Arn was pissed. He didn’t expect his companions to actually teleport away, and the dragon was turning out to be a bit more than he could handle on his own. He hated running, but the alternative seemed to be being burnt to cinders on the mountainside.
The dragon struck again, it’s scaled tail slamming into Arn and ripping up some new wounds on his arms. That settled that – time to retreat.
He was nearing shelter – a cave of some sort – just as he could hear the beast behind him preparing for another fire attack.
Arn threw himself into the cave, only to find that instead of a horisontal surface, there was a downwards slope.
He kept swearing all the way down.
Eventually, Arn’s tumbling came to a halt, as the ground gave way to water. The cold water cleared his mind and brought him out of his rage, and he began to feel the full extent of his wounds. The dragon had hurt him more than he had realised at the time,
he was badly burnt and bleeding heavily. And stuck in a cave with no light and no help – his companions probably assumed he was either dead or fine, and even if they did go looking for him they likely wouldn’t find him. Unless Herrax could skry. Could Herrax scry? Arn did not know.
Well, regardless, sitting around in a cold lake would not benefit him in any way.
Slowly, carefully, Arn began to explore the darkness.