AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fascinating,” Zyla whispers.
I shoot her a look. “What?”
Mama, Prometheus says in my mind again, nuzzling my neck.
“It’s calling you mama?”
“No. I said we could find the dragons so Prometheus could find its family. With everything that’s going on, I forgot, but I’m truly sorry,” I say the last part to Prometheus.
Mama.
“Dragons only offer food to their family.”
Family.
“How do you know that?” I ask, arching an eyebrow as I run my palm over Prometheus’ back. The blue scales are warm to the touch. The dragon begins to purr like an oversized kitten.
“Because it’s my job to know things. I think Prometheus thinks you’re its mom.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I look at Harald who is still solely focused on sorting his skins. Right. He’s not going to help me make a case. “Prometheus wants to go home.”
“You’ve bonded with the dragon,” Zyla says. “Regardless of whether the dragon thinks you’re its mom—which it does—it won’t leave your side for long. There are legends of dragon riders, those with magical ties to the dragons.”
I shake my head. “I’m not riding a dragon.” I’m afraid of heights and Prometheus, while bigger, is still so little.
“We’ll see about that,” Zyla says. “Tell me about what you’ve been up to, aside from copious amounts of sex.”
“Don’t ya talk about sex around me,” Harald gruffs.
I glance at him, avoiding the item placed in his lap. “Nice of you to join the conversation.”
“Maybe if ya weren’t so appalled by my bounty, I woulda said hello.” The trull glares at me. “Yer lucky I like ya or I’d have yer eyes.”
“I’m squeamish,” I say with a shrug.
“Thought yer name was Daisy.” The trull places the skin in the cart and closes the door, finished with his sorting or admiring or whatever he was doing.
Zyla chuckles. “I think it means she gets sick easily.”
I nod. “Definitely that. And I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“It’s fine.” Harald looks at the ground, almost like he’s sad.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“All this talk about mom’s has me missing mine,” he says with a hard sniff. “She fought three cyclops with nothing more than the toe nail from her right big toe.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur softly.
He rears back and pulls a face. “What are ya sorry for?”
“Uh, because she died?”
“Bah, she didn’t die. Skinned the three of them while they were still alive and made me and my brothers and sisters blankets.”
That’s a new level of demented.
“So she’s not dead?” Zyla asks.
