Vren squirmed out through a small window in one of Orval’s back chambers, making sure to close it firmly but quietly. A moment to orient, crouched in the rain, before he moved off over the slate roofs.Be the wind, be the shadow, be the blade, be the silence of the night, he recited to himself, grinning.
Far easier without a wet nurse and babes in tow.
Visibility was almost nil, so he let his eyes adjust before he increased his speed.
He crossed the city, the rooftops changing underfoot from slate to clay to wood to thatch. He wanted to be swift but knew that a mis-step, a clatter, or a patch of rotten straw would cause a ruckus.
The rain grew heavier, coming down in dark sheets, the wind cutting like knives. Few would be out-and-about. Perfect weather for prey.
And prey was what he intended to be.
Once over the city wall, he skirted the sides of the road, staying where the trees were thickest, heading back to the battlefield. Dust would be there, keeping a watchful eye. He suspected the Wyverns would be searching and he needed to be seen by them, if Dust hadn’t already been spotted.
The road was quiet, the only sound the rain. Still, he was wary. At this point there would be warriors clearing the dead, or at the very least, tending the wounded. With a bit of luck, and the favor of the skies…
Horses coming down the road. Riders with lanterns on poles, making no secret of their presence.
Vren darted to the side, hunching down. If that light swung his way, he’d be seen. He clutched his knives and waited.
A rustle under a dead tree behind him caught his ear. Yellow eyes gleamed for a moment, then disappeared.
Dust had found him.
He slid toward her through the grasses, quiet as he could. He saw her scramble back, on her belly, leaving an opening, and crawled after her, dead leaves and branches scrapping against his oiled leather cloak. The smell of mold and wet filled his nose as he crouched beside her, turning to face the road. Her breath was warm on his cheek as they watched through the branches.
Illuminated in their pool of light, the warriors wore their hoods up. The jingle as they pounded past spoke of armor and weapons beneath their cloaks. No banners were displayed, so no way of knowing their allegiance. Vren lowered his gaze, for fear his eyes would catch the light. Dust pressed her muzzle against his cloak, ears twitching.
The light passed over them; the hoofbeats faded off into the night.
Still, Vren waited silently, pressed against Dust, until she shifted and gave a huff.
He waited still, until she nodded. Then, at last, he shifted to sit cross-legged at her side. Water showered down on them as the dead leaves rustled in protest.
Vren buried his cold hands in her warm ruff, and put his head to hers. “Well, they weren’t beating the bushes, so they weren’t hunting you. You lost them?”
Dust’s ears twitched with a “yes,” then perked with a tilt of her head.
“All’s well,” he whispered. “They are with Orval.” He hesitated. “I checked. Neither bore the birthmark you seek.”
The vore drew a huge sigh and then pressed her head into his chest, a rare sign of affection.
“I need a minute,” Vren said, reaching for his pack. “Orval sent some dried meat for you.” He dug it out. Dust, with a flash of fangs, snapped it up. “He fed me a bowl of pease.”
Mid-bite, Dust huffed, giving him a side look.
“Well, you know,” Vren kept a straight face. “Warm, cheap and filling.”
Dust paused in her chewing, bared her teeth and clicked her tongue. The vore version of a laugh. Vren smiled as well. “I asked for a bag of dried pease.”
The vore sneezed, effectively rolling her eyes.
“No fear,” Vren chuckled. “I won’t be eating it.” He pulled out the bag of pease and dug further for some leather cords.
Dust tilted her head.
“I am making a baby,” Vren explained. One of the dried apples, after some rough carving, would serve as the head. “Something to sling to my chest, make it look like I am fleeing with the child.” He worked fast, tying off the head and then forming rude legs. “We need to pull them from the city.” He dug deeper in his pack, drew out a cloth. “This was Xylara’s nappy.”
Dust gave the cloth a sniff.
