A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.
|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 ||
Very short update today, but on the brighter side, this is the first part I’ve written since November. Yay, the story continues!
Although, I think Esten is slightly less enthused by this…
10
The Morning After
MASTEKH WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT; Estenarven did not feel better in the morning. In fact, he felt so awful when he opened his eyes to the pallid light sneaking through the narrow window, that he went straight back to sleep again. Mornings were vastly overrated anyway.
With a head banging to the painful beat of its own internal drum, a mouth in which a bear must have hibernated for the winter and skin that felt dry enough to crack, Estenarven was in no mood to move, even after he woke for the second time. Scales rubbed against the inside of his skin, making his bones ache and his head pound worse than ever. He needed to shift, badly, but this room wasn’t even large enough to contain his tail, let alone the rest of him.
Groaning and cursing his own foolishness, he slithered from the bed. Cold air instantly nipped at his naked body, but there was so many other discomforts assaulting him that Estenarven didn’t much mind it. The hard floor called to him, the old stone calling to the stone within him.
Not yet, not yet, he reminded himself, dragging his aching body over the roughly woven carpet. He considered pausing to stand up, to try and put his legs to use, but the mere thought of raising his head so high from the ground made his stomach churn. With his hold already so tenuous upon his human form, Estenarven opted for speed over elegance.
He had to get out of this room. Now. Before he ended up squashed and stuck or smashing through the walls.
Stone hummed beneath him as Estenarven reached up a desperate hand and scrabbled the door open. He tumbled out into the wider room beyond – and not a moment too soon.
The pounding in his head rose to a crescendo, his dry skin cracked and his stomach revolted as his draconic form burst through his control. Pain, pain, pain. He hadn’t experienced such an agonising shift since his first changeling days.
Uncle Stone! That hurt.
Raising himself up on trembling legs, Estenarven had just enough awareness to realise that his tail did just about fit inside his room, before he staggered forward a couple of steps and collapsed.
Stone called to stone, and he dropped into blessed unconsciousness.
More next Wednesday.
I’d best get writing again.
Take care, my lovelies!
Becca Lusher 
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