Chapter 106

Chapter 106: 106 Then, like waking from an endless dream, Bran suddenly felt the taste of salty air on his tongue and the distant rush of water. He opened his eyes and sat up, finding himself on a grassy sand dune, the wide open sea no more than a stone’s throw away in the distance. He stretched and as he did, a black bit of fabric fell off him and he discovered that someone had laid one of his own shirts over him, probably to keep him warm as he slept. It had to be Misha. Bran ached to see Misha, to hold him in his arms, to confirm to himself over and over again that he was real. Bran looked around and saw that a few more items of clothing were strewn about on the sand. He smiled and shook his head then folded them neatly into a pile. There was a dull thunk, and a black rectangle of metal fell out of the front pocket of the jeans. It was a smartphone. Years of training made Bran able to resist the temptation of picking it up but as he used a stick to prod the device to get a better look at it, he suddenly realised that it wasn’t just any old smartphone that Misha must have gotten his hands on, it was his old phone, his one from a decade ago. He immediately reached for it but was able to stop himself again. If Misha had it with him, it begged to reason that it was, somehow, working again, which of course meant he should not be touching it. Bran crouched by the phone, hands formed into fists in the sand, and waited for himself to calm down. He knew his reaction was in large part due to the dream he’d had earlier about his mother, or rather with his mother. He wasn’t some beginner in the jianghu; he knew that that dream was real. The urge to pick up the phone faded and Bran turned his attention to folding the rest of Misha’s clothes. As he did, he felt something else hard was in one of the pockets so he unfolded Misha’s trousers and used the stick to extract his target. It was the mobile teleportation device with a total of zero blinking lights on it. The battery was dead. Bran sighed and poked it back into the folds of the clothing. Whatever Misha had used it for, it had done its job. Even if he got it recharged, Bran had a feeling the thing couldn’t be revived. Just like his mother. Bran immediately pushed the thought from his mind and stood again, stretching out his arms to give himself something else to focus on. Other than the emotional turmoil, he felt good, amazingly good, better than he had in years. It was like some weight he’d always been carrying had suddenly been lifted, and, in all likelihood, it really had. He didn’t know much about all this soul stuff, he’d have to ask Aunt Yeung when he got a chance, but he knew it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that one had caused the other. He dropped his arms and looked out towards the sea again and spotted exactly what he was looking for. A little startled, Bran reached up a hand to touch his face but found that, no, he wasn’t wearing glasses. He blinked then looked out at the horizon again. Everything was sharp, just like the taste of salt in his mouth. He could feel again. He could feel again. Seven years, seven long years of feeling like he was only half in the world, now at an end. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips and he looked for that wriggly wyrm out at sea. He had to tell Misha the good news. As for the wriggly Misha, he was... frolicking in the waves. There was no other way to describe it. The dragon was jumping and skittering back and forth, repeatedly arching and straightening out his back like the world’s largest caterpillar, as he ripped across the shallows of the beach chasing small flying fish. Bran laughed. He felt lighter, lighter than he had in years and Misha, the loooong caterpillar, was just too amusing to look at. But as Bran watched and appreciated the beauty of Misha’s serpentine body, he started to feel that something was wrong. In the past, it was only when Misha was going at a walk that he would actually use his clawed feet on the ground. Anything faster and he’d end up flying, or at least floating along with the occasional touch of the ground. Now, however, his feet were constantly on the ground taking his entire weight regardless if he was walking or trotting. He was earth-bound. Bran started forward. "Misha!" The loong’s head perked up as Bran approached and Bran felt relief flow through him. Misha was fine, probably just letting off some steam... Then he noticed the fish in Misha’s mouth. "Gone fishing, huh?" he said as the loong left the water and walked right past him. "Misha? Wait..." Bran hurried after the loong and circled round to his front to discover that Misha was making a great bloody mess of the fish. Bran’s eyes latched to the blood on the sand, then to the blood staining Misha’s teeth and jaws. Worry lodged in his throat. "Misha..." Bran reached out then quickly drew back when the creature snarled at him. For the first time, the loong looked at him and his eyes, Bran saw only an animal. "Misha!" Fear thrust aside all thoughts of self-preservation and Bran stepped forward, now reaching with both hands to the loong. Its mouth opened with a hiss then closed with a sharp snap. Bran felt blood drip down his cheek. It was his own blood. He unwittingly stepped backward then crumpled to the ground, a hand pressed to his bleeding cheek, and watched as Misha returned to eating his fish. Was it even right to call the creature Misha? Bran was sure that this loong was Misha - it looked exactly as he knew Misha’s creature form to look - yet... That look. That lack of recognition, not just of who Bran was, but what Bran was. An animal. His Misha was now an animal. Bran sat on the sand, numb, as a few seagulls coasting in the sea breeze came down to try to steal a morsel. The loong snapped at them but they just kept coming until eventually one of them managed to steal the fish and fly away with it. Misha warbled a note of displeasure but didn’t pursue them and Bran knew why. Misha couldn’t fly. Bran brought his legs up and buried his face against them, arms wrapped around his knees. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to think, couldn’t let himself lest he completely break down. Too many things had happened, too many... He felt a shadow loom over him and he raised his head to find Misha, no, the loong, standing over him. Bran flinched, now suddenly afraid. There was still blood caking the creature’s jaws. That was that then. Bran’s mother had given her life to help him live but now it would still come to an end, now at the hands of his lover. Bran closed his eyes. He heard the quiet rattle of the loong’s breath grow louder as the creature’s great maw drew closer and closer to him. If this was the end, then so be it, he thought. Without Misha, what else did he have anyway? He sighed and all his fear drained away. Then he felt the warm tongue against his cheek. Bran’s eyes snapped open and he found himself eye-to-eye with the powerful creature who was right now licking the wound on his cheek. "Misha...?" he whispered. He saw no flicker of recognition in the eye yet there was indeed something there. The loong drew back a little and made a crooning sound in its throat that Bran knew meant it wanted something. But what? Bran raised a hand, thinking maybe he should touch Misha’s snout, but the creature growled so Bran quickly dropped it. The tongue flicked out again and lightly dabbed at Bran’s cheek. Then came the croon again. Did it...? Bran had an idea now of maybe what the loong wanted, but it felt too farfetched. He looked from the loong’s eyes down to its jaw and its sharp, sharp teeth. He could sit here and come up with as many theories as he liked but at the end of the day, he didn’t have any better idea. So Bran slowly got to his knees, leaned towards the creature, and licked its bloody snout. He tensed, wondering if he could duck back in time if this turned out to be a major mistake, but then that little croon came again and he looked up and found that there really was some kind of acknowledgement in those eyes. He leaned in again and licked Misha’s snout.