//------------------------------// // Spike Part II // Story: Arktophobia // by Aeluna //------------------------------// Spike galloped as fast as his legs could carry him. His claws dug into the ground with each step he took, throwing up a cloud of dirt behind him. Every few hundred metres he would skid to a stop, having lost track of Trixie’s scent. It would only take a few seconds before he would find it again and head out once more, the sense of gloom and dread hanging over him growing increasingly heavy each time. “Move it, legs!” he cried, the scales of his cheeks red and flushed. “Geez, I really need to lay off the Topaz.” As he got deeper and deeper into the forest, the scent became stronger and stronger. It was a good thing, really; by now it was practically pitch black and, even though his draconic eyes were designed to be able to see through such darkness, he was struggling to make out the path Trixie had cantered. As he lumbered onwards, Spike noticed a new smell on the moaning wind. It was metallic, a sharp contrast to what he had been focusing on; Trixie’s scent of something akin to burnt wood (mixed with flowery perfume) was now smelling increasingly bitter. It was as if an unpleasantly sharp note had been laced with the odd but not wholly horrible combination. His nose crinkled in disgust—and then he realised what it was. Blood. Spike froze in place, his ear scales dropping. His eyes widened and he shrunk backwards, blood all that he could now smell. A single, fleeting thought passed through his mind. “We’re dead,” he uttered, feeling suddenly alone for the first time since he’d started his trek. Sure, he had been by himself the entire time—but only now did he realise just how much he would have appreciated some company. A low growl sounded, making Spike’s ears perk up. He stood on his rear legs defensively. His neck spikes pricked outwards automatically in an attempt to exaggerate his laughable size. He hissed instinctively and immediately got to work with starting a spark in his throat. His eyes darted around the blackness quickly, looking for any sign of movement. There! His heart sunk as an eye—the brightest shade of yellow but with a pupil of deep red–landed upon him through the blackness. Then, as his own vision adjusted, he could just about make out the outline of a massive, castle-sized cave in which the ursa was crouched. Spike gulped visibly. A scream tore through the silence of the forest, echoing cruelly around. The ursa roared at the interruption, its body banging against the rocky walls of the cave. It threw its head about, drowning out any other noises. Spike could only yell out in surprise as massive cracks sounded all around him; as the first of the branches began to fall, he found himself trapped! Well, he was stuck now. He wasn’t going down without a fight! He was, at the end of the day, a dragon! With a puny roar of his own—he couldn’t even hear it over the ursa’s, but it felt like the right thing to do—he charged towards the beast. He galloped as fast as he could, leaping from side to side to avoid the projectile branches, blasting others to smithereens just before they struck him. He snorted smoke as he did so, a power unlike anything he had ever known coursing through his veins. It was stupid and reckless; he knew that. But as a scream—Trixie’s scream—sounded again, this time coming undoubtedly from the ursa’s side, Spike knew what he had to do. Digging his claws into the wall of the cave, he clambered up clumsily. He could see now, his eyes having fully adjusted. He watched with horror as the ursa toyed with its prey, batting Trixie against the wall as he, himself, would a rubber ball. The ursa rolled her with its claw, chuffing happily as she weakly cried out in pain—and then it suddenly stopped, snorting. It raised its paw up high, dangling it above the mare—and then it went to strike. There was no time to prepare. Spike leapt from the cave wall, his own claws outstretched as he landed on the beast’s rump. He clung on as tightly as he could, biting down hard with his tiny fangs. And then he released a spark of fire in his throat, lighting it as he did so. He let go, flinging himself towards the ground just as the fireball smashed directly into the urea’s flesh. The explosion knocked him completely off course, sending him hurtling through the air with such force that he knew this was going to be the end. He couldn’t help but scream then, thrashing wildly and desperately trying to beat his arms like wings. But the floor got closer and closer, ready to greet him in a dramatic embrace. His body smashed into the rock, and it was over instantaneously. There was no pain; suddenly, he felt weightless. And then the pain came when he landed, face down against the rock, with a thud. The force shuddered through his body and drew a pained cry from his chest. He then lay still, whimpering. All he could hear were the sounds of the ursa’s agonised roaring and heavily stomping paws. “Help!” The voice was so weak that it was barely audible over the ursa’s panic. But it was enough, and Spike remembered what he had come here to do in the first place. Save Trixie. His eyes darted around frantically from his spot on the floor, but he could not see her—and then he finally found her again, laying in a pitiful heap by the wall. The ursa was right next to her, its paws coming dangerously close to landing on her. Spike snorted, rolling up so that he stood shakily on all four claws. And then he charged up a fireball in his throat, stepping forwards slowly. He had to fight. Because he was the only one who could save them both.