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“Are ya making fun of me?”
“A bit,” I admit, picking him up and walking to the platform that overlooks the kingdom. The not-chicken struts shoves off the stone and sets into the air with two powerful strokes of its wings. Once it’s high in the sky, it releases a shrill sound. Definitely a pterodactyl.
“Do you think she’ll come?”
“Maybe. She doesn’t like the king,” Harald says then glares at the centaur who balks. “Say a word and I’ll turn yer hide into my next set of pajamas.”
“Harald,” I scold and shoot the centaur an apologetic look. “He’s teasing.”
“No, I’m not,” Harald shouts. “I’ll skin ya before you can so much as whisper treason, ya hear me?” His tiny body trembles with rage.
The centaur poops. Oh Jesus. Harald scared the shit out of the centaur. Pterodactyls are chickens. This world is ridiculous.
“Right. We’ll be going then. Thank you so much for letting us send a message. We truly appreciate it,” I slather the centaur with gratitude and all but jog from the room.
“Slow down, will ya?”
“I would slow down if you weren’t threatening to kill everyone.”
“Who said kill? I said I’d make his hide into pajamas. With proper care, he’d be fine. Maybe.”
“You’re missing the point,” I grumble and head toward our rooms.
Harald winces. “Yer mad at me?”
I sigh. He’s a trull and they’re apparently notorious for being murderous. Can I truly be upset with him for being who he is? This world doesn’t have the same rules as Earth, but maybe I can try to convince him to be less… stabby.
“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”
Harald pauses. “That’s worse.”
I nod. “The centaur helped us.”
“He heard me say something bad about the king,” he whispers.
“Yes, but maybe you should be more careful with where you say such things.” I give him a pointed look. “Like maybe not in his castle?”
“Ya might have a point.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I do. I’m going to ask you to please not threaten people who are helping us.”
“Sounds a bit like tellin’ to me.”
“Harald.”
He grunts. “Fine.” His eyes go misty again. “Ya remind me of my mother when ya say my name like that.”
“I hope you’ll get to see her soon.”
He considers me. “Why are ya nice to me?”
“Because I want to be.” I shrug. “And while I’m not used to your skins, we’re still friends. Friends are nice to one another.”
“I wish I had more friends,” he says after a moment.
“Have you tried to make friends?”
“Trulls don’t have friends.” He harrumphs like that’s that.
