Azazor opens one eye. A single one. He sees himself floating, flying, like smoke from a great blaze. He is floating above the desert. He sees the Great Ridge, the desert and even water further away, beyond another mountain range. The Wide Puddle perhaps.
Dead, he is dead. There is no doubt. His body is all the way down, charred, reduced to ashes by the red dragon, and he is floating like smoke. Yet he has to fight the urge to let himself be carried away.
gladuch odraèt og, didrauch fyrak gladuch, these are the words of the gey-zas who died in battle, this is his duty. To fight the smoke that rises to descend into the depths for fighting the dragon. Then he closes his eye and concentrates to go back down to his last fight.
Dead, he is dead. There is no doubt. His body is all the way down, charred, reduced to ashes by the red dragon, and he is floating like smoke. Yet he has to fight the urge to let himself be carried away.
gladuch odraèt og, didrauch fyrak gladuch, these are the words of the gey-zas who died in battle, this is his duty. To fight the smoke that rises to descend into the depths for fighting the dragon. Then he closes his eye and concentrates to go back down to his last fight.