The difference is immediate. The constant hammering becomes muted. Wind no longer drives directly into my face. Water still finds its way through a few gaps overhead, but compared to standing in the open storm it feels almost luxurious.
For the first time since falling into the river, I start to relax.
A moment later Vyrathion ducks inside after me. The shelter instantly becomes far smaller.
He has to lower his head to enter, and even then his shoulders nearly brush both walls. Rainwater drips from his hair and clothes as he settles himself with obvious reluctance, like a large king forced to occupy a tiny peasant's cottage. For several seconds he studies the interior in silence while water continues pouring from the roof outside.
Eventually he nods. "Excellent."
I look around the cramped structure, then back at him. "It’s very fine."
"Obviously. Dragon made. But you are to keep quiet about that."
A drop of water falls through the roof and lands directly on his nose.
"Do you think it might leak?" I ask, carefully looking away.
He wipes the water off his nose. "Certainly not. It breathes."
"That’s what I thought."
Vyrathion gestures toward the entrance, where sheets of rain continue pouring past. "Outside is a storm capable of uprooting forests. Inside is merely damp. That difference is called great success."
Another drop lands on his shoulder. He points toward it before I can. "Perfect. I wanted some water just there."
I bite the inside of my cheek and decide that preserving his dignity costs me nothing. "It’s ingenious."
Apparently satisfied, he leans back against the wall and folds his arms. “Quite so.”
For a while we simply sit there listening to the storm. Rain drums against the roof. The river growls beyond the trees. Every now and then thunder rolls overhead and the entire shelter creaks softly in response.
The strange thing is that I don't feel afraid anymore. A few hours ago I was being carried through a flood by a dragon while convinced I was about to drown. Now I'm sitting inside a badly constructed hut on a tiny island surrounded by raging water, and somehow this feels safer than almost anywhere else I've been on Xren.
Maybe that's because Vyrathion is here. The thought slips into my mind before I can stop it. The entrance rustles.
Clyde squeezes inside carrying a damp stick almost as long as he is tall. The little Plood waddles proudly across the floor and presents it to Vyrathion like a sacred treasure.
The dragon stares at the offering. Clyde stares back.
"I don't want that."
Clyde continues holding it out.
"I have no use for sticks."
The Plood carefully places it beside the wall anyway, then curls up near the entrance looking enormously pleased with himself.
I can't help smiling. "You know," I say, watching Clyde settle down, "I think he likes you."
The look of disgust that crosses Vyrathion's face is immediate. "Only such insanity would explain his increasingly irrational behavior."
"It was meant as a compliment."
"It didn’t sound like one. Perhaps you have the wrong idea about what a compliment is."
I laugh quietly, and to my surprise the dragon doesn't seem entirely displeased by the sound.
Outside, lightning flashes through the rain and briefly turns the river silver. The floodwater races around the island carrying branches, debris and occasionally entire trees. Every time I look out there, the current seems faster than before.
