Page 56 of The Longing

But my Wyrm is not intimated. It’s as if his isolated existence has made him impervious to, well, almost anything.

The Redcaps ignore us as we make our way across the courtyard. The scented garden seems overly strong, almost artificial, and I’m pleased when the wooden doors open and we can leave. It seems like a weight is lifted as soon as we step outside of the castle boundaries. I never want to go back there.

It seems highly unlikely Fenrother tunes into my concern, but rather than striding off, like he has done all day, he sticks close by my side as we reach the market. I’m still interested, but the stares we’re getting and the way people move out of Fenrother’s way, as if he is contagious, are starting to grate.

Is it possible to see enough of a place before you’ve even begun?

“I think I want to go home now,” I say to Fenrother.

He dips his head, gently nuzzling at my hair. “Home?”

“To your castle.”

Fenrother’s chest rumbles, a deep, comforting sound.

“Whatever you wish, my mate,” he says.

Next to me, even though I’m trying to ignore everyone, a witch smiles, although as soon as she sees my gaze, she goes back to studying the cauldron she has in her hands with additional care.

“Come,” Fenrother says. “Lord Guyzance may be the back end of a hind, but I am prevented from being my Wyrm here. We will have to leave these walls before I can change.”

He says this very loudly, far louder than necessary, before closing his hand around mine and towing me through the market, down the wide street, and, with no regard for the Redcap guards, we’re outside the walls once again.

I feel like I can take a breath. Happily, Fenrother strolls on, having reduced his rather punishing pace, and we follow the road away from Moranik which I am not going to miss.

The dusty pathway winds around the contours of the hills, cut into the earth on the higher side in order to keep an even base, and we turn a corner, out of sight of the main gate of the town.

Fenrother transforms without a word. But rather than holding out his claws for me, he beats down his great wings, lifting into the air, and I find myself flattened against the bank where the road is cut into the hillside by the down draught.

He’s leaving me.

Except, he stalls immediately above a small copse of trees, clustered around a stream which runs down a steep, skinny valley ahead of us, the leaves swirling wildly as he hovers there for a brief moment before dropping down with the sound of breaking branches and a loud, terrifying thump.

I don’t even think. My legs are pumping as I race down the road. Something is happening. The remaining trees are swayingviolently. As I get closer, a shape tumbles out of the copse and onto the dusty surface. There are too many limbs for a brief second, and then Fenrother and Warden split apart, both scrambling to their feet, or hooves, in Warden’s case. He huffs out several hot breaths.

“You dare to lie in wait, Brag?” Fenrother snarls. “Your tricks will not work on me.”

“Brag?” I pant out, finally getting close enough to the pair, my lungs burning.

Both pairs of eyes land on me. Fenrother instantly puts out a wing and shoves me behind him.

“Warden is a Brag, a trickster who likes to surprise the unwitting traveller, pushing them into the water.”

Warden snarls. “All lies, as well you know, Wyrm.” He spits a mouthful of blood on the road, wiping the back of his hand over his lips. “We have never done such things, and any ambush has been on our enemies.”

“And I am your enemy?” Fenrother responds with far too many fangs.

“I should consider you as one, given you left us in the Night Lands,” Warden says, his back legs dancing, hooves ringing on the stones.

“But you escaped.” Fenrother isn’t backing down, even if his voice has a weary edge.

“I escaped the demon prison,” Warden growls, a shudder wracking his body. “To become it’s governor.”

“Then your time there was fortuitous.” Fenrother growls.

“You don’t know what it was like in there.” Warden stills, and his lack of movement is more terrifying than his movement, all flashing hooves and blades. “I did…things…I hope to never have to do again to get my position.”

His dark eyes are wild. His flanks heave, and sweat pours from them, foaming white against his chestnut hide.

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