Desperation and Thirst

It had been three days.

At first Valentina expected the dragon to return, with fire and ****, to kill her for her defiance, for her violation. But he was simply absent. Gone for longer than he had ever left her before. This was no simple hunt. This was an act of frustration on his part. Perhaps he had left her there to die, dooming her to a slow and cruel ****.

Perhaps he had simply abandoned her. Yet she had survived thus far, even if it had been a meager existence. Though she searched the lair for any sort of magic that might bring her food or water, nothing she tested did what she wished.

Instead, she had found a crude magic in gnawing on remaining horse bone, in gulping down the leavings of Vakenroth's seed. A poor choice for sustenance, but it had been enough for now. A drink she could not take without bitterness.

After three days Valentina realized that Vakenroth was not coming back to kill her. Either he had left outright, or he was on a longer journey. Like so many ruined husbands going off on a walk to clear their head. To hide away from their problems.

Often such problems were the reapings of what the husbands themselves planted, and perhaps here it was the same. But there was a doubt left with Valentina.

Vakenroth had kidnapped her, he had threatened her with ****. He had stolen away her future, albeit with her family's assistance. He had **** her, even if he had never claimed her pussy directly. And she had endured and survived all of that.

She had even grown to enjoy it in a twisted sense. But she had never been asked for permission. Even when she offered her assent, it was accepted by surprise, not as an active goal on the Dragon's part.

But then, well, with the belt and perhaps with a greater ambition that came with it, she had turned the situation around on Vakenroth. She had taken her pleasure from his flesh without asking him. Without making sure that he wanted it.

She just assumed that he did. Had she **** Vakenroth? Had she brought some doubt or ruin in his mind? Could such a thing even be possible with a dragon? He had made no attempts to strike her until the very end.

Until he tried to kill her.

It was clear that he was upset. Yet even in his full rage he had held back from killing her when he had the chance. There was... a bond there of some kind. Albeit one forged in wildfire and misrule. Vakenroth cared enough about her to not kill her, even when that upset.

And Valentina beyond missing the taste of fresh horseflesh, of waters brought up from the world below... She missed Vakenroth. She missed him more than she had every missed anyone. It was strange for such a deep and aching bond to have formed so quickly.

Perhaps it was in her head? Had she imagined emotions and intimacy in a cruel beast? There was something familiar about him though, beyond the pond's reflection of her own self.

He had hidden himself away from the world. He had surrounded himself with trappings, hints of story. He had isolated himself from his own kind, and kept his appearances to outsiders brief. Controlled. Violent and allowing for little questions or scrutiny.

If she had possessed a dragon's **** previously, might she have only seen the outside world in similar outbursts? Valentina was unsure. She had spent her life in the mold her parents had crafted for her. Melted down and **** to fit every crevice and demand.

Expectation forming walls. But now the mold had crumbled, she was free for the very first time, even as she starved at the end of the world. She didn't know what she was, what she would become. Who she could become.

But for a time Vakenroth remained, not as a mold, but at least something to push against. Something, no someone to brace herself upon. A steady ground upon which to begin her rebirth. What is the chrysalis without the branch?

She exhaled, and crunched down upon bone again. Vakenroth had eaten the bulk of the horse, leaving Valentina only scraps of flesh. She hardly had a dragon's appetite. But she still had an appetite. She still had needs of flesh and hunger.

There was no pot to make broth from the bone. But with each snapping it got a little easier. To break what once seemed impossibly strong, and dig out the marrow inside. It was the more appetizing of meals left behind.

At first, she tried to avoid Vakenroth's remaining seed. To ignore the way it dripped down from the cave ceiling. The scent of it, of him. She was sure she was marked by the musk of it now. Smelling like some rank and bestial brothel.

How she wished she could mark her dragon the same way in return. The taste of it was... fine. Nothing exceptional, nothing romantic to it. Salt and other flavors she couldn't quite describe. But it was the closest thing she had now to water.

And with each passing day, it was less drinkable still.

She couldn't stay in the cave hoping for Vakenroth to save her. Even as she imagined all kinds of apologies, all kinds of renewals of vows and intimacy.

She had to save herself. She couldn't replace the walls of Acre with walls of a dragon's will. And so Valentina had searched the lair once more. With her long lonely hours she had started to catalog it. To sort it.

To take and fold the fabric and sort it into neat piles. To try and find what garments fit her, and what garments changed in size. This wasn't a thorough experimentation like before. She had discovered no new secret strength. But she had discovered some pieces a bit more covering.

There was a tunic, made for a man much larger than her, that did not resize itself when she put it on, but it was long enough that it draped down nearly to her knees. A dress, however unfitted, cinched in with the belt. A strange thing, covered in patches and icons of lanterns and ropes and other objects.

Hardly the most appealing of dresses. But it was warm enough and clean. There were still no socks to go beneath it. Nor leggings that she could find. But she had found one of the tapestries, her least favored of them, and had ripped through it again, pulling the cloth apart in stretches of fabric.

Two improvised stockings that she could wrap around her legs, binding tighter with cords. Enough to keep her warm and at least partially covered beneath the patch tunic, beneath her cape. Yet, like some tawdry novel, she had found no undergarments, at least none that would fit her.

Even in this conquered lair, she mused, she was still very much accessible, like some discarded dove. Her pussy, ever accessible for inspection and use.

Her pussy, that for a moment ached for a cock or neck to rub against. To crush below. She shook her head.

She and Vakenroth would have a talk once he returned. Should he return. She wasn't going to apologize, as she had done nothing he hadn't done to her before. But... there could be something of an accord here as well.

She had surrendered her mind and affection to him in exchange for her safety, to be more than just flesh in his eyes. She could extend the courtesy to give him the same offer. For the two of them to make this a partnership true, despite the **** of its birth.

She pulled her boots back on, resting back to that easier step. Her outfit was ready, as mismatched as it was. The relative elegance of her cloak, an item she still hadn't discovered the full utility of, contrasted with the patchwork tunic she wore beneath.

She walked out of the cave, into the sunlight. And she stared to the distant Acre longer than she would like to admit. Scanning the sky for any movement of bird or great lizard.

Vakenroth wasn't coming. Not today. She had to explore on her own. Survive on her own. To be able to live without the dragon, to not have to rely upon him.

To better negotiate with him should he return at last.

It was colder still than it was before. Though Valentina's garments still provided enough warmth for the moment. The outdoors had an early winter's chill as high as she was. The air emptier than she had once been accustomed.

Valentina looked about. She was on something of a plateau, though not one truly flat, it still slanted down towards the valleys below, just at a more gradual incline than the rest of the mountain. The surface of much of it was covered in gravel. Rocks crushed down, perhaps by other rocks or snows tumbling down from above? Some ancient sheet of ice that had melted away?

Or had Vakenroth himself burned and carved this part of the mountainside? She thought him capable of it, though the thought came with a heady aftermath. If the dragon was strong enough to carve a mountain, and she was stronger still, what might she accomplish?

She reached down, picking up one of the loose stones, wrapping her hand around it, and slowly crushing down with her fingers. The stone was hard, resilient. Yet after a minute's effort the stone cracked down the center, splitting into smaller pieces. Sharp on the edges.

Valentina could crush stone, although only what she could fit in her grasp. Her length of arm and size of hand was still a very real limit for her. She certainly couldn't dig long claws through the earth, and she doubted her nails could withstand such ****.

She shook her head, looking further up the mountain. It grew steeper still past the cave, not a path upwards she would normally feel comfortable walking nor climbing. But her boots brought her a certain stability in step, and if needed the ability to leap.

If only she had worn them when Vakenroth tried to devour her last. She shook her head trying to dismiss the thought as she started walking up the mountain. Pressing her feet down into the scree to find some stability there in shifting stone.

She leaned forward as she walked, perhaps overcorrecting, but not wanting to fall back and tumble down the mountain side. It was difficult movement, even with her strength, even with that artificial surety of step... but she was moving.

She was making progress. It took long minutes, perhaps even an hour before she found what she was looking for. That crown of eternal winter, the edge of the snow, where the mountain had frozen all year round. Where the frost had survived even the summer's heat.

Where the water had been preserved.

Valentina reached her hand down, scooping up a chilling handful and bringing it to her lips. It was frigid, too cold to truly endure, but as the mixture of snowy powder, melted and refrozen as harder ice melted slowly in her mouth, she tasted water once more.

For the first time in days, drinking something outside of seed. Had water ever tasted so good? So clear and pure and enthralling. She dove down into the snow, scooping it up in repeated handfuls, letting it soften in her mouth, her tongue toying along the melting clumps.

It was too cold to persist in this, her entire body shivering. Yet, for a moment, that pure water was worth it. Washing out the inside of her mouth, clearing the taste of blood and bristle and cum at long last.

Valentina gave a pleased sigh before she brought her attention back to survival. She had no way to transport this snow back down below, if she gathered it up in her cloak it would melt and soak through the fabric. In her hands it would do the same.

Yet using her own heat to melt the snow would cool her body enough that she risked ****. She would need some sort of cup or bowl to carry the snow, that even if it melted, she could keep the water contained.

There were chalices of various kinds below. And if needed, she could take one of the fire bowls and carry it up with her, as cumbersome as it would be.

But these were not solutions for carrying snow and water now. She looked down upon herself, studying both her person and her possessions. The belt, as wondrous as it was offered no solution here. Her boots had some possibility, they seemed to resist moisture seeping in. But she would rather keep them on her feet, especially with the snow and gravel on the mountainside.

She glanced then at her tunic. The various patches along its side. There was even one of a cooking pot. Who patterned a tunic with a cooking pot? She pulled the fabric up closer to examine it further. It was detailed embroidery, wonderful work that likely took a full day at least for the patch alone.

Someone put real effort into this, but why? Usually embroidery was reserved for grander things, royalty and swans and knights fighting snails and the like.

She tugged at the patch slightly. It was only loosely attached. Why put in that much work and not secure the patch properly?

Valentina shrugged, possessed by some unending curiosity and tugged on the patch far more directly, and pulled the fabric off entirely. Pulled free the patch shimmered in the air. As if some strange illusion of shadow and steam.

And then in her arms was a large black cauldron. What would have been heavy to nearly the point of crushing for Valentina before, but now was only cumbersome.

[Tunic of Useful Items: This tunic is adorned with small cloth patches of various shapes. The bearer can remove a patch to transform it into an actual item.]

She had a tunic which transformed into things? It wasn't outside the bounds of magic, though she still wasn't sure as to why such a tunic existed. She tried to press the cauldron back onto the tunic, yet nothing changed.

It was just a cauldron now. How strange. Still, it was exactly the sort of thing she needed right now. She set it down on the ground and started gathering up snow with her hands, as much as she could, dropping it into the cauldron in large clumps. The work chilling, her hands starting to sting.

She needed gloves for this sort of work. But for now she tucked her hands away, wedging them under her armpits, letting her core slowly warm them up again. It gave her another moment of inspection.

To see what other patches the Tunic of Useful Items had. There was a rope patch, a lantern. And then below other things. A ladder, a row boat, a pit which raised so many questions.

And finally a mule complete with saddle and saddlebags. Was there a living mule hidden away in this robe? Or did the robe somehow create life? Such a creature could be useful for traveling. But perhaps more immediately, it would be fresh food once she had picked every last horse bone clean.

She had a way to survive. At least for a time. Valentina went back to packing the pot full of snow. Deciding in the end to only fill it half way. Not wanting to kill her fingers with the cold, nor make the journey back too difficult once the snow started to melt.

Valentina lifted the cauldron and looked up higher still. There was much to the mountain left, but the tip of the mountain was in sight. It was reachable. She could climb mountains. It was a foreign idea to her. The idea that she could perform any physical exertion of note, but even more one so very ****.

She had heard stories of heroes and knights climbing mountains. Of monks finding some serenity or truth hidden away at the edges of the world. And in those stories, the gender of those heroes and monks never needed be stated.

They were male. Such was assumed.

Yet there it was. The peak, within reach.

Valentina stood there gazing at it. Before shaking her head and turning to head back down the mountain. Sentimentality could wait until she had water available. Tonight she would drink snow melt, and wash her face. Maybe even her hair if enough was left.

And then tomorrow, while wearing gloves, and perhaps a second cloak wrapped around her for extra warmth, she would climb the mountain itself. She would see the world from the very edge of the heavens. To take in all that lay below.

Her domain.

She found herself thinking. A strange thought. Almost like a dragon's. But here she was, so much molten metal, removed from the mold of her youth.

Cast up to the sky and the edge of the world. If she was so formless by nature to fit the mold, what would she become when abandoned in a dragon's lair?

She was no longer a princess, she knew that much.

But could she be a dragon instead?