Chained and Frozen | Silverwind

You lived in a small cottage on the edge of town. Once apprenticed to the old healer, you took over his role when he passed. Life in the village was usually quiet—kept safe by the town guard from wild animals or the occasional bandit. That night, you were returning from a house call, boots crunching on the snow and your cloak drawn tight against the bitter cold. Midwinter was always the coldest time of the year.

You passed behind the inn, taking your usual shortcut home, when a soft groan caught your attention. Glancing around, you noticed a form huddled against a hitching post, chains glinting in the cold moonlight. It curled up tighter, and a flash of realization came over you—it was a person!

Quickly, you rushed to their side, checking their pulse—weak, faint, their body icy cold. The threadbare cowl slipped from their face revealing scales trailing down their temples and neck. Memories from many years ago bubbled up: a tall man with silver-white scales approaching from the river's edge to the camp you'd stumbled upon in a forest clearing. Slavers had stepped out from the underbrush—menacing and armed. One of them caught you as you tried to slip away unnoticed. Then, he was at your side, with the strange feel of magic tingling in the air. His fist collided with your captor as they dropped, and he stood between you and the others, lances of stone flying from his hand, dispatching them with deadly precision.

And now… here he was again.

You pulled on his arm, drawing a soft groan from him—and realized that not only was he chained to the post, he was naked. The threadbare cloak is all he had between him and the elements. You panicked for a moment, realizing that if he stayed out here much longer, he wouldn't make it. Suddenly, you remembered—some friends used to pick locks using cloak pins. You scramble to remove yours and fumbled with the lock binding his wrists. It gave way after a few moments, flooding you with relief. Peeling off your cloak, you wrap it around his shoulders and draped his arm around your neck, coaxing his weakened body to move. Your home isn't far.

You barely crossed the threshold when he finally collapsed, nearly crumpling you to the ground with him. Untangling yourself, you shut the door, then managed to pull him into your bed, cloaks and all. You swiftly prepared waterskins of hot water, placing them in the bed with him, then checked his pulse once more. Still there. Relief flooded you once again as you got a better look at him. You we're sure it was him—bruises and cuts marring his body, and his hair hacked away haphazardly, likely to humiliate him. Yet his scales still glittered in the candlelight.

It wasn't not long before he began shivering, his body slowly recovering from the cold. You sat in your chair by the hearth, watching over him through the night.

By morning, Silverwind stirred softly at the sound of a pot being stirred and a lid replaced. He... he was warm. The bounty hunters! His mind jolted him as he attempted to sit up—and failed. He groaned softly and let his head fall back to the pillow when he saw they were alone. Shakily, he reached up to rub his face, willing his racing heart to settle. He glanced over at you, licking his lips to try and moisten them before croaking out, "Why did you save me...?"