FLAMES ON THE SIDE OF MY FACE [x] dragonrider au

This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    The boy glanced both ways before cautiously sneaking into the stables. At ten years of age, Cary was too young to train as a dragonrider in the king's army. At ten years of age, he was too young to be anywhere near dragons, hence his abundant caution in entering the stables. The great stone building could house up to thirty dragons at a time, although there were usually far. Most were out on patrol, after all, or fighting in the war that had devastated numerous lives. Besides, the tiny village surrounding the stables only existed to provide a waystation for the dragonriders as they travelled between the capital and the eastern edge of the kingdom. The current war was being fought in the east, although the village has existed long before that as one of half a dozen training grounds for the king's dragonriders. In just five years' time, Cary would be old enough to apply for training as a dragonrider. Few applicants managed to succeed to training, although the number had been steadily increasing as the war dragged on. Besides, everyone knew that people in the village tended to have an easier time bonding dragons than most - working with dragons provided their livelihood, after all.


    Letting the door swing shut behind him, Cary pressed against a shadowed wall, raising a pale hand to run it through his ginger locks. Carrot-top, his mother used to call him, and he was proud of his hair. The most famous dragonknight of all, Sir Artur Morgan, was said to have been a redhead. If Cary achieved half of what Sir Artur had, he'd be famous throughout the kingdom. Sir Cary the Swift, they might call him, or Sir Cary the Bold.


    The scrabbling of great claws caught his attention and Cary shook himself from his daydreams. Someone was entering the stables, and there was no way he wouldn't be caught. The boy blanched, trying to press further into the shadows. If he was lucky, it would just be a new dragonrider who'd come to stable their dragon, and who wouldn't recognize that he was too young to be anywhere near the dragons. If it was a dragontrainer or stableworker, he was in for a load of trouble. Worst of all, all he could do was wait and silently pray that he wouldn't end up in too much trouble.