Cináed had gone in with low expectations, but with a bit of confidence nonetheless. He would never completely doubt himself, but he’d learned his lesson in terms of going in expecting to win by a landslide. He still hadn’t beaten a Ysali dragon, the weakest of the dragons types, and he was actually getting really tired of it. If Latora had said that he was ready to choose his bow, then she had to have had a reason, right? He couldn’t really see one right now, but maybe she was clairvoyant or something? That sounded exciting; what if he would someday soon become a great archer!? Yes! He would; he would show Latora that her faith in him was well placed. He would beat this dragon, and bring the soul orb to her as proof!
He ran his hand along the wing-like carvings on the inside of the bow, the other secured tightly around the grip in the middle. His wings flapped silently as he weaved through the forest trees, garnet eyes on the lookout for anything that resembled a dragon. It was quiet for a good half hour, and he was almost ready to give up, before he saw it. It almost blended in with a large cluster of bushes, but its scales set it apart once it stepped into the sun. It glittered like all the rest, but he noticed that it was smaller than the others he’d fought. A juvenile? If this was the universe’s way of giving him a gift, he would take it. Maybe he would actually stand a chance against a young dragon if he couldn’t beat an adult? He’d give it a shot.
The feel and sound of the arrow sliding along the grip of his bow made his heart race, the sensation of its feathers touching his cheek made him close his eyes. But he opened them again, locked onto his target as it plucked meat from some small forest creature, and took a few deep breaths. He could feel his heart slowing, his pulse steadying, and he adjusted his grip on the bow so that the arrow would slide against the outside of his index finger. On his last breath, he exhaled with extra slowness, his whole body still. His fingers released, the feathers of the arrow sliding along his cheek as it was sent flying. He watched it shoot through the air, his bow still poised at the ready, and hit the beast in the side, just under its arm. He knew he had hit something vital, judging by the screech the dragon made as it lurched and crashed through the trees. He’d have to work fast now. He flew after it, staying just out of reach of its strong tail, and loosed another arrow toward the back of its neck. It hit, eliciting another cry from the beast. It was slower now, trudging through the woods for about fifty yards before stooping, breathing heavily, and lying down. It was still alive at this point, but Cináed went up to it anyway. He placed his hand on the beast’s neck, looking into its eyes as apologetically as he could. This had to be done. The races of Magesc were supposed to kill the dragons; they would overpopulate if they didn’t. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, using the head of one of his arrows to pierce the dragon’s eye. He looked away as he did it, however. That was the worst part, from what others had told him.
When it was done, he pulled all of the arrows out and cleaned them on the dewy grass, placing them back in the quiver strapped to his back. The dragon had dropped its orb by now, and he plucked it up from the grass and looked at the swirling gem. It was beautiful, a vibrant green of all shades. His face broke out into a wide grin as he stuffed it into his bag, looping his bow over his back as well. He had killed his first dragon!
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