Ashwing waddled after him, still smug.
Ren leaned closer to him as they walked. "Still think you're not the dragon's mom?"
"I'm more like an unwilling mentor."
"Uh huh. Sure."
Lindarion looked ahead at Lira.
Still calm.
Still impossible.
Still stretching the definition of "strong" into something slightly terrifying.
Ren? A close second.
And him?
Well.
'I lit him on fire or whatever. That counts for something.'
He kept walking. No speeches. No plans.
Just a group, a trail, and whatever came next.
Preferably something without claws.
—
The village looked smaller after killing something monstrous.
Not metaphorically. Actually smaller. Like the buildings had all collectively leaned back a few inches, pretending they'd never had problems, never called for help, never sent a kid to ask for royal backup with a monster in their backyard.
Lindarion adjusted his coat. Ashwing was doing circles around his legs again, like a sentient belt that occasionally breathed fire.
