The Legend of Vanx Malic: Book 02 - Dragon Isle by M. R. Mathias Page A

and this time when its eyes closed they stayed that way. By the time Vanx could force his fingers to move over his throbbing body to check himself for injuries, the beast was snoring in a long, rhythmic rumble.
    The sky beyond the dragon’s bulky form, what little of it Vanx could see, hadn’t darkened all that much. However long he had been out of it, it hadn’t been long enough for the sun to disappear from the sky. The idea that he’d been unconscious for more than a whole day caused him to worry, but only until he glanced around again and took in all the carcasses. Seeing them assured him that this was the same day.
    He found several tender spots along his hips and ribs, and the section of his spine between the shoulder blades felt as though there was a hot steel pressed against it, but otherwise he was intact. No major gashes, no broken limbs.
    Using his keen Zythian vision, he searched the area of the cavern between him and the opening. Not only did he see nothing that might help, but he saw that he couldn’t get past the dragon without it awaking. It was just too big and the opening too small.
    Slowly, so as to avoid disturbing the huge monster’s slumber, he rolled over and faced the other way. Old hides and the skeletal remains of something that might have once been a sizable beast were there, blocking his view. As quietly as he could, he scooted past them. To his surprise, the cavern extended back a good distance, growing shorter and narrower as it went. Vanx’s first thought was that if he could wedge himself into the slight crack the rock eventually formed then he might be able to outlast the dragon’s patience. It was a good thought, but an impractical one. The dragon’s sinuous neck could probably reach back there and snatch him up any time it wanted to.
    Vanx’s spine was still throbbing in fiery protest as he eased his way back to explore the few dark places his vision couldn’t penetrate. A gust of hot air brushed across his face so suddenly that he thought it was the breath of another dragon for a heartbeat. Feeling it before seeing it sent a chill through his body that only served to aggravate the fiery rage burning between his shoulders. This airflow was a constant stream, not dragon breath. The shaft that was venting the air angled outward and away at a slightly skewed angle to the cliff face behind him. The hard edges and the jagged rocks that should have been sharp here were worn smooth, as if the passage had been well used. The fact that the bottom was relatively flat, and that it was shaped like a rough corridor, gave Vanx hope.
    He had to crawl at first, but after a dozen feet the shaft opened a little. It wasn’t very tall, though. Vanx fought the urge to scream out about the aches and pains that assailed him as he stood. Silence won the battle, but barely. He found it next to impossible to travel the tunnel, for a tunnel is what he deemed the passage to be now. His agonizing spine wouldn’t let him stoop over, so he had to lay his head to the side. The position he was moving in reminded him of the child’s game “Duck Hop” that he had played in his youth. He hadn’t liked the squatting motion then, and liked it even less now.
    The passage eventually spread into a cavernous area that seemed like a giant monster’s maw with all its pointed teeth intact. A few of the man-sized formations rising and falling had met in the middle to form actual columns. Vanx noted that the bone-white stone from which they were formed gave off a soft green glow. The steady plop of several drips reverberated around the vast area and formed a tattoo that lulled and then surged in turn. Vanx wondered how many similarly fantastical places existed on the island.
    He explored the space. There was a continuation of the tunnel that was easy to spot. The path between where he entered the cavern and the opening were worn smooth, where the rest of the floor was pocked and spattered with mineral deposits.
    When he