“You know. Monsters who bite butts.”
I pressed both palms over my eyes. Stars, take me now.
“No,” I said finally. “It was not a—What did you call it?”
“Butt monster.”
“There is no such thing.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not here. But maybe in the mountains.”
I was beginning to reconsider taking her north.
She wiggled again. “Why were you fighting so much?”
“It is what drakens do.” The words came out before I could soften them.
Her small hand patted my cheek. “Not Kieran. Kieran says fighting is stupid, and he only does it when necessary.”
“A draken who avoids fighting?” I snorted. “Ridiculous.”
“He sneezes when he’s mad.”
I paused mid-step. “What?”
She giggled. “And when he’s hungry. Sometimes when he’s sleepy.”
That actually sounded correct.
She continued, relentless. “Do you sneeze?”
“No.”
“Do you snore?”
“No.”
“Do you know jokes?”
“No.”
She gasped. “None?!”
This wasn’t a snowsquall; it was a storm. I flew down toward the base of the mountain, searching for a cave. Ice and snow pelted my face. She didn’t notice, curled up against my chest and covered by my arms.
“OK,” she said confidently, “I’ll teach you a joke.”
I braced for impact, physically and mentally, only to couch as a piece of ice went down my throat. Time to land on the mountain and stop flying in the open air.
“What do you call a grumpy draken who doesn’t like soup?”
My claws slammed into stone, gripping hard as I climbed up the base of the mountain, interested in the small cave opening fifty yards away. Away from the snow and ice and bone-deep chill.
“I do not know,” I grunted.
“Veskor.”
I huffed and kept climbing.
