CHAPTER 79: DRILLS BEFORE THE FIRE

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Fenna moved first, losing an arrow with quick precision. Zephyr ducked beneath it and rolled forward, hatchet low, blade angled to feint. She sidestepped and snapped a second shot, this one grazing his shoulder. Zephyr countered with a lunging sweep of his leg, catching her ankle. She stumbled back—but not far. Her bow flipped into a blocking arc, catching the downswing of his hatchet.

Steel kissed the wood. The sound rang through the trees. They broke apart, reset positions.

Again.

And again.

Over the next hour, they were spared through drills—speed runs, feints, counter-blades, arrow timing, side rolls, leg sweeps. Zephyr’s shirt grew damp with sweat. Fenna’s braid stuck to her cheek. Both of them bore streaks of dirt and dye.

Star watched in silence. So did Emberling.

The chick’s head tilted with each exchange. Her eyes tracked every dodge, every strike, every counter. Occasionally, she chirped softly when Zephyr fell or Fenna scored a hit.

By the end of the session, both stood panting in the middle of the circle, blades lowered.

"Better," Zephyr said. "Still slow on that wide shot."

Fenna exhaled. "Still heavy on that roll. You nearly crushed a root."

"Only because I saved you from planting an arrow in my face."

She grinned. "You’re welcome."

He laughed, then winced—his ribs were bruised.

They stepped out of the ring, and Zephyr collapsed beside the fire pit with a grunt. Fenna retrieved the reed bundle and began sanding each shaft carefully.

Zephyr turned to Star. "Your turn."

The drake lifted his head, nostrils flaring.

Zephyr pointed to the trees. "You’re on movement drills. Emberling’s coming with you."

The chick blinked.

Star growled low.

"I know," Zephyr said. "She’s still in pain. But she’s not helpless. And she needs exercise for battle. Keep her safe but push her."

Fenna raised a brow. "You sure?"

Zephyr nodded. "She won’t heal by sitting."

Star stepped forward, his scales catching the morning light in dark ember streaks. His nostrils flared once, releasing a faint puff of warmth that stirred the dust near his claws. His gaze locked onto Emberling, firm but not unkind.

Emberling chirped, a high-pitched squeak that carried both question and complaint. Her feathers bristled slightly, puffing fire out of body, nearly double its usual size. She glanced back at Zephyr, then at Fenna, then back at Star—clearly hoping someone would intervene.

No one did.

Star gave her a firm nudge with his nose, not rough, but decisive. The drake’s head bump shoved her a few inches sideways, making her stumble with a surprised flap of her wings. Her talons scrambled to regain balance, and she glared at him with comical indignation.

But she didn’t resist.

Slowly, awkwardly, she began to climb onto his back, her tiny claws poking and scrambling for grip. The effort resembled a squirrel climbing a log—but the log moved. Star shifted slightly to help her, but every motion made Emberling squeal and flap, trying not to slip.

What made it even funnier was that they were, for now, almost the exact same size. Star’s growth was still early, and Emberling, though young, had a wide wingspan and a stubborn presence. The two of them stacked together looked less like a rider and mount, and more like two cousins wearing a trench coat and pretending to be an adult.

Fenna chuckled under her breath. "This is absurd."

Zephyr smirked. "She’s going to regret every complaint about being bored."

Emberling finally settled on Star’s back, claws gripping two of his shoulder ridges. She looked unsure of everything, especially herself but she held on.

Star looked straight ahead, proud and focused, as if bearing a mighty burden.

Zephyr pointed. "Run the ridge line. Loop to the hollow log and back. Stealth and reaction drills. Emberling’s job is to hold on. Yours is not to be easy."

Star gave a grunt—something between a growl and a smug snort.

Then, without warning, he bolted forward in a blur of claws and smoke, and Emberling screamed.

Fenna winced. "You think he’ll go easy?"

Zephyr’s eyes gleamed. "No chance."

Emberling squealed.

Branches rustled and cracked as the two vanished into the forest.

Zephyr exhaled, wiping his brow. "If that doesn’t distract her, nothing will."

Fenna smirked. "She might learn to fly from fear alone."

Hours passed.

By midday, Zephyr had cleaned and sharpened all his tools, oiled the blade, and packed the finished reed shafts into a canvas wrap. Fenna prepared a leaf-based salve for the bruises, which they applied in silence.

Then they ate a late lunch. Still, no sign of the flame panther or whatever left that footprint.

But Zephyr could feel something in the trees. It wasn’t paranoia. It was a dragon tamer instinct.

Even as he sat by the fire, sipping tea, his eyes would drift back to the dense forest edges. Occasionally, a leaf would fall the wrong way. Or a breeze would pause mid-sway. Signs. Subtle.

Fenna noticed. "You think it’s watching?"

Zephyr didn’t answer.

He just stood there. Then he says, "I don’t know, maybe... maybe not."

Late afternoon. The forest pulsed with heat.

Star returned first, fur dusted in ash and scratches from bark. He moved like a beast unleashed—head high, breath steady, energy rippling beneath his scales.

Emberling clung to his neck like a soot-covered pinecone.

Her feathers were fluffed, cheeks puffed with fatigue, but her eyes were shining.

She chirped twice, then flopped to the ground with a squeak.

Fenna crouched beside her. "Tired?"

A long trill. But her tail twitched. And her chest puffed like she’d won something.

"Good," Zephyr said. "Tomorrow, you go again."

Star growled.

Fenna raised a hand. "Wait."

Zephyr paused.

Fenna was standing now, bow in hand. Her head tilted. Her eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Zep asked.

"No wind," she said. "No birds. No movement."

Zephyr stood instantly. He grabbed his knife. Then... he saw it. Across the ridge. At the far end of the clearing. Between two trees.

Two glowing eyes. It was Gold. Unblinking. Fire-cat eyes.

"Star," Zephyr whispered.

The drake shifted, lowering his head. The flames on his mouth began to flicker.