I stare. The bridge is gone.
Vyrathion dusts off his hands and walks toward the fire. Just like that. As if throwing warriors into rivers and relocating entire trees belongs on an ordinary morning schedule.
For several seconds I can only watch him. Then I notice a dark stain running along one forearm.
"You're hurt."
Vyrathion follows my gaze and scowls. The wound isn't serious. It's only a shallow cut near his elbow. Still, a faint line of shimmering golden ichor glistens against his skin. His expression darkens immediately. "One of them managed to scratch me."
The way he says it makes the injury sound personally offensive.
"It doesn't look bad."
"It looks horrific. My precious skin!" He sits beside the fire and examines the cut with obvious displeasure. "Drawing dragon ichor is sacrilege."
"Yeah, you told me. But do the tribes know that?"
"Hopefully they do now."
I bite back a smile. Only Vyrathion could sound insulted that complete strangers failed to respect ancient dragon customs.
He’s now bled twice. Just a little, but still it bothers me more than it should. He seems so invincible, and he acts as if he’s invulnerable to everything. But he’s plainly not. How weak has his lack of gold made him?
My eyes drift toward the river. Well, he can’t bethatweak if he could just toss that thing into the water. And yet the missing bridge leaves me with mixed feelings. On one hand, tribesmen can no longer wander onto the island. On the other hand, our easiest route off the island just floated away.
Then another realization strikes me. "Clyde is still over there."
Vyrathion shrugs. "He'll return eventually."
I scratch my chin. "How?"
"He appears to be a professional wanderer. I'm sure he'll think of something."
That’s not a great answer, but I don’t say so. “It sounds exactly like something Clyde would do.”
The fire crackles softly between us. For the first time in what feels like days, sunlight filters through the trees overhead. The storm has finally broken apart. Beyond the island, patches of blue sky are beginning to appear.
I look around properly. The island seems different now. Smaller than before, certainly, but also peaceful.
The river has retreated from its highest mark. Birds are returning to the trees. Water drips from leaves instead of pouring from the sky.
A thought occurs to me. "You know," I say, standing up, "we've been trapped here for days."
Vyrathion narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I will remind you that I have not."
"Okay, but we haven't actually explored the island."
"There is an island. I have already observed it."
I gesture toward the trees. "There might be something interesting here."
"I’m only interested in gold. I sincerely doubt there is any here."
I carefully place one hand on his forearm. "You can’t be sure, though. Can you?"
He allows the touch. "I sense no gold anywhere. If there is some, it must be buried."
I start walking anyway.
