As I reach the other side, I knock down a tree and place it across the stream so that she can use it. Then I walk on, noticing that the Plood are also using the tree bridge.
As night falls, I stop and lean my back to a tree. Morgan can’t walk in the dark, and I suppose I can wait for her here. At least until morning.
I rub the gold leaf on the cup. “Yes. Soon now. Soon there will be more. There will be a hoard. A true one.”
I stand beside a tree and place some dry leaves on the ground beside me. The jungle floor is damp there, and she prefers dry ground to lie on.
I stare at the spot for a moment.
Then I snarl and kick the leaves into the darkness.
23
- Morgan-
The little group of Plood follow me, and I follow Clyde through the jungle.
The woods feel dangerous, but perhaps all these Plood will confuse the dinos so much that they won’t attack.
It’s a weird feeling not having that big, dark back in front of me. Now I have to bend branches away myself, I have to pick the way to go because Clyde doesn’t choose so well, I have to look around for dangers, I have to make sure to be quiet so the tribesmen don’t hear me.
With Vyrathion, it was a different thing altogether. He cleared the path in more ways than I really knew at the time, and he removed the worry of a sudden attack by dinosaurs.
“Such a stubborn creature,” I mutter as I walk. “Can’t he see this is much smarter? Get the girls, maybe see if they have jewelry, and if not, well, then maybe they know where he can get some.”
Clyde glances back at me, his huge black eyes unblinking.
“I know,” I say. “You agree. Or maybe you don’t. You’re very hard to read.” I have no idea what goes on inside that strange little head.
The Plood weave through the jungle in near silence. Every now and then one disappears into the undergrowth while another emerges from somewhere else and joins us. It makes me wonder how many there really are. Hundreds, perhaps. Thousands. There may actually be millions of them, if those white mushrooms grew into these things.
I step over a fallen trunk and immediately think of Vyrathion. Not because I miss him, I tell myself. Because he would have stepped over it without even noticing it existed. He would have pushed straight through the undergrowth without slowing down, and every branch would somehow have ended up bent out of my way as well.
The distinction feels important for about five seconds. Then I admit that I do miss him.
I miss not having to think about every little obstacle. I miss having somebody who could smell danger before it arrived. I miss knowing that if a dinosaur burst from the trees, something much worse would burst out to meet it. Even when he was grumpy, arrogant or impossible, there was something comforting about having a dragon between me and the rest of Xren.
“Crazy dragon,” I mutter.
Clyde looks back again.
“I’m not talking to you. Keep going.”
The Plood continues staring at me as he walks, as if he’s expecting a command. Eventually I sigh. “Fine. I’m talking about Vyrathion.”
For some reason saying his name out loud makes my chest tighten. I duck beneath a low branch and continue after Clyde while the argument replays itself for what must be the hundredth time.
Maybe I should have handled it differently. Maybe I should have agreed to visit the village first. The moment the thought forms, though, I reject it. Five girls. Five. If they really are trapped between tribes, every day matters. Every hour might matter.
I wasn't wrong. The certainty helps for a little while. Then another thought arrives. Vyrathion wasn't wrong either.
I hate that realization. The little gold-covered cup wasn't much. A decoration. Barely enough paper-thin gold to cover a fingernail. But the effect it had on him was impossible to ignore. For a moment he had looked almost happy. Not triumphant or greedy, the way I would have expected. No, he looked relieved. Like somebody dying of thirst who suddenly discovers that water might exist after all.
I push through a wall of broad leaves and find myself slowing. The jungle presses in around us, green and endless. Somewhere overhead, unseen creatures call to one another through the canopy.
“I know what happened to you was terrible,” I say quietly, even though he's miles away and can't hear me. “The cage. The jungle. Getting weaker. All of it.”
Clyde tilts his head.
