Gregory had been running non-stop for days. No longer able to fly, running was his only option.
Story hounded him. She and the remaining brood flew above him, prodding him along.
When he stopped to breathe or drink water, Story would slash at him with her tail. When he snapped at her to fend her off, one of the juveniles would whip him from his blind side while he was distracted.
To call them juveniles anymore was a poor description. They still had a lot to learn, but they were mostly full grown. They were huge.
Some had gone off on their own after a while, as dragon’s do. But ten had stayed, loyal to Story, to their mother.
The eleven of them tortured him. They fed him scraps. They mocked him.
It was awful, but the more time Gregory spent in dragon form, the more he felt like a dragon. Despite his egregious injuries and deformities, the power and resilience of the huge body that hosted him currently, was extraordinary.