Water
relaxing and finding food, but when it was time to turn in for the night, exhaustion tugged at Moira anyway. The night air was cool and fragrant with the rich, earthy scent of damp soil and pine. Above them, the sky was starry and clear, with the moon casting soft, silvery light across the clearing, while the surrounding forest was pitch black. Moira stared into the darkness, wondering who—or what—hid there. The distant hoot of an owl punctuated the stillness. Moira felt unexpectedly safe here, with Pyrros’ enormous body as a sort of protection. Her back was pressed to Pyrros’ side, Nerida sleeping on her other side, and Pyrros’ tail curled around them like a great wall.
Moira missed her large luxurious bed from the castle where she could lie down with her arms outstretched above her head and still not reach the edges with her toes and fingers at the same time. The soft sheets caressed her skin, and her only problem was being surrounded by too many fluffy pillows. The ground in the clearing was hard, despite the grass, and all she had for a pillow was her arms.
But today, she fell asleep immediately.
She awoke early the next morning, disturbed by Nerida’s anxious movements beside her. At first, Moira thought Nerida was having nightmares, but as she sat up in the dim morning light, she saw Nerida repeatedly clawing at her legs. Thin streaks of blood were visible from her fingernails.
“Nerida.” Moira reached out to her, concerned.
Nerida did not react until Moira called her three more times. She blinked and looked up, anguish carved into her features. “They hurt.”
Moira stared at her, not knowing what to do. She had no idea why Nerida’s legs would hurt.
“It’s like the skin is cracking.” Nerida dragged her fingers over her legs again.
“What’s going on?” Pyrros raised his head. He was less talkative before he was truly awake because he said nothing more, only blinked slowly at them, still half-asleep.
Moira turned around, searching for something—anything—that could help, but without knowing what was wrong, finding a solution proved difficult. Staring down at Nerida, she caught sight of her own legs and the fading wounds—the miracle cream from the stone troll. Could that help? She fumbled for the small jar and opened it, dipped her finger, and rubbed Nerida’s calf with it.
“What’s that?” Pyrros looked at her curiously, but she did not answer, hoping it would work its magic as it had earlier.
But nothing happened. Moira looked around instead, saw a lot of grass, trees, and bushes in and around the clearing, all of it entirely unhelpful. Further away was the small, rippling stream from which she had drunk yesterday.
She stood up abruptly and hurried over to the brook. Scooping up water in her hands, she tried to keep as much of it as she could while she ran back to Nerida—and poured the contents over Nerida’s legs.
Nerida stared up at her, eyes wide.
The effect was immediate.
A brief shimmer engulfed Nerida’s legs, and they were gone, replaced by her old fishtail. The scales were cracked and dry, despite the little wetness.
“I think you need water.” Moira kneeled and put her hand softly on Nerida’s scales.
Nerida nodded, her mouth open as she continued to stare at Moira.
“Pyrros, are there any larger water bodies nearby?”
The stream was only half a foot deep and insufficient.
Pyrros nodded. “The river runs a mile from here. It won’t take long to get there.”
“Nerida, would it be okay if Pyrros carried you in his claw so you don’t have to get up on his back?”
Nerida looked skeptical. Moira understood—Nerida hated flying, and hanging in Pyrros’ claw was worse than sitting on his back. Still, reluctantly, she nodded.
Moira and Pyrros extinguished the fire completely before she climbed onto his back. He took off, carrying Nerida in his claw, keeping close to the treetops, in an attempt to subside Nerida’s fear of flying.
Reaching the river did not take long. Pyrros descended to hover above the surface and calmly dropped Nerida into the water.
She sank below the surface with a deep sigh of relief.
Pyrros flew closer to the riverbank, and Moira jumped off to stand knee-deep in cold water.
He turned around and lay on his back in the water. Moira stared at him as he swam, doing some bizarre variant of a backstroke. Then he dipped his head into a twist, took a mouthful of water, and sprayed out a cloud of water vapor into the air.
Moira laughed, shaking her head.
Pyrros turned dramatically, and water gushed in every direction. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“You’re the weirdest dragon ever.”
Pyrros snorted. “You’re not the first to say that.”
Moira gazed at the river, wishing they could bring the water along with them somehow. They all needed it.
“How is she?” Moira wondered aloud. “Is she ever coming back up?”
Pyrros stuck his head below the surface for a couple of seconds before popping out. Water flowed off him. “We can rest here. Seems like Miss Fish needs to stay down there for a while to recuperate. And we can’t join her, so we’ll just have to sit tight up here.”
Moira nodded.
“But you were very smart, Tiny. How did you know about the water?”
Moira shrugged. “I didn’t, but it was all I could think of after the cream didn’t work. A water woman should need water. And she had nothing to lose—if it didn’t work, she would just get wet. Not like she’s not used to that.” Pride swelled in Moira’s chest, despite her modesty.
Pyrros looked across the river. “Wonder how that works. Why she got legs suddenly, I mean. We were in the air the day before yesterday too, and nothing happened.”
“No clue.”
Moira sat in the grass, and Pyrros floated right by the river, with his stomach down this time, so he looked like a giant green-blue swan with spikes, tail, and scales.
“How far is it to the mountains?”
Moira had seen the mountains in the distance during their flight, but she had a hard time figuring out how long it would take Pyrros to fly there. Had she been able to fly herself, it would’ve taken her at least two days, but Pyrros was much bigger, and each powerful stroke of his wings took them farther.
“We should reach the foot of the mountain before nightfall, that is, if Fishy comes back up,” said Pyrros.
“Don’t call her Fishy.”
Pyrros grinned. “Yes, Tiny. Anyway, I would recommend that we go to the witch tomorrow, because trying to find the entrance into the mountains is difficult enough when it’s light outside. Even if you know it exists, it’s pretty difficult to find.”
Moira shrugged. “Okay, I trust you.”
A shadow flickered across his face. “I promise you I will take you to the witch.”
“It’ll be so nice to fly again.”
Though it had only been days—had it only been days?—the longing to beat her wings and lift off the ground burned inside her. She had always taken it for granted, but now deprived of the luxury, she appreciated her wings a lot more. Being stuck on the ground was like being trapped in heavy chains, and sitting on Pyrros’ back was just not the same.
Another hour passed before Nerida showed her head above the surface. She looked calm. Moira wanted to do one of two things—scold her for not waking her when her legs began hurting or hug her. She resisted both impulses because she was not about to throw herself into the water, and she didn’t want to fight. Instead, she asked, “Better?”
Nerida nodded. “Much. Thank you.”
Pyrros did not have the same inhibitions as Moira. “You need to tell us if you feel bad! How else would we know? It’s like yesterday. You’d rather fall off my back than tell us. Did you think lying there, itching and suffering, and not telling us was a great idea?”
“I wasn’t thinking—”
“Maybe next time—” Pyrros said but was immediately interrupted.
“I’m not used to this!” Nerida stopped, glaring at Pyrros before turning away to glare at the water instead. “I’m not used to”—she threw her hands in their direction—“this. I didn’t know… I thought maybe it was something—I don’t know.”
She sounded lost, and Moira wondered what she meant by ‘this.’
To be on land? To have legs? Or was it them, Pyrros and Moira, because Nerida had never had anyone care about her before? Moira wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but Nerida wrapped her arms around herself like a protective shield, and Moira stayed at the edge of the river.
Pyrros appeared to not expect an answer. He continued. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound angry. Just, well, next time you’re in pain, tell us, okay? It’ll be easier on all of us, instead of you falling off mid-air or lying around all tormented while we catch up on our beauty sleep.”
Nerida looked at him for a long time with an unreadable expression, and then she whispered, “I’ll try.”
“Great,” Moira said and forced herself to smile to get rid of the gloom Nerida exuded. “Shall we move on? Pyrros says we can reach the mountains tonight and visit the witch tomorrow.”
Nerida nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry I took so long.”
She dove into the water again before Moira could reiterate that she was welcome to recuperate for however long she needed. She returned moments later, and without a glance at Moira, she heaved herself onto Pyrros’ back. Moira sat down behind her this time, so she would notice if Nerida was hurt again. She restrained from wrapping her arms around Nerida’s waist, suspecting that Nerida would not like it.
Pyrros rose from the ground with a couple of wingbeats. There was a tingle in Moira’s stomach, but this time it wasn’t the take-off. It was thought of the mountains and what they symbolized for her: her wings.