The dragon watched Aldor with its last golden eye, its pupil staring deep into his. Aldor had never seen so much hate. Something ate up his tummy. The fact of what he'd just done seeped through his flesh and tickled his soul, like the pain rushing from all places on his body. The dragon lifted its head and moaned, a moan so low and clear that Aldor shivered.
Fumes came from its snout, billowing up from its nostrils, and then stopped.
Aldor opened his mouth to breathe. His wounded arm smoldered. His adrenaline had evaporated, leaving him spent and sore. Aldor wanted to die, just to end the pain. Not to rid himself of the hurt, but of the cold shame which pierced his gut. He sat up and managed to strip away his shredded sleeve. The flesh had peeled off and revealed a swollen layer of skin.
