Rivulets of sweat dripped down Beorn's upper body. His skin was flushed red like a boiled shrimp, his eyes were closed, and his face set in a scowl.

'All I'm feeling is hot, Wilhelmina. Like I'm being boiled from the inside.'

Wilhelmina let out a long-suffering sigh, 'All that essence pumped into your veins… and yet you are unable to sense it. It lies in your heart Beorn, did you not feeling anything when the dragon blood was injected into you?'

­‘Only burning hot pain and then I passed out.’

‘I suppose we must be thankful you survived it in the first place. You have your blood to thank for that.’

Beorn scowled at that, ‘Would’ve been nice if I was asked first.’

Wilhelmina clucked at him, ‘Now. Now, all’s well that ends well.’

‘I nearly got killed twice and who's fault was that?’

The Wyrm-princess coughed and remained silent, too ashamed to retort.

The ranger finally gave up and stood from his cross-legged pose. He took a towel off a nearby chair and wiped his sweat off, marveling at his body's transformation. The dragon’s blood had healed all his recent injuries. His broken ribs only twinged slightly and the burns he'd suffered were slight discolorations on his skin after being healed by the blessing.

He made his way over to the mirror in the bedroom to look at the changes more closely. His older scars had faded completely, only the slightest hint of their existence remained upon his skin. Beorn traced a line upon his palm where he had cut himself while holding a sword for the first time, the various other nicks and scars he'd acquired while training as a ranger, no evidence of the wounds remained. For a moment, he missed them as a record of his life, but his regret was short-lived as he realized that the damage from injuries he had ever suffered in the past, no matter how small, had been repaired. And it did not end there, his new body healed at a prodigious rate, already the more recent wounds he had received from the direwolf and Silas were starting to fade too.

But he had newer scars across his back and his arms to compensate for his older ones. The unstable portal had marked his skin and refused to heal at the same rate, they still persisted as shallow wounds. Their shape was quite peculiar in that the cuts looked angular and sharp, and they followed a pattern across his body looking almost like a tattoo.

Wilhelmina noticed Beorn's concern towards the scars, 'Do not worry, the wounds will heal over time. At least you were spared from a more permanent injury—like losing your limb.'

The ranger shuddered at the thought of those infernal gateways, 'I don't even want to think about entering another one.'

His companion chuckled but didn't respond. Shaking his head, he made his way to the main room and looked around. The place looked to be big enough for some sword practice before dawn, and he was in dire need of getting his stealth under control. Galanor’s teachings emphasized control over outright speed and power, and the recent fights had only highlighted how effective his Ranger training was. Against both beasts and men.

Beorn took up his sword and started moving in a slow, deliberate fashion. His muscles shivered under the strain of his control, raring to let loose all their strength, but he breathed deep and slow and set his will unto taming them. The tip of his blade traced slow curves in the air gradually growing faster and faster until a hypnotic web of flashing steel enclosed him. Sweat beaded his forehead, his arms and legs shook from exhaustion, yet his breathing remained steady and his heartbeat slow, he slowly sank into the void that comes with single-mindedness.

He was barely aware of a warm thread that seemed to emerge from his heart and enter the rest of his body. Just as he was on the verge of grasping it a knock on his door shook him out of his reverie. Barely managing to avoid impaling himself, he slowed down his swinging and brought his burning arms to a halt.

‘I felt something that time, almost like a… thread of heat’

Wilhelmina’s mood perked up, ‘Good. Now you are finally on the same starting line as mere children’

Beorn ignored the snarky remark, panting slightly from his practice he sheathed his sword and looked around for a shirt before remembering he’d thrown away his last one yesterday, not that much remained of it. He shrugged and went to open the door.

The waitress from last night was waiting outside. She was about to speak when she looked up at Beorn and stopped, her face turning bright red. The waitress gazed at Beorn's chest before he interrupted her with a cough, "Umm… Irma was it? Are you feeling alright?"

She went even deeper red and nodded frantically, "Y-Y-Yes sir." Taking a deep breath she continued, "T-The tailor is here. Should I send him up?"

"Yes please, I've run out of shirts to wear."

The waitress gave a quick bow and rushed off, nearly slipping down the stairs. Beorn leaned out of his doorway as he watched her go, "Strange…"

'I do believe the female wants to mate with you.'

Beorn lost his grip on the door frame and slipped, "What?!"

'Do not tell me you did not notice her increased heartbeat and her gaze on your naked torso. I am confident she has accepted your mating ritual.'

He picked himself off the ground and closed the door before someone else showed up, 'What mating ritual?!'

'Oh, do the males of your race not strip naked and strut around in hopes of attracting a female? Good work Beorn! You must spread your seed in order to bear future generations of your family so that you may serve me better.'

'NO! I just didn't have anything to wear in the first place. And no one's going to be mating anyone! I haven't even reached manhood yet.'

'No? That is a pity. With the increased potency of your bloodline, you will find it hard to create progeny. It is best to start early, there is a reason why the dragons are known as such lustful creatures.'

'What?! Dragons are what?!… No, forget about that. I won't be mating and that's final'

Beorn was saved from further embarrassing conversation by another knock on the door. The ranger let the tailor in and allowed him to measure him for a new shirt.

After standing still for fifteen minutes the short, fidgety old tailor who'd introduced himself as Agne, had finally finished fussing about him with rolls of string. He'd promised shirts for a nobleman in two days, but the ranger was in a hurry. He'd asked for something hardy and for it to be ready within the day. Agne looked offended at that, "But sir, it will require at least a day to tailor clothes that befit you…'

Beorn pulled out four silvers and placed them in his palm, "It's alright, they don't last long anyway, I'll just take anything you can make fit by today and lots of them."

"But…"

He took out one more, "Today please?"

Letting out a defeated sigh, the old man relented, "Alright I'll have them sent to you by the afternoon," he turned with a slight bow and left the room.

***

Beorn was pretty pleased with the lunch of roast lamb and potatoes he was having in the tavern. The promised shirts had arrived right before and he was spared from having to get out of his room without a shirt. Luckily Agne had managed to scrounge up four tough cotton and wool shirts along with two fancy ones with so many ruffles that the ranger pushed them into the bottom of his pack without even looking at them.

The waitress was still unwilling to meet his eyes, always blushing and running away from him, though Beorn thought she looked a bit disappointed once he'd come down the stairs in his new shirt.

Beorn was enjoying the light ale she'd served him when Wilhelmina piped up, 'I told you, the female wishes to mate with you. And now you've disappointed her. Quickly, unclothe yourself and invite her to mate!'

He nearly choked on his ale, 'Unclothe myself and invite her...I don't even know her!'

'That is no excuse to delay proliferating your seed and creating descendants.'

Beorn scowled into his plate, 'If you keep bringing this up, I'll stuff you into the bottom of the pack.'

Wilhelmina gasped, 'You wouldn't!'

'I'm warning you, one more word and into the bottom, you go.'

'Hmph'

Thankful for the blissed silence, Beorn decided to forgo waiting for the group from yesterday and instead examine the place where they said they'd spotted it. He finished his meal and slipped the innkeeper another silver to keep his room for another night.

He debated whether or not to don all his armor and take his weapons but finally decided to wear it. Although he was just scouting the location he never knew what would pop up. It was happening quite a bit lately with the Arachnae Broodmother and fire-breathing basilisks, though they would be considered drakes after their mutation, Beorn supposed.

That's why scouting was important. Hunting a wyvern alone was a foolish thing to do, hunting one without preparation was suicidal. Beorn might not be the brightest person but he wasn't ready to die just yet. Besides, apart from a few hiccups, his contracts had been going pretty smoothly and a wyvern was just another big lizard with wings. He was trained to hunt such monsters, what could possibly go wrong?