Chapter 52: Travel Slow & Fast

Chapter 52: Travel Slow & Fast The leaves on the trees flitting past them us mostly still green but there was a noticeable increase in the oranges, reds, and yellows. Autumn had arrived and with it a frosty wind from the north. It wasn’t so noticeable on the ground near sea level, but up on the mountain or, worse, in the air, it was spitefully cold. I was alright, but there were only so many clothes I could force you to put on that still let you wrap your arms around my neck which meant semi-frequent breaks between bursts of flying, which worked out well since I also needed time to recheck the compass jar. I was pretty nervous at first about checking it - what if I check it and it’s pointing the exact opposite direction? - but after a while, I kind of got used to flying for a while, then finding a spot to land and checking it while you warmed up again. We were standing on the rocky ridge of one of the longer mountain ranges that snaked along and across the New Territories. I had the compass jar positioned between my clawed feet to see which way the ink was tugging, while you stood a few feet away with a blanket wrapped tightly around you. Do you need blood? I mentally asked you. You didn’t respond so I transformed into my human shape, picked up the jar, and I walked up behind you. "Do you need blood?" I asked again. You turned and I immediately saw the answer to my question in your eyes. "Okay, then-" Your lips were soft against my neck but your teeth weren’t quite as much though they did make me go weak at the knees. "Bran..." Your arms went around me, holding my naked body tight, pulling the blanket around the both of us. Reason abandoned me and I gasped as my blood flowed out of me and into you, binding us ever closer together. There’s something magical about mingling blood and I couldn’t deny that there was a growing impulse in me to bite you back and drink your blood. But I pushed it back. I knew that if I let myself faulter in that, then it would only be a moment later before I acted on more base impulses. After a while, the flow of blood slowed and I was eventually able to gently pull away from you. Your eyes were closed and your face relaxed and your lips so red that it would have been too easy to kiss you. "Enough?" I asked. You opened your eyes and I saw your pupils had gone back to their normal size. You nodded. "Good, then-" I had just stepped back from you, letting the warm blanket fall away from my shoulders, when you suddenly moved towards me and collapsed into my arms. "Bran?!" The continued blood drinking had weakened me and I fell to one knee as I clasped you. "Bran?! Bran?!" You didn’t respond. Carefully, I laid you on the ground then put my ear to your chest. Both your heart and lungs were ticking along and neither seemed too fast or too slow, at least not to my lay perspective. I raised my head. "Bran?" I said softly. Your brow creased and your still red lips seemed to twitch. Had you just fallen asleep? I transformed back into a dragon and curled around you to help warm you up. We’d been traveling for most of the day and though I thought you’d slept well the night before, maybe you hadn’t. Maybe this was just normal, everyday sleepiness. Maybe. I raised my head to the horizon. It was well past midday and I could smell evening coming. This place at the top of a mountain wasn’t an ideal place to set up camp (I’ve no idea what kind of gale-force winds would be blowing through here later tonight) but perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to start setting up camp. You’d just drank quite a bit of blood so I probably didn’t need to worry about your dinner and could just let you sleep through the night. For me, I’d scrounge up something to stew from the backpack. Tomorrow, once you woke up, I’d get you to eat some proper food then we’d head off again, I told myself. Yes, it was all sorted. It was going to be fine. -- But Bran did not wake the next morning. No matter what Misha the human or dragon did, Bran’s eyes stayed firmly closed and Misha’s heart beat faster and faster. What should he do? When he’d been thinking through his plan earlier, it had seemed reasonable to skip over trying to contact Helen and Tuesday since Misha got the sense that they both couldn’t do much for Bran’s general health, but now that the situation had gotten to this point, Misha couldn’t help second guessing himself. Had he made the right decision? Did he even have the time to consider that? Misha tried waking Bran one last time, then went about quickly cleaning up camp. He’d planned packing most of it into the bag and carrying it manually but now he figured he may as well just chuck it through the special ’door’ into the flat to deal with later. A few minutes, and many pounds lighter, Misha took to the skies with a mostly empty bag strapped over his shoulders, Bran held tightly in his claws, and the compass jar slung around his neck with an extra line attached to the backpack just in case. The dragon did his best to angle his head and neck down to block the wind from hitting Bran directly though there wasn’t much he could do about the general cold of being up so high. Perhaps he should coast closer to the ground? Surely they were far enough away from any settlements that they wouldn’t be seen... Misha dipped slowly down from the clouds and came to a rest on a tallish hill. His first priority was to check on Bran to see if he was still breathing (yes) and could be woken up (no) - at least he hadn’t gotten worse. Second, Misha cradled Bran with one forelimb, then used his other to pick up the jar to get a better look at it. He’d gotten a hang of carefully checking on it in flight by nudging it up with his already laden arms and curving his head down, but he had to be sure he was reading it right. Large globs of ink darted around the jar pointing in the opposite direction of a minute ago when they’d been in the air. The first time this had happened, about five minutes ago, Misha had worried he’d messed up the spell and was only now figuring that out, but now he was sure that wasn’t the case. The dragon made a coil of his body, keeping Bran warm in the centre, then stretched out his neck to survey the forest around them. It was denser and wilder than any of the other spots they’d stopped in, unreasonably so. Misha wasn’t terribly familiar with the flora of Hong Kong, but he knew a thing or two about forests in the UK and he was certain that the greenery he now saw around him hid secrets. He checked the compass jar, rotating it in his claws to see how the ink reacted. Back at the flat, the majority of the ink had laid at the bottom of the jar, unmoving, with only a few drops floating in the air, but now nearly the whole thing was pressed up against the glass. That settled it. Misha lowered his head to check on Bran again. Bran seemed to mumble something but didn’t stir. The dragon watched him a moment longer then started to get ready for the next leg of the journey. It was relatively easy, if tiring, to carry Bran with his forelimbs but that just wasn’t possible on the ground - Misha needed all four legs to walk after all (he’d tried hobbling with just three but his body was just too long). For half an hour Misha tried to get Bran to half-sit, half-lie on his back but as soon as he took a step, the poor guy would start slipping off and Misha would have to quickly twist around to catch him. There was nothing for it. Misha would have to carry him on his back as a human. And so, with the jar still hanging around his neck, Misha slung the backpack (now with only a tent inside) on his front while carrying Bran on his back. It was awkward, and Bran sometimes listed dangerously to the sides, but it seemed just about doable. Misha grit his teeth. It had to be doable. It takes a long time to get anywhere on foot and after many hours of flying in the air, progress felt even slower than usual, not to mention all the extra weight he was carrying. Twice Misha stopped to grab some water from the flat, check Bran, then check the jar, and twice the direction indicated by the ink completely changed.