Somewhere nearby, something lets out a long, mournful howl. I immediately move a little closer to Vyrathion.
He notices. "You assume I will protect you."
"You keep doing it."
"Protecting my servant? Would you prefer if I didn’t?"
I bend to adjust my sandals. "No, keep doing that. Um. I’m not sure I’m your servant, exactly. But okay."
He fixes me with a gaze that I can’t quite meet. "You’re free to go back to your tribe at any time you may choose. I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic to see you."
"That’s actually not my tribe. Well, not in every sense."
He glances at me. “A tribe-less woman in the jungle. But without the means to protect herself, having to seek the proximity of a dragon. For safety. It’s like a bad riddle.”
I straighten up. “It feels that way to me, too. Sometimes.”
Behind us, I hear a rustling sound. When I look back, the little Plood is still following. The strange creature waddlesdeterminedly through the undergrowth, his uneven gait making the effort look twice as difficult as it should be.
"You know," I say, "he's doing surprisingly well."
"He is doing surprisingly badly," Vyrathion replies. "He should have given up hours ago. If he had any sense."
The Plood trips over a root, disappears briefly into a fern, then pops back up and continues after us.
I can't help smiling. "See? He’s determined."
"Defective, I think is the word you mean."
I shrug. "He can be both. That’s how good he is."
Vyrathion mutters something under his breath that sounds deeply insulting.
The little Plood finally catches up and stops beside me. He raises both hands and proudly presents a collection of bright yellow leaves.
I accept them with as much seriousness as I can manage. "Thank you. Not really what we need, but you’ll get there."
The little creature visibly brightens, and I sense the telepathic wave of joy from him.
Vyrathion folds his arms. "I notice he continues bringing tribute to the wrong person."
"He probably thinks that I’m helping you. Saves him from having his offerings kicked out of his hands."
"In that, at least, he’s not wrong. You are helping."
The admission surprises me enough that I turn around.
Vyrathion glares up at the treetops in the direction Praxigor went, then notices I’m staring.
"What now? More questions, I assume?"
I give him a tight smile. "You just admitted I was helping."
"Yes, I said you were helping the Plood search for gold."
"That's still helpingyou."
He studies his claws on one hand. "Which would seem to be a low bar for a servant to pass. The absolute minimum, some would say."
