Page 32 of The Last Dragon
“Try it!” she says, one cheek stuffed like a greedy squirrel. I take the piece and bite. The crust releases a burst of gentle warmth as my teeth dig deeper into the soft, sweet interior. Flour clings to my lips. I savor the taste, a groan escaping me. It’s even better than what we get from Raumen during the day.
“This is good, Mr. Pines,” I say.
“Glad you enjoy it,” says the man with a hushed voice.
“It’s the finest in Nedersen,” exclaims Raumen. “I have yet to even begin making it as good as my father.” He grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him into a warm embrace. The old man is a head shorter than Raumen, his back slightly hunched with age.
“You’ll get there.” The old man chuckles, waving his wrinkling hands. “It runs through you!” There’s pride in his voice.
“I’m certain you’ll surpass your father one day, Raumen,” says Nida, her tone warm. A faint blush appears on his face.
“You should come with us to Nedersen.” Raumen’s eyes light up. “Zel will be there!”
“I never said—”
“I’d love to,” Nida says, elbowing me in the gut. “Zel can show me the way! Right?” She looks at me with a smile.
Well, I guess I have to go now.
A bell tolls, and Raumen grabs a helm from the side of the stall. “My shift at the battlement,” he says, hugging his father tightly before waving his goodbyes.
I thank Mr. Pines for the bread, purchasing a few small bagels before parting ways.
We continue to zigzag through the crowd, pointing fingers at different stalls and their merchandise. Just like old times. An empty spot by the farrier made my stomach drop. The cobblestone is still tainted black from when a piece of hot metal fell as my father worked on a dagger. If it were occupied by someone else, I most likely wouldn’t have noticed.
Nida glances at the empty spot, letting out a sorrowful sigh.
“That’s where he used to sell his tools,” I say, approaching the black stain burned into the stony ground. She places her hand on my shoulder in comfort, but I quickly shake off the warmth she attempts to give.
The sun hangs lazily in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground from the Stronghold’s ramparts. A figure stirs within the shade, drawing our gaze upward—Raumen, on duty. The light blazes, leaving only the faint outline of his silhouette as he lifts a hand in greeting, peeking through the embrasure.
“Hey!” Nida frantically waves back and jumps up and down as she shields her eyes with her other hand. Laughter rings from above. “Shouldn’t you be looking out for dragons!?” Nida yells.
Raumen’s wave falters, as if he suddenly remembers he’s on shift. “Oh!” his voice echoes. “Thanks for reminding me!” He disappears behind the rampart’s columns. I arch an eyebrow, my eyes darting to Nida as she shrugs. Before we know it, Raumen’s head peeks back again, his armor clanking as he moves around.
“Yeah! There’s like five of them heading this way!” he shouts, grinning.
My heart pounds, but relief washes over me—we’re far enough from the market crowd now. They shouldn’t be able to hear him. Hopefully. I roll my eyes and let out a yell of my own. “Don’t joke about that!”
Raumen’s laugh carries as he shakes his head, slowly returning to his post as a faint whisper escapes him. “No fun.”
I let out another yell. “I heard that!”
Raumen leans around the corner. “Man! How good is your hearing?!”
I laugh, shooing him with my hands.
Nida looks at me with a smile tugging her lips and arches an eyebrow. “You heard that?”
I shrug, still laughing without giving it a second thought.
The day passes quickly as Nida and I walk around the market, full of beautiful trinkets that have no worth within the secluded walls of the Third. I notice that each stall is more sparsely stocked than usual. What was once ten pieces of head-sized bread is now three pieces the size of a child’s palm. The Center has its own food supply, and our trade with the other Strongholds doesn’t seem good. I assume it’s the reason why.
The Center started feeling too warm and comfortable once they heard about one dragon remaining. They stopped rationing food. But with that came a price—neither the villagers nor the Third Stronghold is capable of producing enough food this fast. And we’re the ones that suffer from it.
“It’s nice to see some familiar and new faces,” Nida says. She takes a deep breath through her nose. “And familiar smells.”
“I haven’t seen anyone from Pirlem,” I comment. “Not even your parents.”
