjoyable, in a way.

Logan still didn’t quite trust the dragon; regardless of his relative freedom and kind treatment, the hunter remained a prisoner, held by his wound and the harsh environment to the dragon’s whim. After all, dragons were known to be proud, fickle creatures, and Heavens knows when and how it’ll suddenly turn on him; sometimes in the midst of another heated nighttime argument Logan felt like he was a mouse trapped in the paws of a bored cat. And so, the hunter continued looking for escape routes, possible paths down the mountainsides and mapping out his cavernous environment.

Gradually however, Logan found that he was beginning to take a liking to the powerful, righteous, Auxian-talking dragon. After all, the hunter couldn’t have expected better treatment than what his captor had provided; the wyrm fed him, argued with him but otherwise left him to his devices, and as their mutual conversations went on the hunter found himself revealing more and more of his life to the creature.

By the third week, Logan had made his decision: he would not kill the dragon. Ultimately it had spared his life and was allowing him to heal, which was far more chivalrous than any of his opponents ever had done before.

A debt is a debt.

So Logan would recover, he would get better at fighting. He would come back and defeat the dragon in single combat- and then he would munificently spare the wyrm’s life in return. Instead he would bind it and sell it again to some powerful lord as a pet- just to make sure it had a good future- before looting its golden hoard. That was fair, Logan decided as he continued to test his arm and await his eventual recovery and revenge.

After all, Logan Durham of Lynchburg was an honorable person.

Even to monsters.

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Bruce Springsteen- Bishop Danced

From  chickenzaur!

Original: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/48587309/