The Dragon's Healer

The once brilliant creature lay before him in a pool of black blood, a stark contrast against the silver scales. How strange he thought at first, before composing himself to repair the injury.

The magic named a price: a healing this extensive would require a great sacrifice, but he could not stand to have the dragon suffer. However, the price was not named instantly, leaving the remorse for later.

He rested his hands over the chest wound, letting the magic flow. First it scabbed the wound, then knit bone and muscle and finally flesh.

As the stained dragon tentatively flapped her wings, the price was named. You will never be able to fly again.

He wept, now commissioned to stay in his current form. He supposed unhappily, that if the gods willed he be a dragon healer, then a dragon healer he must be, at the cost of his freedom.