The Hunted

Story by Shereth on SoFurry

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Rewrite of an oldie! Enjoy!


Dayrn was having a difficult time trying to decide what was going on. It wasn't that he couldn't see, but rather that his vision had become blurred, images shifting and bleeding in front of him as if he were trying to look at a scene through greasy glass - or like trying to look up out of a pool of water.

At best, he could tell that he was in some kind of large room, large enough to be some kind of meeting hall. There was a man standing in front of him, several paces away, facing him but the man's features were all lost to his imperfect vision. The man's clothing was strange to him, colors and patterns that seemed out of place. He could tell that the man was speaking, he could see lips moving through the strange haze that gripped his head, but whatever was distorting his vision was fouling his sense of hearing as well, for the man's voice was garbled, distant and hollow sounding, too difficult for him to make out.

Then the man was moving his arms, waving them over his head, following some kind of slow, rhythmic pattern like a dance. His feet did not move, however, the man standing firmly in place, staring right back at him through that haze, garbled voice sounding almost song-like the way the words warbled in his ears. Somehow the thought came to Dayrn's mind that the man was some kind of wizard. He wasn't dancing; he was weaving some kind of spell.

Out of the corner of his eye Dayrn spotted something large and bulky emerging from the shadows. He could feel his heart stopping in his chest as he realized what it was : a dragon. Though it too was somehow indistinct through the haze, he could tell that it was focused on the man weaving the spell, and he could tell that it had nothing short of a murderous intent on its features. With a sudden panic rising in his chest, Dayrn tried to open his mouth and warn the man of the impending danger, but he found that he could not. None of the muscles in his body would respond, and he was frozen in place.

The dragon seemed to have no interest in stealth. The creature leaned its head back and roared, a sound that came to Dayrn's ears all wrong, attenuated and warbling, but full of threat all the same. The wizard, or the man he now considered a wizard, turned at the last moment and flashed his hands upward, though both man and monster moved in weird, irregular movements, languid and belabored. Dayrn could do nothing but watch in a kind of confused horror as the scene unfolded slowly before him, the dragon's bulk rippling and undulating in the air, making it look almost incorporeal. Almost spectral.

A bright flash of light burst into life at the wizard's outstretched hand, bleeding outward in a spiderweb of sparks that enveloped the man in a sort of shimmering hemisphere of energy that lasted only a second before the dragon clawed at it, bringing to life a whole shower of sparks. It all seemed to unfold slower than it should have, the sparks wavering and dancing through the haze in his vision, burning out like embers around the forms of the wizard and the dragon. The two were flying apart from one another, the man's limbs sprawling and waving in the air like a breeze, the dragon tucking itself into a kind of ball. Distorted crackling sounds reached Dayrn's ears just as the pair tumbled to the ground.

He could see that the man's defense had come a little too late. Indistinct red marks writhing through the haze made it clear that the dragon's strike had at least partway found their mark, and the wizard was clearly favoring his shoulder. The dragon was already steeling itself for another attack, rearing back for another pounce, another strike.

Then the wizard turned, turned to look back at Dayrn. The young man could only watch in mute horror as the wizard flicked his hands outward again, casting another flickering web of power, this one enveloping Dayrn and leaving the man unprotected. The dragon roared out a distorted bellow once again and launched itself forward. Dayrn wanted to scream, wanted to cry, close his eyes or throw up his hands in front of him but he was paralyzed, forced to watch, as a brilliant plume of fire ignited in the air before him, engulfing his vision in a crimson conflagration.

And then there was the sound of a horn.

Dayrn's eyes snapped open at the sound, confused at the darkness around him. Fumbling around at the sensation of something enveloping him, it took his mind a few moments to realize that he was lying in his bed, the enveloping sensation nothing more threatening than his own blankets. Pushing them off to the side, he rolled over to the edge of the bed and threw his legs over the side, sitting up and clutching at his head. His brow was slick with sweat, and his hands shook a little as he tried to wipe it away.

The images of the dream were still rattling away in his head as he heard the sound again, a low, resonant sound that seemed to shake the walls of his little cottage. When the sound died off, he thought he could make out the sounds of voices. Some were shouting what sounded like commands, while others were nothing short of panicked and confused screams. It wasn't until the horn sounded again, its baleful note ringing in his ears, that he finally recognized the sound for what it was: the warning of an impending dragon attack.

Dayrn was a dragon hunter, and this was just the sort of thing that he had trained for. At least, he fancied himself a dragon hunter, as did many of the young men of his village. It was an old tradition, often passed from one generation to the next, and for Dayrn it was no exception. His father had been a dragon hunter, and his father before him. When he reached adulthood, he had been given the hand-made bow used by his family to carry on the tradition. This wasn't to say that any dragons had been slain with the bow, or that his grandfather had slain any dragons. In fact, his grandfather had never even seen a dragon.

Neither had he, for that matter, nor had anyone else in the village. Sure, there were a few who had claimed to have seen one on some distant mountain peak, but they never had any proof of an encounter. It had been generations past since stories told of any dragon encounters in the village, let alone an all-out attack. Nevertheless, dragon hunting was a big business. Young men like Dayrn practiced their aim with the bow, did field exercises, and worked many a long hour in anticipation of such an event, for there was a hefty bounty posted for a slain dragon. A hefty bounty in gold and an even heftier bounty in fame and popularity. Still, in his many long nights on the watchtower he had never seen so much a hint of such a creature.

The thought that tonight might change all that set his pulse to racing. When he finally came to his senses, Dayrn literally jumped out of his bed. He was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency. Curiosity to see the dragon, wonderment and confusion that there was actually an attack, and, of course, a rush so he could be the one to slay the beast and claim the bounty. In his haste, he slipped on only the simplest of clothes, a loose shirt and a light pair of pants, grabbing his dragon bow and running out the door quite barefoot.

The sight that greeted his eyes was one of confusion. Several signal torches had been lit throughout the village, and nearly everyone had lit torches and lanterns in front of their own dwellings. Some people were content to peer carefully out from shuttered windows, while others had to come outside to witness the spectacle. Several people, most particularly women and children, had begun a pitiful wailing at the fright, and concerned and annoyed husbands and fathers herded the confused to the village cellar, a specially constructed cellar to provide a safe haven in the event of such an emergency. Dayrn, of course, had no interest in such protection and darted directly toward the watchtowers on the edge of the village. If anyone had good information, it would be there.

The village was not especially large, and thus the watchtowers were not too far from his cottage. It took him only a moment to cross to the nearest one, which of course was well lit and quite busy by now. Several young hunters were milling about the base of the tower, while others, torch and bow in hand, were already striking out in search of the beast. Approaching the crowd, Dayrn located a familiar face, someone whose name he couldn't remember but who he had seen manning the watchtower on several occasions.

"Where is it? Where's the dragon?" Dayrn asked as he clasped the man by the shoulder, his voice beginning to rise with the excitement that was starting to build inside of him. "What's going on?"

The man's features were anything but excited, and his voice echoed the look of disappointment. "False alarm I imagine. Young guy, first time on the tower, sounded the alarm. By now 'es headed out with one of the search parties, but they aren't gonna find a thing. There's no dragon here tonight. False alarm, I tell you."

It certainly wouldn't be the first false alarm - in fact, every alarm that had been sounded in his memory had been a false one. Dayrn seemed to grow a little disappointed himself, although he wouldn't allow his excitement to be beaten down so easily. "Did he say which direction? Do you know where he saw the dragon?"

Again the man shrugged, disinterestedly pointing off toward the tree line. "There, northeast or so. Says he saw it flying above the trees. But I tell you, there's no moon out tonight, and even if there were a dragon out there no one is going to see the beast."

"I'm going to go look," Dayrn advised quietly before trotting out beyond the watchtower and in the direction the man had indicated. He wasn't sure but thought he heard a half-hearted response wishing him luck, but it didn't matter. The man may have been convinced there was no dragon, and he was probably right. Still, Dayrn could not help but to think that tonight would be different, that tonight was somehow special.

That dream couldn't have been a mere coincidence, for it was not one that he had simply dreamed up out of the blue. It had been years - decades - since he last had a dream like that, not since he was a young child. Not since the night that the man who would become his father had found him, lying naked and dazed in the middle of a burned out village, the sole survivor of what must have been the most destructive and horrendous attack by dragons on a village in generations. His memory had been wiped clean by the trauma of the event, the first memory he kept being the strange dream that had haunted him that very night. That it should choose now to come back to his mind had to mean something. Clenching his bow in his hand, he struck out beyond the village in the direction of the northeast.

It was but a few moments before he cleared the meadow that stood on the edge of the village, coming to the edge of the dense forest. It was still the middle of the night, and as the man had pointed out there was no moon to see by. Dayrn had not taken a torch with him, but it was just as well; he had decided that stealth would do him much more good than lighting. He paused here for a moment, leaning against a tree and looking around. Dayrn himself was not a large man, perhaps a bit shorter than average and of a wiry but strong build. He was used to going around barefoot, and combined with his lithe frame he would be nearly silent and invisible in the woods, himself.

From here, the din of the village had died down, and he could just barely make it out anymore. The village itself was still alight with torches, confused people certainly still milling about, but out here it was cold and quiet and as dark as anything. These woods stretched on nearly endlessly, half a day's travel to the nearest town by horseback, crossed by any number of meandering streams, but it was not the vastness of the woods he was concerned with. Surely the dragon would not live in the woods. The dragon surely made his home to the east, in the rocky hills not far, he thought to himself silently. He would strike out in that direction instead, unnoticed, and find the dragon himself ...

That was when he heard it. It was a soft noise, something like the flapping of a banner in the wind, but there were no banners here. Dayrn crouched down, using the form of the tree behind him as cover, and scanned the sky with his eyes. He strained against the darkness, looking for some shape in the sky, and trained his ears on the faint but growing sound. He could feel his heart beating like a drum in his chest, and he was fumbling lightly to pull an arrow from his quiver when his eye caught some hint of movement, made out some dark shape against the canopy of stars above.

And then, rising almost silently from the trees nearby, he saw it. The darkness obscured any hint of feature, but the dark shape taking flight was without question a dragon. There was just enough light to make out the powerful body, long twisting tail and majestic wings that seemed to cover half the sky in his perception. Somehow Dayrn remembered the bow, and he pulled it back, aiming for what he guessed would be the dragon's weakest spot. With a thwap and nearly inaudible whistle, the arrow flew.

A second later, the dragon fell from the sky.

Dayrn watched with wide eyes as the dark shape tumbled back toward the earth, silent until it made a soft crashing sound through the branches and a light thud as it hit the ground. By now his heart was not a drum pounding in his chest, it was a pulsating stone throbbing in his throat. For several long moments he stood in disbelief, before the giddy euphoria of victory began to rise up in his chest. He half wanted to call out loudly, but he knew he had to ensure the creature was dead first, lest someone else claim the striking blow - and the bounty.

Anxiously he slipped through the trees, in the direction of the crash, listening for any indication of movement, but there was none. It was but moments before he came to a spot where the branches of the trees had been snapped and crushed by a falling weight, but there was no dragon to be found. Dayrn carefully glanced around, but still there was no sign of the dragon. With dismay he noticed, in the dim light, what looked like scrapes along the ground, and it hit him. Although he hadn't heard it, the dragon must not have been killed but only wounded, and was trying to drag itself back to its weyr. Without surprise, Dayrn realized the signs lead east, directly to the hills.

He should have known that he would not be so lucky as to take a dragon down with a single shot in the dark. That he had seen it at all was an enormous boon, and that he had hit it on his first try was more luck than he could have rightfully hoped for. That kind of luck he was not about to give up on so easily. Squinting in the darkness to get a good read on the signs, he again nodded to himself. To the east, as he suspected.

Dayrn followed, perhaps a little too quickly, a little too eagerly, but the wounded dragon seemed to be quite mobile. At times he nearly lost the trail, but something the size of a dragon left plenty of snapped twigs and branches in its wake, and even in his hurried state, Dayrn didn't have too much trouble following along.

It was not too long after - at least, it did not seem long to Dayrn - the trail emerged from the forest in a small clearing at the base of a large hill. A large hill, or a small mountain, depending on one's perspective. From here Dayrn was left to follow the trail of dislodged rocks and signs of something being dragged along in the dirt, for there were no more broken twigs and branches to follow. The trail still continued directly east, for several meters beyond the edge of the trees, when suddenly any sign of the dragon vanished. The young man glanced back and forth, from the edge of the trees that he had just emerged to the point where the trail abruptly ended, trying to figure out how the dragon could have suddenly stopped making his trail. Surely, dragging something so heavy along would leave a sign ... and that was when he realized his mistake, and looked up.

It was just in time to see the huge mass in front of him before the blow struck. What could only be the dragon's tail lashed out, catching him behind the knees and sweeping his legs out from underneath him. Dayrn yelped lightly as he was suddenly dashed to the ground, his body skittering across the rocky ground. The blow itself didn't hurt as much as landing and sliding across the rocks had, instantly tearing his clothes and scraping himself in several locations. However, it was not the scrapes or the tears that concerned him most. It was his bow.

Dayrn rolled over and sat up quickly, looking about wildly. The dragon was still airborne, swooping back up into the air, presumably to make another dive at him. Glancing around, he searched for the bow in the darkness, and finally he saw it, several meters off to one side, having been thrown somehow in the opposite direction of himself. Jumping to his feet, he began to make way for the bow when the dragon dove. For a second he wondered if he could reach the bow before the dragon got him, but immediately realized he wouldn't even make it halfway.

Except that the dragon did not dive for him. Instead, the beast threw out his rear legs and landed on the ground in front of Dayrn. As the creatures feet found the ground, a sickening snapping sound shot through the air and the young man realized that his bow, his only defense, had just been crushed under the dragon's weight. He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly within arm's reach of the dragon, which now stood towering over him. He could make out a glint of starlight in the beast's eyes, and another flash of light against what looked to be a set of wicked, deadly teeth. The young man did the only thing he could think to do, and turned and ran straight for the forest behind him.

He had barely gone two steps when a powerful wing crashed into his side, sending him sprawling back to the ground, rolling in the dirt and stones again, his head ringing from the powerful impact. Stumbling lightly and not bothering to glance back, he made his way for the trees, mercifully close, and ran as fast as he could. As the forest enveloped him, limbs and leaves began to slap him in the face, tugging on his torn clothing and ripping them even worse, slowing him down and threatening to snare him for the dragon. He thought to cry out for help, but realized that the village was much too far away, and no one but he had thought to search for the dragon in this direction.

It was then that Dayrn realized the dragon had intentionally drawn him away from the village, away from everyone else. The dragon had purposefully tricked him into leaving the relative safety of the forest, into thinking that he had felled the beast with a single, poorly aimed arrow. He realized that he never really had been hunting the dragon. The dragon had been hunting him.

As if to accentuate the point, a poorly placed root caught his foot, and sent him sprawling anew to the ground. A merciful bed of leaves and moss blunted most of the fall, but by now his body ached and when he came to a rest on his back, did not immediately respond to the demand to get back up and continue fleeing.

Again the dark shadow of the dragon loomed in his vision. As Dayrn panted heavily and helplessly on the ground, the dragon drew near, stepping ever closer and seeming to growl very softly. Surely this would be the point at which the beast would disembowel him, making a short meal and a quick end to the would-be dragon hunter's life. Somehow, by some final stroke of mercy, Dayrn's vision went black and his senses dulled, drifting unconscious and uncaring.

***

"Why do you do it?"

The voice echoed in the back of his head, just on the fringe of perception. It was thin and tenuous, lacking depth and tone and resonance; a voice almost without voice. "Do what?"

Again the voice echoed into his head, seeping in from the darkness that surrounded him. "The dragons. Why do you hunt them?"

"Revenge." His own voice sounded strangely distant and disembodied as well, as if it were coming from everywhere around him, born from the darkness itself rather than from his own mouth.

"Revenge for what?"

Once more the words seemed to come out of the darkness, echoing dully in his ears moments before they had actually formed in his head. It felt as if he were speaking in reverse. "For my parents. For my village."

He could see nothing, feel nothing. It was a strange, alien sensation, as if he were floating in a void, ignorant of all sensation except the thin, disembodied voice that called out to him. "What did they do to your parents?"

"Killed them." He paused before he began speaking, though the words were already ringing in his ears. "Burned the village down. Killed them all."

"You remember this?"

Of course he remembered it. "Of course I remember it." It was like some kind of weird contest between his mind and his voice, the thoughts being spoken before they were born, and then his mind running on ahead of the voice in the darkness. "I was there."

The responses continued to reverberate all around him, sounding out from everywhere at once. "You remember?"

"I saw it. All around me." The destruction, the burned out houses. "They did it, the dragons." He had seen them, hadn't he? "I saw them." Revenge. Thoughts and words bounced around aimlessly in the darkness, colliding, overtaking one another till he couldn't tell the difference between the two. "I saw them, didn't I?"

"... remember?"

There were burned out buildings, an entire village razed in every direction. "I remember." He remembered. Of course he did, it was the first thing that he remembered. The first image that had stuck with him. "The dragon," he called out into the darkness, a failed warning that seemed to slip back in to his throat even before it was spoken. He had seen a dragon. He was sure of it.

"Remember ..."

In an instant the darkness retreated from around him. He was lying on the floor, immobile, in the middle of a large room. He was aware of something around him ... candles, perhaps, arranged in an intentional manner, catching him in the center of a circle of flickering light. There were other lights beyond, torches, oil lamps perhaps, bathing the farther reaches of the room in their own dim light, but everything that far out seemed somehow unimportant.

There was a man, too, a man that was garbed in unusual colors, clothing that looked like it was somehow wrong, in a way that he could not grip. A coarse beard writhed as the man spoke, his voice coming out in measured syllables, like some sort of song. Dayrn couldn't see the man's eyes, though; they were weird and indistinct, as if his vision were still somehow dulled by the darkness from before.

So, too, was the man's voice. Dayrn could hear the words, could hear every syllable that left the man's lips, but somehow when they made their way to his ears they lost their meaning, lost their cohesion until they had become little more than noise. The voice was vaguely familiar yet foreign all at the same time. It was not the voice he had heard in the darkness.

The man seemed to be dancing, too. His arms were coming up over his head and then flowing downward, regular patterns that seemed to carry some kind of meaning of their own that was lost on the young man. Still, as he watched those hands cutting through the air, he could not help but to imagine some kind of odd distortion that followed behind them, a shimmer, like the mirage that followed a burning torch.

The only word that came to his head was "magic".

Dayrn felt like he should recognize the man, recognize the place, as if it were someplace he had been before. No, not someplace, but some time. Something was about to happen.

There was motion in the shadows behind the man, and it took Dayrn only half a breath to realize it was a dragon. Where it had come from, he had no idea. Nor had he any clue how the beast had hidden itself so fully in the shadows, but there it was now, stepping forward into the light with fangs bared and hatred gleaming in its eyes. Firelight gleamed and danced against its inky black scales as it moved, a weird little dance of reflected flame that seemed to echo the angry inferno that he instinctively knew burned in the creature's belly.

The beast had its murderous gaze fixed firmly upon the spellcaster. If he didn't do something, didn't warn the man, he would surely fall victim to the beast before he even knew what was coming. Dayrn tried to call up his voice but his throat suddenly felt thick, his tongue heavy, and his lips immobile. He remained motionless there in his little circle of light, helpless to watch as the beast was about to attack.

Yet, although the dragon could have approached the man from behind, could have struck him down without a fight, the beast seemed intent only upon attacking. Leaning its head back, the creature shattered the silence with a mighty roar, a terrible sound that seemed to shatter the quiet in the room, silencing the man's chanting. So ferocious was the roar that the candles encircling Dayrn seemed to quiver, their flames attenuating, flickering, and almost dying out before they calmed once again. There was more than raw threat to the sound though, a meaning hidden behind the guttural sound that tickled at Dayrn's ears, as if he could guess at what it meant. Almost.

The man turned, a sneer on his face as he spat out a series of meaningless syllables, throwing his hands up in the direction of the dragon, but the creature was more swift. The beast had launched itself through the air, fluid and graceful, swiping at the man's outstretched hand.

For a brief second the air between the two crackled with energy, a web of minuscule bolts of power that flashed from the man's fingertips and half enveloped him before the shield burst in a shower of sparks, bright flickers of light, a cascading chiaroscuro in reds and whites and blacks that briefly stole Dayrn's sight. When it returned, he could see both man and beast flying through the air in opposite directions, both cast aside by the explosion of power that he had witnessed.

The man's defense seemed to have come too late. The clothing at his shoulder had been torn asunder, exposing a set of deep gashes that probably cut right down to the bone and sinew. Even as he pulled himself back up, his arm dangled limply at his side, probably useless. The dragon, on the other hand, had emerged largely unscathed; the creature had tucked itself into a ball and rolled harmlessly to the side, coming up to its feet and coiling itself for another strike.

To Dayrn's amazement and horror, the spellcaster turned away from the dragon to face him. Both arms came up, the man wincing in obvious pain, before casting a torrent of energy right at him. It seemed to hesitate at the little circle of candles about him before it dove right into the little flames, scooping them up and carrying them right up off the wicks, so that the tiny fires began to dance around him in a wild pattern. A protective web of power was spun around him, the little flames sparking up into their own proper infernos, obscuring Dayrn's vision.

He could hear the dragon roaring out again, angry, pained. Through the flickering fire, he could see black scales once more sailing through the air in the direction of the man, who was still busily casting power in his direction. The man was helpless; the dragon would easily tear him asunder. Dayrn would not see it happen, however, as his vision was suddenly engulfed in flame, a bright conflagration that consumed everything around him.

Wincing reflexively, he shut his eyes tight, and the dream was once again gone.

Cool stone and a dull, light headache greeted him when life returned to Dayrn's body. His senses seemed fuzzy at first, unable to tell him what was going on, his mind not quite gripping the situation. He was still caught up in the aftertaste of the dream, wondering why it had visited him again so quickly, but this time different : more clear, more real. It took him a few moments before he remembered the night before, remembered the dragon, remembered his plight, and wondered if it had all been a dream from the start. If he were still dreaming.

The dull pain in his limbs seemed to be a not so gentle reminder that he was, indeed, awake. Groaning quietly, he attempted to sit up, but was only able to rise to his hands and knees when he felt a tugging resistance on his limbs. Slowly his eyes opened, focusing on the ground below him. Cold, gray stone greeted his eyes, cool stone that had served as his bed for the night. Drifting forward, his eyes moved to his wrists, which seemed to be bound in light cloth cuffs, which were in turn somehow bound to the stone floor. He tugged against his bonds half-heartedly, and the thought came to his mind that he could break them with some effort, perhaps if his strength were to return fully, but for now he was quite hopelessly bound, a prisoner to the floor.

Except, he then realized, that he was not on the floor. His bed for the night was some kind of stone pedestal, raised a few feet off the ground, and he was tied to the very center of it. His head slowly rose, and he began to look about himself. He seemed to be in a cave of some kind, open to the air outside. A light breeze swept into the cave, rustling the few shreds of torn and dirty clothing that still clung to his form, and the sunlight was able to filter in and illuminate most of the cave. His eyes wandered from the pedestal that he was perched upon, following the mostly featureless cave to the far end, when suddenly they went wide. Curled up against the far corner was the dragon.

In the light, the beast looked surprisingly small, perhaps the size of a large horse except for the wings and tail. It seemed to be sleeping quite peacefully, wings folded atop its back and tail curled up in several coils off to its side. The dragon's hide was a dark, coal-black color, and it's head was adorned with a set of stubby horns. Oddly, in some other place and under other circumstances, Dayrn would almost have said it looked gentle.

However, it was the same beast that had hunted him down, and the same beast that had apparently bound him to the pedestal. He struggled against the bonds again, still unable to break them, and began looking around futilely for some means of escaping. It was then he noticed a few animal bones scattered around the cave, picked clean. The dragon's meals, to be sure, and Dayrn quietly wondered how many of those bones had belonged to a human at one point. Then, his stomach sinking, he came to another realization. The pedestal he was bound to seemed suddenly very much like a dinner table.

Dayrn wanted to cry. Not only was he going to fall victim to the very thing he sought to slay, but he was going to die in humiliating fashion. Instead of falling valiantly in a battle with the creature, he was going to become the dragon's breakfast. And that dragon began to stir, perhaps roused by the sound of Dayrn struggling with his bonds. The man cowered, pulling harder, eyes fixed on the beast as it began to move. Slowly the dragon stretched out, in an almost catlike fashion, arching its back and splaying its claws out against the cave's floor, making menacing little clicking sounds.

Then the dragon's eyes focused on him, its massive head turning to look him more fully on. The beast seemed to yawn softly, conveniently displaying those sharp rows of teeth, a long and serpentine tongue lolling out in the yawn before pulling back in, snapping its jaws back together. It seemed to regard Dayrn with frighteningly hungry eyes for several moments before it rose up, and slowly moved toward him.

Dayrn could have sworn it licked its lips, and as it eyed him another realization struck him with enough force to send a chill down his spine. He had seen this dragon before. It was the same black dragon from his dream.

He was surprised when the creature opened its mouth to speak, surprisingly clear and easy to understand. "I spy recognition in your eye, human."

The creature had read him correctly, and that could only mean that the beast, too, had recognized him. Yet the only time he had seen that dragon - the only time he had seen any dragon - was in his dream. Had it been more than a dream? Had it, in fact, been a memory that lie dormant within him for so long? He watched in increasing horror as the beast stretched again, stepping ever closer. The monster had been in his memory from so long ago. Did it recognize him, too, after all these years? Even though he had just been a child at the time? "You ... it was you at the village ... and you killed him, that man, that was you ..."

Something like a smile crossed the beast's features. "I was, and I did. Which means that I have finally found you. Two long decades ... countless villages, countless attempts ... and finally you are here. Could it be? At last, my search is over ... I have you ..."

Dayrn could hardly believe his ears. Were these beasts so vengeful, so tenacious, that they would spend twenty years looking for the one that got away?

Again he tugged uselessly at his bonds, but to no avail. His eyes, filled with fear, locked onto the dragon that slowly slinked over in his direction, suddenly snapped shut. He had no desire to watch the creature that was about to make a meal of him, and ducked his head slightly, trying to curl into a protective, fetal position, but the bonds prevented him from doing so. He whimpered slightly as he heard the beast moving about, and his mind suddenly began to fill with wild imaginations. Would the dragon start with his neck, and kill him off quickly? Would the beast simply slice his belly open and slowly eat him alive, torturing him the whole way? His skin began to tingle, pricking here and there as he was certain he could feel those razor-sharp talons pressing into his skin ...

A strange scent on the air tickled his nose, a scent that was somehow familiar but he could not quite figure out what it was. It was not unpleasant ... perhaps some kind of cooking spice for the meal. The idea seemed ludicrous to him, however. The dragon was not going to cook him before it ate him. He could hear the creature moving closer, a low rumbling growl emanating from its throat, and Dayrn could not help but to whimper softly. That was when he felt it. The dragon's breath, slightly warm and moist, as it snuffled lightly along the back of his neck. He could feel the curiously warm touch of the scales as they bumped his skin where it showed through the tattered clothing, sniffing upward toward the base of his skull. Perhaps it would be quick after all.

Then he felt contact against his back, and heard what sounded like cloth ripping. The dragon was tearing away strips of his clothing, what was left of his shirt and pants being tossed away like so much garbage. There was a pause, and another clicking sound of talons against stone, and for some reason Dayrn opened his eyes again and looked down. The dragon had climbed up onto the table, perched over him, and a massive, scaly forepaw was splayed out near one of his own, and as he looked to the other side, sure enough, was the other of the dragon's own paws. Again he felt the warm touch of scales on the back of his neck, the dragon's breath, and knew the end was at hand.

The dragon, however, did not yet kill him. Instead the beast leaned against him, and he could feel the warm, smooth scales of the dragon's belly and chest pressing lightly into the skin of his back. It was a strangely relaxing, reassuring feeling, though Dayrn felt anything but relaxed and reassured. Suddenly, there was another odd sensation, the feeling of something warm and wet, slick, something being pressed against his rear, and again that unusual scent caught his nose.

Dayrn was able to make two deductions, that flashed into his mind like lightning. His captor was a male dragon, and it was about to mount him.

He pulled against his bonds again and cried out loudly, but to no avail. One powerfully scaled forearm slipped under his chest and gripped him tightly, pulling him back against the dragon's body, holding him up off the stone. Again he could feel the sensation of what could only be the dragon's shaft bumping and rubbing against his rump, sliding wetly into the crevice between his cheeks and rubbing a slick substance around his now tightly puckered rearhole. It was only then that Dayrn noticed, oddly enough, that he was having a powerful erection of his own, just before he felt the pressure behind him, as the dragon began to push forward. A sensation like fire suddenly filled his body, and he screamed out in pain.

"Relax ... it will hurt less ..." In the sudden haze that filled his mind, he made an effort to comply with the voice, and somehow was able to relax somewhat. He oddly felt disjointed, as if he were again in a dream, but the sensations were still very real. He could feel the dull pain, the burning sensation again as the tip of the dragon's penis penetrated him slightly, forcing him open. As the pain subsided, he suddenly became aware that the sensation was not all that unpleasant, and relaxed a little more as the dragon held him tight, and slowly began working his way into the his rear.

Dayrn almost refused to believe it. He had been captured by a dragon, and was now being mounted by that dragon. Not only that, but in spite of the pain and the fear in his mind he was beginning to enjoy it. The dragon was slow, methodical, almost careful with him, wriggling in bit by bit and giving him a little time to adjust. Strange and wonderful sensations coursed through Dayrn's body as he felt the stiff member slipping further into his rear, pressing against his insides in just the right way to drive a jolt of visceral pleasure up his spine, and he could not help but to stifle a moan.

The dragon's penis was enormous. Despite the foggily wonderful sensations it was giving him, Dayrn could not ignore the fact that something that huge was being rammed into his rear, and as the dragon began to slowly hump into him, he felt as if his body would be split with every thrust. He grunted with the pain each time, trying to relax but his body trying to tense up.

He wasn't actually being split apart, but the raw pain tearing through him seemed to insist otherwise. Radiating upward from his crotch, that burning sensation, spread down his thighs and upward across his belly and his sides. Oddly, in spite of the pain, his eyes fixated on his penis, hanging erect below him and dribbling with pre, bouncing back and forth to each insistent thrust of the dragon behind him. From here the view was incredible, seeing his body being pounded by the massive, powerful black dragon, holding him so gently around the chest. It was making him even more aroused, in spite of the mounting pain,

Then the feeling of being rent open hit him anew, but this time it was radiating from his shoulders. What felt like rips in his skin ran across his back, over his shoulders and moving across his chest. He yelped out softly in pain again, pulling his head up again and clenching his teeth. His breath had grown a little short by now, panting some in time to the big dragon's thrusts into his rear, the beautiful sensation of that warm flesh moving in and out, spreading him wide.

He couldn't figure out why it felt so good, in spite of the sheer terror of the situation. He wanted to cry out in pain but his voice sounded more like a plaintive, sexual groan. Something within him, something deep-seated at the core of his being craved this, needed this, yet his confused mind was still trying to scream at him that it was all very, very wrong.

"Remember," the dragon over him said in a near whisper, and in that instant Dayrn realized that he had heard that voice somewhere before. "Remember ..."

The darkness, in the dream. Suddenly, violently, the images came rushing back to his mind, and Dayrn was somehow in two places at the same time. He could still feel the deep, insistent thrusts into his backside, could still feel the strange thrill of sexual pleasure rippling through his body and demanding satisfaction, demanding release.

Yet at the same time, he was there on the floor, motionless, once again. Trapped between the flickering candles. He could hear the syllables echoing in his ears once again, could hear the voice of the chanting man. No, he was no longer chanting, he was speaking. "They are coming."

Another powerful thrust at his backside nearly shattered the dream, making him moan out in lusty pleasure, though the man seemed unaware of it. He could hear the voice whispering quietly to him from the darkness, still. "Remember ..."

"They will find you, and take them with you. They will make you like them. A dragon hunter." He could see the man's eyes, now. They were burning with sadistic hatred.

Then the black drake appeared, looked in his direction, and roared furiously. "What have you done to him?"

Dayrn shuddered, his body hungering to be claimed by this powerful creature, his mind screaming in fear and confusion at what was going on, and still the voice echoed out to him. "Remember ..."

The man sneered angrily at the dragon. "Oh, the irony when you are slain at the hands of your own beloved," he spat out at the dragon, before sparks flew and nearly blinded him. "It's too late," the spellcaster spat out, calling up the dancing flame and fire, enveloping Dayrn in an inferno that was every bit as hot and demanding as the fire that was now burning in his belly.

Yet still he recalled the whispered command to remember. Glancing down, he looked at himself for the first time, his body wreathed in flame. Silvery white scale gleamed up at him from his own fingers only a heartbeat before being enrobed in soft, pink flesh, his talons fading away, his body shrinking as the flame danced ever closer, around him, searing him till he could see no more ...

Slowly his eyes began to open again, focusing down on his hands. The dragon had finally released his chest, dragging a scaled hand down his forearm before splaying out next to his own hand, fingers lightly playing against him. It was a sensitive, tender kind of gesture that made him smile. Oddly, his own fingers had begun to swell, his skin having grown a very pale color, and that swelling seemed to advance from his fingers through his hand and up his arm. The skin grew tight, thin like paper, and burst in various random places, without loss of blood. He watched with curiosity as the skin began to flake off and fall to the ground, crumbling like dust and vanishing. Silvery scales were shining up at him again.

He could almost remember, a thought that danced in his head. A wicked man who had tried to kill him - no, kill someone important to him. No, not even that ...

The searing pain he felt in his loins called him back to the moment, and he glanced down along his stomach once more. Where once there was nothing but the strangely beautiful sight of his own arousal swaying beneath him in time to the dragon's rutting, he now saw that his previous fear of being split in half seemed to be manifesting itself. Hairline cracks radiated outward from between his legs, running across his skin in a spiderweb pattern. It reminded him of something out of a dream ...

He could almost remember it. A wizard who sought the blood of a dragon spilled by his own beloved. A wizard who had somehow brought war between mankind and the dragons. Why?

Memories danced like ghosts at the edge of his mind, but the physical sensation of the moment was more insistent. He watched through hazy eyes as the cracks running along his thighs, along his stomach seemed to widen and multiply, like the shell of a boiled egg that had been dropped to the ground. Just like the shell of that egg, bits and pieces of his skin were beginning to slough off, knocked loose by each powerful thrust at his backside, forced off by the swell of his own chest as he breathed in, and let out a low, needy groan.

A powerful headache seized him for a moment as the tearing sensation moved across his face, the bones in his skull and jaw suddenly feeling as if they were being shattered into pieces. He held in a mute scream for a moment until the pain passed, and again his eyes opened. Oddly, his vision seemed to be different, a little sharper, a little more focused, the colors a little brighter and fuller. He turned his eyes again to his exploding arms, and was somehow only half surprised to find that as the skin flaked off, shiny, almost iridescent scales of a silvery blue color showed through. The cuffs around his wrists themselves burst as his wrists grew too big, muscled scales rending the cloth, his fingers growing in length and the tips forming into strong talons. It was only now that he realized he was watching all of this over a slender, draconic snout.

He remembered. With mankind turned against the dragons, they would fall one by one. When there weren't enough left to defend their own kind, the wizard would get what he was really after. The blood of a dragon, spilled by his own beloved. With it, eternal life. He remembered.

Slowly the sensations began to subside, as his body again felt normal. His wings hung loosely over his shoulders, pressed downward slightly by the black dragon that was still busily humping him in the rear, his tail pushed off to the side and wrapped slightly around the dragon's waist. He glanced downward now, over his belly scales and took an appreciative glance at his penis, which had grown and become tapered on the end. The last bit of human flesh flaked from his body as his scrotum withdrew, hiding under his scales, and his transformation was complete.

It was at that very moment that the black dragon climaxed, gripping him hard around the waist and plunging deep. The pain was all gone now, only the wonderful sensation of being mated, the feeling of his mate's dragonhood throbbing against his rear as he came, the sensations enough to bring on his own climax. He reared his head back and roared lightly as the powerful orgasm shook his body, unlike anything he had experienced as a human, spurting his mess all over the stone before him. It was several moments before he was able to catch his breath and crane his neck back, looking the black dragon in the eyes.

The dragon returned the gaze, a deeply loving and happy look in his eyes as he held on to his lover. "I found you love ... I found you."

He nodded, smiling broadly and showing off his dragon's smile. He remembered, oh but he remembered it all! "Ciret, my love. You found me." Dayrn leaned his head back and nuzzled softly against the black dragon's snout, the sensations of the sex dying off and the warm and elated feeling of love and freedom filling his heart. His mate had at last found him.

The memories suddenly began to flood back into his stressed mind as his body relaxed into the loving arms of the dragon, the sensation of scales rubbing scales feeling like the most wonderful kind of backrub he could imagine. He had been cursed, ages ago, by a dying mage who sought to use him, sought the blood of his mate to cure his own mortality. His mate had at last freed him from that curse of being trapped in a human body, the curse of being trapped within the form of a dragon hunter, the curse of only able to watch as the very body he was trapped in hunted the one thing he loved.

The unwelcome memories of hunting dragons, the unwelcome memories of being bound in such a confining, uncomfortable body began to fade from his mind. The mage might still be alive, might still be plotting against them even now, but for the moment it was the least of his worries. He wriggled against the black dragon a bit, the sensation of being impaled by his member sending happy little jolts of electricity through his stomach, and he sighed as he pulled his mates arms tightly around his chest, kissing the shiny black scales.

He was with Ciret again. He was dragon again. He was free.

He was happy.