Dream are strange things, aren't they? Many of them are so silly as to mean nothing at all. Others seem so real that we remember them long after we wake...and the feelings stay with us even longer.
Mikhail could never quite remember the dark, dark dreams he had that night in the far northern forest. But he would never forget the feelings they gave him. When the knight finally awoke, he felt simply awful. His heart had not been this heavy since that moonless night, many years ago, when he had lost his father and brother. As Mikhail reached for another ashroom, he raised himself on his elbow and looked around.
Spirit was gone.
The knight sprang to his feet, the ashroom quite forgotten, and all the hairs on the back of his neck raised in alarm. In the blink of an eye, the experienced hero read the tell-tale signs around him: the cruel claw marks in the ground, the snapped tree trunks, the burned bushes.
The dragon had returned.
“Spirit!” the knight called out as he quickly fastened his shining armor and drew his father's sword. “Spirit!” But there was no sign of Mikhail's faithful friend.
Now any noble knight puts his friends' safety above his own. Mikhail would have abandoned his quest then and there if it meant saving his stallion. But he didn't have to. The knight's sharp eyes read the hoof marks in the ground all too well. His horse had left at a gallop, followed by the trail of damage through the forest that marked the dragon's path. The tracks lead west, back towards Altai Village.
There are many tales of heroic journeys and epic adventures, but none of them quite compare with the westward trek of Mikhail Andreyevich, the dragon hunter. With the single-minded focus that marks all dedicated champions, Mikhail followed the tracks westward. The sun set, the moon rose, and still the knight pressed on, through the thick trees of the boreal forest towards the familiar mountains rising in the distance. The moon sunk lower as dawn blossomed into day, and Mikhail strode tirelessly past the frozen lakes. For three days he followed the tracks of friend and foe, never pausing, never sleeping, barely eating or drinking.
The sun had begun to set in the distance as Mikhail finally reached the narrow pass that wound through the mountains to Altai Village. But even as Spring bloomed elsewhere in this broad and distant land, here a heavy snowfall had blocked the knight's way. The tracks of both stallion and dragon stopped at the thick wall of ice that kept Mikhail locked outside the beautiful valley.
Without a moment's rest, Mikhail unsheathed his sword and hacked in fury at the ice until his arms ached. “I cannot move forward!” he finally cried in despair as he sunk to his knees. For nothing quite upsets a noble knight like an inability to move forward, whatever his quest may be. Simply put, Mikhail needed help.
And when knights or princesses need help, it most likely comes when they are trying to help others.
“Mikhail.” The knight heard the familiar, gentle whisper behind him. Without a moment's pause, Mikhail leaped to his feet and turned to wrap his arms around Spirit's neck in a tight hug. How his friend had escaped the dragon or where he had come from did not matter for the moment, so happy was the knight to meet his horse—his stallion—again.
“The dragon—claw marks around the campfire—followed for three days—saw you galloped away—was able to guess its size—so glad you're alright!” It was a good thing that Spirit was still his shy, quiet self. Mikhail had enough to say for both of them, and the stallion simply shook his mane in silent agreement as the knight continued for some time.
“...and if you kick with your hooves, and I strike at the same point, we may be able to break through this ice!” Mikhail concluded excitedly as he raised his sword once more. But the stallion remained standing as before.
“Mikhail Andreyevich,” he finally whispered sadly, “do you not realize what has happened here?” Mikhail followed his stallion's gaze and felt his heart freeze as he saw the thick blue smoke of dragon fire rising from the valley.
“We aren't too late.” Mikhail hacked at the ice wall in vain. “We can't be!”
“It is better this way,” Spirit whispered, but Mikhail couldn't hear him over the ringing of his sword.
“Mikhail Andreyevich,” Spirit whispered again. The desperately noble knight kept striking uselessly at the blocked valley pass.
“Mikhail.” Spirit's sad, gentle voice rose well above a whisper. “You are the dragon.”
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