Page 50 of Dream Reaper

He shook a finger at her, as if he were scolding a small child. “Oh, you saucy lass!”

But she merely laughed and turned away, disappearing back into their tent. Moments later, a yowl exploded from the tent.

“Roar! Get your bottom back in that bed!”

The yowl grew louder. “You’re pulling my ear off, Ma! Ow, ow, ow!”

“Oh, that lad,” Finnr said, heaving a heavy sigh that sounded genuine. “He’s too much like me, but with all his Ma’s sass and determination. Keeping that boy alive is a full-time task, let me tell you.”

Jerrid tugged on the cuff of his borrowed tunic, unsure what he should say.

“Don’t have children, lad,” Finnr continued, winking at Jerrid, “not unless you wish to be traumatized for the rest of your born days.”

“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind.”

Finnr chuckled. “No, you won’t. No one does. Everyone thinks their children will be saints. It’s a time-honored tradition of stupidity.”

Since he had never had children—or had any intention of having children—Jerrid didn’t really see the point in defending himself against the charge.

Defend our honor anyway, Dragon urged, but he sounded sleepy and content.

Jerrid could almost imagine him curling up into a ball in the corner of their mind—of his mind. The blunder brought a frown to his mouth and a snigger from Dragon, who yawned and drifted farther away. His presence became a mere hum in the background, much easier to ignore.

He breathed a sigh of relief. At last, he could relax and get some sleep, too.

Mumbling thanks and farewells to Finnr, he trudged through the camp back to the main bonfire, where Echo lay sleeping. Ava was already there, sitting cross-legged beside his dragon. She held a bowl in her hands and was frantically shoveling in food. Jerrid’s own stomach rumbled in protest.

She looked up as he approached and jabbed a wooden spoon at a second bowl sitting on a rock near the fire. “It’s good. And still warm.”

He gingerly sat beside her and scooped up the bowl. Soup with a few vegetables and chunks of tough-looking meat. But he wasn’t going to complain. It was better fare than he usually had when on assignment. It tasted good, too.

They devoured the meal in silence.

Then Ava lifted the water skin and drank deeply—she must have taken it from Echo’s pack. When she passed it to him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, he was surprised to find the skin was heavy. She must have refilled it somehow.

Or perhaps Brynja had been uncommonly kind and filled it for them.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ava cleared her throat. “The little lad filled it for us before his mother dragged him back to bed. That one doesn’t stay where he’s put, does he?”

Jerrid had to bark a laugh, although it came out a little bitter as he remembered how close to death the boy had nearly come because of his unwillingness to stay put.

“He definitely does not do that,” he agreed, sipping at the water.

Ava watched him intently, the firelight flickering in her dark eyes, her cheeks thin and hollow-looking. She wasn’t well. The chaos of the past several days was taking its toll.

“I think we’re going to have to stay here for a while,” he hedged, forming the thought even as he spoke the words. “None of us are fit to travel.”

She didn’t answer immediately, picking at loose threads on her tunic. “The longer we wait, the more time Talos has to regroup. To find us.”

“There is that.” He put the cap back on the waterskin and set it aside with their empty dishes. “But we won’t stand much chance fighting him if we take off in our current condition. I don’t think Echo could even make the journey. There’s no way she’d be able to carry us. Not until her wings heal.”

“We’d have to walk.” Ava’s voice sounded pinched, worried. “The woods here don’t feel safe. I don’t really like that plan.”

“Nor do I. I hate to think what would happen if we ran into another one of those dragon-eaten wyrms.”

Ava winced and nodded. That particular encounter had been unpleasant, to put it mildly.

“Do you think we’re putting the camp in danger by staying?”