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Eragon started to awareness. He wasn't falling. Not anymore. Darkness, ominous and unfathomable, surrounded him. Just like it surrounded him when he and Saphira crashed. He blinked to clear his heavy eyes, again and again, and began rubbing them sore as the darkness persisted.

Did he--did he truly crash? Everything was sore, and he couldn't see Saphira, couldn't feel her scales. Everywhere he groped, or kicked, or thrashed, there was nothing.

He released half a gasp, then scrambled to his feet. He lurched once up, wobbled on too weak and shaky legs, and fell. He rolled with the momentum, and slammed face first into a hard, rough, yet surprisingly warm surface. Eragon knew that texture. Scales.

He rested his brow against it, swallowing in quick gulps between each breath to wet his too tight and parched throat. Remnants of the dream still flashed through his mind. Saphira, too sluggish and careless. And Thorn, a red arrow that rammed against her exposed belly head-first. Saphira screeched. Thorn's horns pierced her, and everything froze. Murtagh sneered during that split moment, and Thorn's roar rang in his ears as he pulled out blood-dripping horns. Saphira wavered. Then they fell.

Eragon's head still whirled with that dreadful spinning motion. He took in a deep breath, and released it in a drawn-out sigh. That dream felt too real. As real as the wind that chilled the sweat on his brow and bare chest. Its cool touch drew the fire from his tense muscles, leaving them flaccid and sore from the day's riding. When he began to shiver, Eragon crawled towards Saphira's tail, away from the azure dome formed by her wing. He found a nook to curl into, between her hind foot and a mass of smooth, velvety wing membrane. Heat radiated from the living blanket, casting its gentle touch on his bare skin.

A warm shiver slithered through Eragon. It began from his groin, dispersed through his limbs, crawled along his chest. It made his hairs stay on end and his stomach churn, this tantalizing proximity to Saphira's hindquarters. Just past her foot, nestled beneath her flank was...

Eragon swallowed his curiosity in one quick gulp. Whatever he did, he did it for Saphira's sake. The dream too emphasized the need for his interference. No Dragon Rider had the right to put pride before necessity, not when the repercussions were so dire. Thorn, that damned runt, would not hesitate to exploit Saphira's weaknesses. Better she had none to begin with.

The more he dwelt on the thought, the better it seemed. "I'll do anything to keep you safe," Eragon whispered under his breath. "Whatever it takes." He turned on his side, wriggled close enough to her foot to rest his head on one oversized digit, and closed his eyes.

Only sleep didn't come. He turned on the other side, head against his arm. Then on his back, arms straight and stiff to his side, then crossed on his chest when ethereal ants started marching across his numb skin. He curled, shifted, groped at the wing membrane in a failed attempt to bring it closer for extra heat. Nothing worked. All of his muscles were relaxed, apart from one.

The one between his legs.

It bobbed inside his leggings, throbbed and pulsated. He shivered whenever his sensitive tip brushed against the leather, and grit his teeth. Only, the more he waited, the stronger the swings turned. The tightness of his member soon turned from irritating persistence to unbearable desire.

He pushed himself to his bottom, knees curled to his chest. His breath came out in ragged huffs, and he tensed at the lurch within his groin. Accursed curiosity. Why, of all possible spots, did he choose to sleep by Saphira's hindquarters? Her claws jutted from the edge of his vision, and, no matter how hard he tried to look forward, his gaze twitched towards that patch of wan scales.

Eragon dropped to his fours to trudge along Saphira's side. Fresh air. That's what he needed. Too warm and suffocating under her wing. He practically boiled inside his leathers. Once he pushed aside the leathery drape and lurched forward into the night, Eragon breathed in deeply. The cold soothed his sweltering skin, yet not his hard, sore muscle. Eragon chanced a curt glance at Saphira, then scratched his swell when only her nostrils moved.

He gasped, louder than he intended. His jaw clenched as he chanced a look at Saphira. Her paw jerked, and her digits grappled at nothingness while a wing jerked in its joint. Good. She was dreaming.

Eragon held his breath during his maladroit shuffle. Small, curt, soundless steps. Dragon's great wings, why did she choose a meadow? Wan moonlight revealed to him nothing. Nothingness spanned from here, to there, to everywhere. No tree to hide behind, no tall underbrush to slink into. Nothing.

Eragon stopped and exhaled his pent-up breath before his chest burst. From this distance, Saphira was the size of a steed. Her wings looked like a swath of cerulean cloth, and her tail seemed exceedingly long, its tip reaching all the way up to her snout. At least she wouldn't hear, even if she tried.

Eragon's teeth sank into his lower lip as he worked on the latching of his breeches. Excitement washed over him like the raging waters of a waterfall, only they made him sweat with desire. The lace fell and the breeches followed, flowing over his tip like velvety silk. Eragon's member tensed at the tantalizing touch, then jerked upwards.

He cupped his sheath in the palm of his right hand. He flinched, then winced as he squeezed his shaft too hard. Softer, like a woman's touch. Slower, like a summer breeze. With that in mind, he slid along his throbbing length, huffing with the pent-up tension welled within his groin. He pulled his wrinkled skin over the flared tip, groaning as his fingers met the circular, fleshy ridge. He passed over it, then pulled back, then over it, and back again.

"Ackh," he bit back the short hiss of delight. He was so hard down there...so tense... and every stroke only fed the raging fire burning within. The quick, terse, recurring motion winded him. His breath came in short huffs, and his ruddy cheeks seethed. Fiery tendrils slithered through his blood engorged member, writhing and curling along his length. He scrunched his eyes shut. Women hovered within his mind's eye, with loose overalls, flowing dresses that parted just enough to reveal their crevice. They inched towards him, closer and closer, their hands reaching for his member.

One picked it, and Eragon's member flexed in response. Clear liquid fled his tip, smooth and oily. He rubbed it along his stiff length, flexed his fingers, and allowed the woman to cup his manhood. Her hazel eyes glimmered, and her thin lips parted into a smile as she pulled him closer, and closer, and even closer to her bosom and her swollen nether lips. Eragon sank into her with a shuddering gasp. Moist...warm...

He snapped his eyes open. His wrist froze along his throbbing erection. A few flicks, and his burden would seep out. He couldn't let go. Not yet. Not before that hazel eyed lady with hay curls and a wreath of flowers upon her petite head took him inside her. He took a deep breath and exhaled in a drawn-out sigh. Why not Arya? Why didn't she fill his vision? His meat weakened, and he had to rub it until it turned hard before shutting his eyes.

The lady. He parted her dress, grabbed her lithe shoulders to pull her closer to him, and thrust forward, straight into Saphira's slit. Her muscles tightened around him, squeezing and pushing. This time, it wasn't his arm they were after.

Eragon blinked to clear the image, yet somehow, she lay right before him, a faded mass of scales and wings and oversized flanks. And between them, her oozing crevice, bound by swollen folds the color of the sky. Thin, almost transparent veins webbed them, and they squelched due to slickness as Eragon sank inside her.

Eragon bit his lip to prevent his impending release, but pain didn't hurt as his member pulsated once, twice, then jerked in its clutch. Saphira's warmth tingled, then blazed, then seeped into his very being. Her muscles clenched around him, then released, and clenched again, so hard and fast his endurance faltered. Eragon threw his head back and roared his release as he burst. He pushed in and out with bestial vigor until the first spurt traversed his rock-hard length. With that last thrust, Eragon buried himself as deep as he could. Spasms wreaked his weakened flesh with each increasingly weaker spurt, until his spent manhood shriveled in his clammy hand.

Once the blissful ordeal subsided, he released the spent flesh to drag up his breeches and wipe away the remainder of his lust. His breaths came out in ragged huffs, and as he closed his eyes to wipe the sweat off his brow and eyebrows, Saphira's nether regions flared to existence. Her lips swayed with her breathing, and a thin rivulet of ivory seed marred her lips. His seed.

No. That wasn't how it--

Eragon cupped his face in his palms, then glanced over the pearly strings coating the patch of grass at his feet. The ground had his seed, not Saphira. Never Saphira. He sighed, dropped his arms to his sides, and balled his hands into fists.

They remained tight all the way back to Saphira. Her breath was shallow, and her eyes twitched in their sockets. Good. No quips to deal with. He continued his awkward shuffle up to her wing, where he dropped onto his weak, shivering fours and trudged under it. Back propped against her warm, scaly hide, he exhaled. He enjoyed less time than he expected before the cerulean wing membrane vanished, replaced by Saphira's snout.

"What dirt stain needed such vigorous rubbing under the star speckled sky?"

Eragon froze. His gaze sank and his mind went blank. Those azure eyes, and the enlarged coal beads within them--they were too much.

"My leggings. They were in great need--they needed--they had a wet stain from your--earlier--"

"I see no stain." Her snout inched forward.

Eragon drew back, tried to get to his feet and away from her inquisitive snout, but hit her wing and crumbled. Saphira shoved his arms aside and dug her nostrils into his crotch.

"Do you have to be that close to--to see that stain?"

"Night's darkness clouds it."

Eragon pointed at his grass stained knee. "There's your stain." But her snout didn't budge, and Eragon flushed at the realization. Fool! He wanted to scream. With pupils that size, she can see through your clothes! Eragon tucked his shrunk manhood further into his leggings, then shifted one leg over the other.

"Tried, but grass--its color has the habit of sticking onto things."

"As does male seed."

Her snout blew warm gusts over his groin as her nostrils twitched. She flicked her tongue to dab at his groin before Eragon pushed her away. "Like you would know of it, dragon."

Saphira drew her head back. Her eyes bore into his, and Eragon's vision whirled as his stomach threatened to spill its contents. "Many males brush stains in the night. Curiously, all of them had their coverings at their feet. Could the stain tarnish their skin? I pondered upon it, only to realize they all brushed an area between their two legs while they huffed, puffed, and groaned. The same area you brushed."

Eragon's temples threatened to burst with the shame left by a wanton lie. "It's an urge," he mumbled. "It's like--like the ladies. They insert something, we rub it. All for the same result." His mouth felt numb by the end of it. All of him did.

"To suppress your mating instinct?"

"To release." Eragon released a quivering sigh. "It's not really--I mean when I--"

Eragon's words came to an abrupt stop when Saphira's snout bumped into his midriff. He coughed, then wrapped his arms around her length.

"You don't have to speak Eragon. I already know what you're going to say." She paused to hum her gratitude as Eragon's fingers scratched her scales. "Allow instincts to guide you. Not words, or principles, or shame."

"Humans have no instincts," Eragon blurted out. "Not anymore."

"Yet you do mate your hand to relieve the urges your mating instinct bestows upon you."

Eragon opened his mouth, but Saphira shoved her snout in his guts so hard he heaved. "I'm a dragon, Eragon. I am naked, as you humans call it, and never sought to explain it. Just as I didn't explain my own needs to you. They happen." She retreated her snout an inch to fix one eye on him. "Let them. Accept them. They are part of you."

Easier said than done. Eragon curled under her fanned out wing. His cheeks burned, his temples throbbed, and his leathers were drenched. He mumbled her nonsense as he trudged on his knees towards her paw, where he rested against her digits. His breath was too loud, and his heart beat too fast to allow sleep.

He glanced at her exposed slit instead. From her position, one of her lips poked out, exposing the soggy flesh beneath. Eragon hardened in three heartbeats. Saphira's words too resonated within his mind. Accept your urges, this, that. She practically offered herself to him. All he had to do was clamber over her paw, remove those bothersome leggings, and quell his needs.

He curled into a ball instead, and scrunched his eyes shut.

***

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