He didn't, not yet. But he didn't feel any worse, at least. Just... like he was dying just a little.

He had one thought in his head, now; to get back to his nest (off the ground; ground was exposed--ground was dangerous) and rest.

The purge of his system was enough to grant him flight, when combined with his own weak recovery; he didn't waste energy (feeling utterly miserable) talking to Blight, but instead shuffled into a clumsy run before taking lopsided wing.

The wind took him, billowing red-infused wingleather into the air: he glided and flapped awkwardly to his sea stack, where he almost fell into the cave and hoard beneath the upper nest. It was a hole in the rock, where he hid all his treasures; and he crawled inside now, grumbling. He could hear Blight coming in behind him, and so he spoke.

"Need to rest," was all he managed, past the imperative of his body's decree: sleep, now.

He'd dragged himself fully within the dark and sheltered space, and managed to curl halfway up when the stone at his tail-tip began to rapidly spread. A relieved exhale left him with a curl of smoke from both nostrils, flaming eyes slipping shut as he drifted off to the reassuring crashing of the sea far below.

exit Dread to chrysalis

Blight followed him closely back, worried. He'd never seen the big dragon so off-balanced, before, and he felt incredibly guilty when Dread hauled himself weakly into his den. The black stone abruptly began its crackling ascent, and Blight--perched at the edge of the den, and staring at Dread where he lay on metal scraps and gemstones--had to leap back and take wing to make sure it didn't accidentally cover him, too.

He pondered, pensive.

He felt ashamed, yeah, but he had to act now. He'd need to maybe get Bone here; he had to guard not only Dread, but the unhatched pair up above until Dread woke. Would it be days? Weeks-? He didn't know.

First things first: burns or not, he had to obscure the chrysalis. Once the obsidian had finished covering the larger dragon, Blight went to work lifting the scraps and gold and gems, scattering them atop the obsidian. It wasn't perfect as camouflage, and it certainly wasn't visible unless one literally crawled atop the gemstone anyway--but the chrysalis looked now like a black rocky floor of a treasure hoard. Blight would protect it all either way, but better to lose a few shiny objects than his adoptive grandfather.

Then he flitted up top, and--to his dismay--realized he was having to take over Dread's uncertain watch. He curled up between the two flints, staring at them uneasily. Hopefully they wouldn't hatch any time soon; he wasn't cut out to be a parent.

He tried to reach for his magicka one last time, but weariness had taken him; and though his stone did not, sleep claimed him moments later. His narrow snout lay out beneath the light, warmed, and he too drifted off to the sound of the sea below--body and magic working to heal his wounds.

exit Blight