Chapter 2 - The Price of Empathy
The following morning brought no relief from the rain, but Elowen returned to the silver grove just as the first pale light filtered through the mist. She carried a heavy clay jar filled with fresh well water. The dragon drank slowly, its throat working with rhythmic effort as Elowen poured the water into a hollowed stone basin near its snout.
She returned again after sunset, this time carrying a bundle of bruised apples discarded by Ashbury Hall’s high-ceilinged kitchen staff—food destined for the compost heap, yet perfectly nourishing. The dragon ate every one, crushing them with powerful, deliberate jaws.
On the third afternoon, she brought strips of salted venison wrapped carefully inside a clean linen cloth, acquired through a quiet trade with a sympathetic hunter who owed her a favor.
“You stole that.”
The voice came from behind a thick oak tree. Elowen turned to see Cedric Vale leaning casually against the trunk, one gloved hand resting upon the polished silver handle of his riding cane. His tailored riding coat, embroidered with the family crest of the Vales, remained immaculate despite the damp air. Two young landowners stood closely behind him, wearing matching expressions of amused condescension.
Elowen stood her ground, her plain brown dress soaked and clinging to her ankles. “I traded for it.”
“With what?” Cedric asked, his eyes scanning her simple attire with undisguised mockery.
“My labor.”
Cedric glanced toward the resting dragon, then back to Elowen. “You wash sheets for meat scraps now?”
“I work.”
“My mistake. I assumed you preferred more exotic pastimes.”
His companions laughed on cue. Cedric stepped closer, his boots crunching on the wet twigs. “Do you know what people in the village are starting to call you, Elowen?”
“I rarely concern myself with village gossip.”
“Dragon maid,” Cedric said, tasting the words like a fine wine. “They say you’ve lost whatever small sense you were born with.”
Elowen lifted the empty clay jar by its rope handle, her expression entirely unreadable. “Could you move, please? You are blocking the path.”
Cedric’s smile tightened, the amusement fading slightly from his eyes. “You think feeding a dying animal makes you remarkable? You think a stray beast will raise your status in Moonvale?”
“No.”
“Then why keep coming back day after day?”
Elowen looked past him, her eyes resting on the dragon’s slowly healing form. “Because nobody else does.”
Cedric’s expression darkened. “That beast is cursed. It belongs to an era of tyrants and blood. My family’s ancestors helped drive it into the ground for a reason.”
“Then it already has enough problems without you standing here lecturing me about history,” Elowen replied quietly.
One of Cedric’s companions suddenly turned his face away, biting his lip as he tried to suppress a chuckle. Cedric noticed the betrayal instantly, and his jaw hardened.
“You embarrass yourself every time you step foot near this estate land, Elowen. You have no place here.”
Elowen stepped past him without hesitation. “That should leave you less work to do, then.”
The second companion laughed aloud this time. Cedric flushed crimson, opening his mouth to issue a sharp retort, but the words died in his throat.
Behind Elowen, the massive dragon slowly opened one golden eye. The slit of its pupil contracted, fixing entirely upon Cedric.
Cedric froze. Without realizing it, he took two panicked steps backward, his hand slipping from his cane. The dragon did not move an inch further, simply closing its eye again with a heavy, dismissive sigh that stirred the dead leaves at their feet.
Elowen continued walking toward the village road, her head held high.
“You will regret this!” Cedric called out, his voice cracking slightly with humiliated fury.
May you like
Elowen stopped for a fraction of a second, though she did not turn around. “You managed that yourself.”
She walked away into the gray afternoon, leaving the young lord standing in the mud with his pride severely damaged.
