He tilts his head. "I’m simply observing you."
"See, that's just a longer word for looking."
He considers that for a moment. "Looking lacks purpose. It’s casual. Brief. Observation is intellectual. Yes, I’m observing you. I have not caught you using any more spells. Nor do you seem to chant magical rhymes or drink potions. You’re behaving almost like a real servant."
Before I can say anything else, movement catches my eye beyond the entrance. At first I think it's another tree being carried downstream.
Then lightning flashes. The shape beneath the water is moving against the current.
My smile disappears immediately.
"It's still here."
Vyrathion follows my gaze without any visible surprise.
"Perhaps not as smart as I first thought. Well, it knows what to expect if it comes any closer."
The creature surfaces again several moments later. Only part of its back breaks the surface, but that's enough. Jagged ridges cut through the muddy water before vanishing again beneath the flood. A few seconds later its eyes appear above the current and stay there, staring right at me.
The shelter suddenly feels much smaller.
Watching that immense predator circle through the storm, I become painfully aware of how isolated we really are. The riverhas trapped us. The weather has trapped us. And now something beneath the water appears willing to wait as long as necessary.
Without consciously deciding to, I move a little closer to Vyrathion, to his strength and safety.
For a moment neither of us speaks. His arm rests lightly against mine. He doesn't move away. Neither do I.
Outside, thunder rolls across the jungle while the monster circles patiently through the floodwaters. Inside the shelter, the space between us seems to disappear one inch at a time.
And neither of us appears particularly eager to reclaim it.
13
- Morgan-
"This is surprisingly agreeable,” the dragon finally rumbles, making me shake with the deep bass.
"It’s very nice," I agree, about to fall asleep.
"And unique," Vyrathion says with satisfaction. “Dragon-built. The only shelter in the world.”
There’s so much pride in that statement that I find myself smiling again. Since meeting him, I've learned that Vyrathion considers nearly every practical task beneath his dignity. Hunting is acceptable because it involves demonstrating superiority over other creatures. Fighting is acceptable because it involves demonstrating superiority over other creatures. Accumulating treasure obviously needs no justification. Constructing a muddy emergency shelter with woven branches, while clearly beneath his dignity, seems to give him some pleasure that has nothing to do with superiority.
"I think anyone would be proud," I say. "You built a shelter in the middle of a storm, on a collapsing island, after rescuing someone from a flood."
He snorts. "Most people have astonishingly low standards."
"Or realistic ones."
"Don’t misunderstand,” he says. “I’m not proud of this. Only my hoard makes me proud. And my reputation among dragons.”
I open my mouth to argue, but a movement by the hut’s entrance interrupts me. Vyrathion's eyes close briefly, as though fate has decided to test his patience further.
"No," he says toward the entrance. “Stay away.”
A moment later the entrance flap rustles, and Clyde squeezes inside carrying a single green leaf.
The little Plood trots directly toward me and holds the leaf overhead with obvious pride. Whatever difficulties accompany being stranded on a shrinking island during a catastrophic storm, at least somebody seems happy about the situation. I accept the gift with appropriate gratitude, and Clyde immediately stands next to me and stares, as if expecting a new order.
