First Installment in the Rule of 3 Blogfest: The Return of Raker

Welcome to my first installment in The Rule of 3 Blogfest .  This week's story line responds to the following writing prompt:

There is an argument

I hope you enjoy it.  You can view a trailer about the fictional town of Renaissance here .

The Return of Raker
Raker lumbered through the meandering passages of the Kastanes, staying clear of Heriot’s Pass.  Even in dragon form, he knew to avoid the hangout of the rebellious youth from the village of Renaissance.

Smoke curled from his large nostrils as he snorted over his old world language. Village.  Of course, Renaissance deserved the label, but no matter how hard he tried, he spoke in those ancient words while in dragon form.  His purple scales scraped along the tight walls, and the great beast paused to rub back and forth along an outcropping, a low rumble of pleasure rolling up his throat.

He paused mid-scratch, lifting his snout.  The scent of lilies tickled his nose. With a thunderous bellow, he rushed forward.  “How did you find me, woman?”

Brigit sat on a stone, her bright peasant skirt dipping into the dragon’s accumulated treasures.  She regarded him with a cool, blue-green stare, her red hair floating around her face in a fiery haze.  “Greetings, Raker.”

Scaly tail slamming against the far wall, Raker edged closer, towering over the woman.  “Why are you here?”

“Honestly, Raker,” Brigit said in her no-nonsense voice.  “It wasn’t that hard.”  She stood, her tone shifting to a sharp reprimand. “Why are you here?  The Sons of George don’t forget.  No matter how many years it’s been.”

The Sons of George.  He’d managed to evade them.  The dim-witted traders.  He hadn’t expected their return to Renaissance, too.

The slap came as a shock, and he rounded on her, mouth open, fire building in his belly.

“Don’t you dare!” Brigit wagged a finger in his face.  “You will not toast me, today.  Now change.  I can’t talk to you like this.”

He hunched his shoulders but instead rushed toward the abandoned mine shaft at the other end of the chamber.  Wings folded, he plummeted downward, but as he soared toward the floor, a sudden weight hit his back.  Pain blasted across his shoulders as Brigit’s sharp nails found the spot between his neck scales and dug in.

The pair landed with a thud at the bottom of the shaft.

Unable to resist her pin-pointed attack on his neck, Raker hunched over.  Purple scales melted and fused into smooth golden skin.  His body folded in on itself.  After a few agonizing moments, Raker stood naked before her.  A man.

“Why Renaissance?” Brigit advanced on him.  “Have you found one?”

 “The ancestors lived here.” He rubbed his neck.  “I smell her.”

Brigit tilted her head to the left, but then shook it from side to side. “We’ll look elsewhere.”

Fists clinched, Raker bunched his shoulders and took a menacing step toward Brigit.  He knew his man-form displayed great power and size.  “She’s here.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “It’s too risky.”

He unleashed the dragon, heat filling the shaft and revealing a myriad of passages.  Skin rippled as scales reclaimed their place amid the swirling scent of ash.  The dragon soared upward.

 “Raker!” Brigit’s screech echoed from the bottom of the shaft.