Sliding clumsily off a rocky slope, he came across a mere half dozen young warriors in well-forged mail. They were loosely surrounding a creature, Tariq saw. A great winged lizard of dusty-coloured scales, with a long stinger-tipped tail trailing behind it. Wyvern, he thought. One of the warriors had put a spear through its left wing, he saw, and so it could not flee. They were exhausting the creature with harassment before going in for the kill. The sound of his descent was enough to alert one of the armoured youths.

...

Tariq warily advanced until he’d passed the ring, and slowed when the wyvern turned its bloodshot eyes on him. The stinger rose fluidly, of a height with his head.

“Easy now,” he said, raising his palms to show he bore no arms.

Carefully, he took a step forward.

“I mean no harm,” Tariq said. “Are you hurt, old one? I am a healer.”

The stinger drew back and he stopped.

“No harm,” Tariq repeated in a soothing tone.

The stinger drooped, and he took a step forward. The wyvern struck without warning, but he threw himself into a roll and the stinger missed him by mere inches. Behind him he could hear Sintra ordering her warriors to hold, but he had no time to spare for it. He called on the Light, let the gentle glow fill him, and shaped a simple wreath of it around his hand.

“I am here to help,” he said, and the stinger stopped an inch away from his forehead.

The wyvern stared at the Light, as if hypnotized, and let out a plaintive scream. Tariq laid a light hand on the tail and nudged it aside, advancing carefully with the Light ahead of him. Another four steps and suddenly the creature was on him, enfolding him inside its wings, and he was faced with rows of dagger-like teeth. He breathed out, ignoring his heartbeat going wild. Fear would only get him killed. Too-clever eyes considered him, and the wyvern let out another cry. It made his ears ring but he worked through it.

“You’re hurt,” Tariq quietly said. “Show me where.”

It sniffed, but then it lowered its head. It was easy enough to find the wound: right behind the crest there was an almost hand-sized thorn biting into the soft space between scales and flesh.

...

“I am sorry, old one,” he murmured. “I cannot cure you. The poison will have spread into your blood by now, the pain will resume as soon as the Light ends.”

He breathed out raggedly.

“Peace to you, my friend,” Tariq sadly said, and suddenly pushed the thorn all the way into its brain.

The wyvern screamed, wings batting wildly, but the poison was a violent one. It drew back, trashing around, and after a mere ten heartbeats it fell over dead. He’d been thrown to the ground and his arm was likely strained, but he rose to his feet. Kneeling before the wyvern’s head, he gently closed its eyes. A shadow was cast on him, Sintra standing by his side.

“I thought you were going to heal it,” she said.

He felt it then. The answer this begged. Like a whisper in his ear, a comforting hand on his back. The first step on a journey he did not yet understand.

“I could not,” Tariq said. “And I dislike unnecessary suffering.”

- Extra Chapters: Peregrine I