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Dragon blood is cold.
This was the first thought to cross Mina's mind as the hero's blade ran through the beast's neck and released an endless flood of gore right on her face. It was the strangest feeling, really: thick and red and overwhelming, yet sending shivers down her spine. It should have burned, she decided. Dragons were creatures of fire and anger, they had no right to be that cold inside.
When she opened her eyes again, the hero was by her side, cutting the ties that maintained her on the sacrificial stone.
"Milady, you are safe and free to go home."
She didn't know about that first part. She was no lady. She had a simple name, came from simple folks, lived in a simple village, tended to simple goats. There was nothing lady-like in being made prisoner and offered against your will to a hungry monster, only then to be covered in said monster's blood. Or maybe there was. How could she know? She had never set foot in a castle in all her life.
She didn't know about the second part either. The hero didn't look any better than her. In fact, he looked even worse, his shining armor now dull and red, his sword unsheathed and dripping, his eyes glistening with the excitement of the fight. He had, after all, killed a dragon all by himself, and thus Mina had to wonder who the real monster was in this story. She still took the hand he offered her and got off that cursed stone, because it was the only thing to do.
The trip back to the village was lost in a stunned haze.
* * *
Dragon blood doesn't coagulate.
A hurt dragon will have to cauterize the wound by itself, bathing in its own fire until the blood stops running. Not the most efficient healing method perhaps, but then again, few are the things which can hurt a dragon.
Mina was still soaked and wet when she set foot in the village. Everyone was there; everyone was silent. There was no cry of joy, no congratulations, no tears of relief. Only that morbid and uneasy silence as men and women and children alike gawked at her reddened face, while also avoiding her eyes as if she could bore holes in their brains.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, two figures detached from the crowd and ran to her. Her father crashed into her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, pressing her against his chest. She couldn't breath, and thought for a moment that he would do what the dragon couldn't. On the side, her mother looked at her intently, her face torn between smiles and tears and, buried behind all that, a guilty frown. Mina felt her heart sink.
These people, her parents, her most trusted guardians and protectors, had let the mob take her away when the dragon came. They hadn’t even put up a fight. They had hugged her goodbye and let her go, much like they were doing now, except back then the hug had bore the cold touch of treason, whereas now it felt unbearably warm, as warm as a dragon's breath.
Mina was back home.
* * *
Dragon blood is a powerful stimulant.
Mina had heard gossips about young married couples drinking dragon blood to then lock themselves in their newly shared bedroom for an entire week. Not that she cared much for that sort of stories, but she couldn't help but think about them as she lay awake on her bed for the third night in a row, not feeling tired in the slightest.
On that day she had returned, she had cleaned herself as soon as the crowd had dissipated. The clean water from the well had been the very first good thing to happen to her in a lifetime, yet it had come too late. She had tasted the blood on her lips, and though the quantity was meager, the blood was potent. And so now, for the third night in a row, she grew restless and agitated until finally she gave up, got up and got out in the dark of the night to take a stroll.
(If she tried to close her eyes anyway, all she would see would be dragon fangs, and dragon drool, and dragon blood, and she wouldn't be able to stop shaking for hours.)
Morning found her pacing in the village's square, much to the surprise of the early risers. They gave her a polite nod and a fake smile before running away to much more important affairs that were conveniently away from the dragon's maiden.
That was her name, now: the dragon's maiden. She had heard people talking when they thought she wouldn't be listening. They would say things like, "She doesn't talk much now, eh? The dragon's got her tongue!" and, "Did you notice that she doesn't blink anymore?" and, "I find it strange that she survived, is all, not saying that she put a spell on the darn beast, no, but, y'know, maybe let's keep an eye out just in case." They were all very quick to forget that they had put her on that stone in the first place, and that someone else had rescued her; but the hero was gone now, and the guilt is best turned against others anyway.
"Ain't you supposed to be dead?" asked a kid later that day, and Mina had to stop for a minute to think. Ain't she?
That night, when she closed her eyes, she saw dragon fangs, and dragon drool, and dragon blood, and she quite longed for it.
* * *
Dragon blood stinks, and the smell sticks.
It's maybe not perceptible to us human beings, as we have a notoriously bad sense of smell. But goats are much more sensible creatures, and Mina's goats were no exception. They refused to comply, tried to escape every day, and on one occasion, almost managed to eviscerate their goatherd.
But keeping the goats was Mina's only job, so she stuck to it. She brought them to the pastures beyond the hill and near the lake, near the stone that had held her, near the dragon's last rest. There was nothing left of it now, as dragons' remains are prone to disappear as if they had never existed, which Mina found very unfair. She, too, would like to disappear without a trace, thank you very much. After all, nobody wanted her around anymore, not even the goats.
But the goats still needed her, didn't they?
(No, they didn't.)
* * *
Dragon blood calls for dragon blood.
This is not a fact, more of a saying, but it has been proven right more often than wrong.
Mina had finally left her village and taken to the road, on a whim that she couldn't exactly explain to herself. She could have ended her life, she could even have lived on her own in the outskirts of the village. Both solutions sounded more reasonable than wandering aimlessly on countries she didn't know. Yet here she was, in the dust, hungry, but strangely refreshed. She had clothes and a tent and a bow her father had given her before she left, maybe to make up for the protection he didn't offer. She hunted and she walked and she lived, finally, as she hadn't lived since the day she was tied to the stone.
Yes, now she could believe the hero. Now she was safe and free to go. But she was not yet complete.
It came a few days later; a shadow that she first mistook for a cloud, except no cloud flies that quick against the wind. She lifted her head to see it: another dragon, circling a lake, in the middle of which lay a stone. A barque was heading there, not yet half way.
If Mina started running now, she would maybe get to the lake in time. So she ran.
She was a good shot, and the dragon never saw her coming. It was too engrossed with its prospective meal, as hers had been with herself. She knew where to aim, too; the hero had shown her. And so a single arrow pierced the dragon's neck, and in a flash it was over. Blood rained on the maiden as it had rained on Mina. She got closer to cut the maiden's ties, and the girl looked at her with the same big eyes full of terror that she must have showed to the hero.
Mina opened her mouth to speak, and then paused for a moment. She would not repeat the same mistake as the hero before her, so she asked herself: what would I have wanted to hear?
The answer came to her, as obvious as dawn.
"Come with me, girl. Let's ditch these arseholes and get out of here. I won't let you alone anymore."