Sins of the Father Part Two: Chapter Fifteen (Patreon)

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Chapter Fifteen

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The scent of rain exhilarated Valyrym. It tinted the cool, pre-dawn air with a sort of fresh, earthy sweetness he had not chance to savor in years he dared not number. Though it rained often in Illandra, this was different. There, the scents of rain had filter through the city before they ever reached the air vents of his buried tomb. Pleasant as it was, it was nevertheless tainted by the smells of smoke and stone, of humanity and grime. And when it finally reached him, it mingled into the ever-present scents of mildew and mold. But this? This beautiful aroma drifting upon the breeze? This was rain, pure and clean.

And Valyrym was going to dance in it.

His heart soared at the thought. How long has it been since he had felt the rain pattering against his wings? Running down his scales? Valyrym did not care if it was frigid, and cold. It mattered not if it came in pelting waves. Whenever the rain began, he would stretch his wings, and exult in it. Whether painful, icy deluge, or gentle, warm caress, Valyrym was going to relish every moment of it.

He especially planned to relish the bird’s inevitable complaints.

It was not raining yet, but Valyrym expected it soon would. For days now, the sky had been clear and blue and beautiful. But the day before, the brilliant cerulean expanse had been infiltrated by more and more fluffy white tendrils. Alia called them mare’s tails, while the bird called them rain feathers. Valyrym just called them clouds. Yet he still remembered those particular cloud formations from his life before imprisonment, and more often than not, they foretold of coming storms, be they rain or snow. Besides, Valyrym told himself, he may have spent half his life buried in that fetid hole, but his instincts remained sharp. And as far as he was concerned, a dragon simply knew when it was going to rain. That, and his scarred leg had been aching lately in a way it only hurt before a great shift in the weather.

Valyrym gazed at the sky, awaiting the dawn, such as it would be. The sun was still in hiding, but so too were all the other stars, obscured beyond a layer of gauzy, low-hanging clouds. So used to the darkness were the dragon’s eyes that had no difficulty perceiving the clouds racing across the sky. They were moving swiftly, in a generally eastward direction. It was as if they were racing to reach the rising before the rainstorms at their heels could catch them.

By now, Valyrym was used to rising with the dawn. After all, how else was he to bask in the sunrise each day? It was a habit he’d started shortly after they left the Wing’s Rest Inn. Every morning, he was awake even before the sun itself. And every morning, he crept a short distance from the group, careful not to rouse the others, and awaited the sunrise. Many were the times now he silently rejoiced to the see the day’s first burst of golden sunlight dance across Valar’s scales.

Once, ages ago, he spoke an oath to Amaleen, to rise with the sun and shine his light upon his child, in the darkest of days. Now, free at last, and traveling alongside Valar, Valyrym could finally do exactly that. Privately, Valyrym doubted a used up old lump of coal like him had much light to shed, he would damn sure shine it all for Valar. Valyrym would happily burn himself out, if that was what it took to keep Valar safe.

Valyrym tore his eyes from the sky to look over at where the others slept. They’d bedded down in a grassy field, behind a long-abandoned barn and a collection of decaying homes. Where they were now, Valyrym had no idea. They’d passed empty towns and crumbling homes the night before. A strange, shared sense of desolation and renewal hung over the area. Nature had long reclaimed the scattered settlements abandoned by whoever had built them. Vines smothered rotting walls. A tree grew from the ruins of a stone-brick forge. Birds nested in cracked chimneys. The bird swore the area was safe, and Valyrym had no choice but to trust him in that.

The night before, they’d cleared a spot in the field, and dug a pit in which to build a fire. Everyone else was still slumbering around its smoldering embers. Alia was half-curled up in a bed roll, near the flattened grass where Valyrym had been. Near her, Vatch’s brown-furred ears peeked out of his own bedding, the rest of him still hidden away in his warm comfort. The bird and Valar slept against each other, opposite the campfire from Alia.

No one else had taken to his habit of waking before the sun itself rose from its slumber. He certainly could not blame them. After all, most nights he was the first one asleep, anyway. If he were able to keep his eyes open later in the evening, perhaps he’d wake a little later, as well. But Valyrym was old, and each new day’s journey sapped all the energy a full night’s sleep provided, and more. Not that he wasn’t savoring every fatiguing moment, of every exhausting day. Even countless weeks removed from his escape, flight remained a newly discovered miracle.

Better still, flight was getting easier. Returning to the sky each morning was no longer a painful challenge. Staying aloft for an entire day was no longer a desperate struggle. It still left him worn out every evening, but it no longer was it truly difficult. Musculature he’d long forgotten ever existed was slowly returning. Whenever he dared to observe himself, no more did he dread what he would see. When he left the prison, Valyrym knew all too well he was little more than brittle black scales draped over a withered old skeleton. Now, though? Now, when Valyrym looked at himself, he was starting to see a dragon again. An old dragon, but a dragon just the same. His limbs looked studier, supporting him anew with real strength again. His ribs refused to show themselves against his hide. When he pumped his wings, muscles and sinews rippled along his back. Countless weeks of travel were forging the old dragon’s body anew.

If that kept up until their journey was over, Valyrym thought, Kylaryn might actually recognize him when they finally saw each other again. Kylaryn. Just the thought of her somehow set his blood aflame even as if it froze within his veins. Even after so much travel, Valyrym remained unsure if he was more exhalated, or terrified, to set eyes upon her once more. In his threadbare heart, and in his patchwork soul, he longed to see her. To hold her. To pour his heart and his sorrow into his deepest apologies, for leaving her behind to raise their child alone. But in his troubled mind, he knew she was just as likely to slap the teeth out of his muzzle as she was to listen to any apology he might babble. And that was before he even considered broaching the subject of the queen. For now, though, that remained a worry for another day.

Today was a day to dance in the rain.

Soon, a cold gray light built beyond the clouds, across the eastern horizon. It spread across the sky, tinting the slate-toned ceiling with hints of pink and orange, just enough to threaten a burst of golden brilliance should the clouds break. Shafts of rain cascaded across the earth in the distance. As the light grew, it was clear that while the rain was moving in their direction, it was not moving as swiftly as Valyrym wished.

The dragon’s belly rumbled ominously. He grunted, shifting his weight. Before long, Valyrym thought, someone was going to have to wake up and hunt him some damn breakfast. He flicked his tail, spines scything through some grass. Perhaps he should go and slap that lazy bird across the pompous, silver feathers on the back of his head. It was already dawn, damn it. Krek shouldn’t be asleep at this hour, he should be out there, hunting Valyrym and his son a proper feast.

Lately, Krek and Valar had alternated hunting duties. One hunted in the morning, and the other in the evening. In the middle of the day, during the journey, they made do with whatever they happened across. Somedays, that meant deer, or some angry farmer’s goats. Other days, it meant going hungry until nighttime. One day, it even meant buying an isolated village bakery out of all the bread they’d baked.

So far, the others resisted the idea of Valyrym assisting their hunts, let alone taking a turn catching the day’s prey. They made all manner of excuses to keep him grounded in the morning, and the evening. In the mornings, they often told him not to wear himself out chasing prey when they had so much flight ahead of them. At night, they told him that he needed his rest after such a long journey. The worst part was that Valyrym knew they were right. Early on in their travels, each night he was far too exhausted to even think about returning to his wings to seek out prey, let alone actually catch it. But Valyrym also feared a more humbling truth.

They did not think him capable of hunting, anymore.

The old dragon could not blame them. After all, it had been over one hundred years since he’d last hunted his own prey. Alia had occasionally joked about having live goats delivered to the dungeon for him to chase around, if not for fear that he’d break his damn hip in the process. Much as he hated to admit it, she was probably right. They all were. If the Queen had suddenly decreed his freedom, loaded him into some great wagon, and dumped him in the middle of a forest, he might well have starved to death. Or perhaps more likely, he’d have broken his neck in some failed dive into a herd of deer, when his wings refused to properly obey his commands. But now?

Now, he was ready.

Valyrym stretched his tattered wings to their full extent, gazing at them. They remained deepest black near his body, fading to an ashen gray tone all along their edges, with ripples of deeper gray where they were once indigo. Scars both old and new adorned them, from healed p holes punched by arrows in his youth, to torments heaped upon them in captivity, all the way rips and tears brought by flying too hard for too many days. Though the deep blue markings that once adorned them would never again return, their strength slowly was. Valyrym flexed them, then pumped them once, watching the muscles ripple all along his back.

Yes, Valyrym thought. He was ready. Today, he would dance in the rain, and today, at last, he would hunt. Perhaps he would even hunt now, and return with prey before the others were awake. That would show that odorous ego-bird who was ready to-

“Oh, Gods.” The bird’s rancorous squawking cut through his thoughts like claws scratched across a stone tablet. “It’s barely even light out, and he’s already admiring himself.”

Valyrym pretending to ignore him, speaking to himself. “What a terrible place to have made camp. No sooner has the sun risen, than all I can hear is the obnoxious warbling of some malformed magpie. I suspect the only thing more hideous than its grating voice is its disgusting appearance.” He waved a paw at nothing in particular. “Why, all those greasy feathers are surely a hot bed for fleas, and ticks. They certainly do trap the foul odor.”

“Oh, hilarious, dragon.” Krek glared at him. “I’ll have you know my feathers remain cleaner and more attractive than any of you has ever been!”

Valyrym continued to play dumb. “You know, I can’t imagine how those magpies ever attract a mate. Who would ever willingly spend so much time with something so vain, and pompous, and smothered in grime-mattered fur and parasites?”

“You son!” Krek squawked laughter. “My fur’s certainly never stopped him from wrapping his-”

“Paw around your beak!” Valar sat up, snatching the gryphon’s beak in a forepaw. “To silence you, before you get your ass kicked by my father.”

Valyrym finally swung his head around to glare sharpened talons at the gryphon. “Again.”

Across from them, Alia sat up in her bedroll, black hair spilling across her face. She pushed it aside. “You know, it might be nice to be awakened at least one morning by something other than your arguments.”

“My sincerest apologies, Alia.” Valyrym bowed his head until the grass tickled his scarred nose. “But the bird started it.”

“Of course, bird start.” Vatch wriggled halfway free of his bedding, sitting up to glare at the gryphon. “Bird always start.”

Krek pushed Valar’s paw away, tossing his head. “I do no such thing. It’s usually the old lizard starting it! I’m merely defending my far too frequently trod upon honor.”

Vatch stared at him. “Gryphon have honor? This big news to Vatch.”

The gryphon snapped his beak. “Pipe down, Mister Stick. You’re asking for a bumpy ride.”

“You do start it more than Valyrym does.” Alia stretched her arms over her head, yawning. “And then you act the victim and beg for our sympathies.”

“I do no such thing!” Krek pushed himself to his paws, shaking. His feathers fluffed up. “You all just take his side because you’re all friends.” He hung his head, ears drooping. “And all you gang up and pick on this poor, helpless gryphon together.”

“Case in point,” Alia said, waving at him.

Valar sat up onto his haunches. “He’s always done that.” He yawned, tongue curling in his muzzle. “He used to start arguments with my siblings, and then play the victim to my mother and I.” He raised his voice another notch. “I’m sorry, Momma Ky, I was only defending myself. They’re all ganging up on me because I’m a gryphon.” Valar added a fake whimper. “Maybe they don’t want me here.”

“Even you, Valar?” Krek put a paw over his heart, wincing. “I thought, surely, at least one of you would take myside. Very well…I can see when I’m not wanted.”

Valyrym tossed his head. “Oh, shut up, Bird. Someone just hit him in the balls, already.”

“Good idea!” Valar jumped up to all fours, shaking his haunches as if ready to pounce. “Come on, Krek. Let’s spar.”

“Oh, no.” Krek plopped himself back down on his haunches, covering himself with both forepaws. “You’ve all had your fun bruising my ego. There’s no need to bruise my plums as well.” He narrowed his eyes at Valar. “You try, and I’ll get yours first.”

Alia shook off her bedroll, standing up. She stretched her back, then smoothed out the pale gray sleeping clothes she’d picked up somewhere along the way. “You two must have had a fascinating youth together. I feel like it’s a wonder Valar ever had a daughter. Then again…” She glanced at Valyrym. “After some of the stories you told me, I suppose I could have said the same for you.”

“Luckily for us, dragons are sturdily built creatures.” Valyrym glanced at the gryphon. “What I’m more struck by is that he called her Momma Ky.”

Krek lashed his tail, flattening down some grass. “I never called her any such thing. Valar is just slandering my good name to impress the rest of you.” He clacked his beak. “As usual.”

“All Vatch hear is…” The urd’thin lifted a brown furred hand to work it like a puppet. “Blah, blah, blah, gryphon so abused. Everyone so mean, just because I big asshole.” He slipped out of his bedding and stood. A bright, golden-hued shirt hung to his knees. “Vatch hungry. When lazy gryphon stop moaning and go hunt food?”

Krek bristled up his feathers. “It’s not even my turn, today.” He eyeballed the urd’thin. “Are you even wearing anything under that garish blouse?”

Vatch made a show of wiggling his hips, his bushy, brown furred tail swaying. “Wouldn’t bird like know!”

The gryphon chirruped. “You do know that’s a shirt, right? For a human. It’s not meant to be worn like a robe.”

“Oh, is true?” Vatch tilted his head. “How foolish of Vatch to buy human clothes, instead urd’thin clothes! Because tiny village market have big, big selection of urd’thin clothes.” He tossed his arms up. “There so many to choose from, Vatch just cannot decide so he buy human shirt instead.”

“Alright, Vatch,” Krek said, scratching the feathers around his neck. “Point taken. At least they were pleased to see you.”

“Only because they never see urd’thin before.” He smoothed his hands back across his ears. “Everyone nice, is true, but everyone also want ruffle Vatch! Now, gryphon go hunt food, yes? Vatch get fire going.”

Krek gave an irritable squawk. “I hunted last night. It’s Valar’s turn, this morning.”

Vatch lifted an ear, glancing towards the younger of the two dragons. “Valar busy not being annoying!” Vatch clapped his hands a few times. “Chop, chop, lazy bird. Is time for hunting!”

Krek turned his head to stare at Valar, fluffing himself up. “I think the urd’thin’s been spending entirely too much time in your father’s company.”

Valar only smiled at him. “Chop, chop, lazy bird.” He clapped his forepaws. “Time for hunting!”

“Oh, hilarious, Valar.” Krek stretched his wings, glaring at everyone. “As I’m clearly not wanted, I shall go and hunt myself a meal. If you’re lucky, I’ll bring the rest of you back some tidbits.”

“Actually, bird.” Valyrym said, rising to all fours. “As much as I enjoy seeing Vatch put you in your place…” He shook himself, grimacing at the way his hind leg ached. “I think I should like to try hunting for us today.”

Silence settled over everyone for a few moments. Vatch rubbed an oversized ear. “Old dragon do hunting?” He glanced around, then shrugged. “You all figure out, yes? Vatch gather more wood, prepare fire again. Hope someone get meat.” Vatch shot the gryphon a glare before slipping off in search of fresh wood.

Krek flopped right back down onto his haunches. “Sounds like that’s Valyrym’s job, now.”

Valar growled at the gryphon, but swiftly turned his attention to Valyrym. “Father, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We don’t know if-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Valyrym held up a paw. “We will never know, until I try it. We could not know if my wings would even carry me into the sky, until we blasted through that wall, and I had no choice but to fly again. We did not know if they would keep me aloft, day in and day out, until we had already flown for weeks. And we will not know if they arrest a hunting dive or if my limbs and claws will still snatch prey until I’ve done so. But Valar…” Valyrym lifted his head, arching his neck. “How can I be expected to stand against your mother, if I cannot even slay a deer?”

The younger dragon sighed, hanging his head. “A fair point, father. A very fair point.”

Valyrym smiled at his son, reaching a foreleg towards him as if to bridge a great divide. “But if you worry for my abilities, and my safety, perhaps you should accompany me on my hunting flight. Just to keep me safe.”

“Keep you safe, eh?” A lopsided grin stretched across Valar’s muzzle. “I suppose that’s one way to ask me if I’d like to go hunting with you.”

Valyrym flicked his tail against the flattened grasses. “More my way of telling you I’m going hunting, like it or not.” He swallowed, glancing away from his son. “And that I’d be…quite happy to have you at my side.”

“Well…” Valar stirred a single claw tip around in the earth. “I suppose it would be safer if I was with you. I could give you pointers, as well. So you don’t overtax your wings, or crash into a tree.” He snorted, tossing his head. “Very well, Father. If you insist on being stubborn, I shall take you hunting.”

Valyrym’s heart leapt, soaring to the very clouds themselves at the mere idea of hunting alongside his son. He didn’t even care how Valar phrased it. He shook himself again, jaws soon aching from the unending smile stretched across his muzzle. “Very well, son. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Give me a moment to get a drink, first.” Valar padded off in the direction of the spring-fed pond nearby. “I’ll be ready shortly.”

While he waited, Valyrym walked closer to the others to greet Alia. He lowered his head, gently nuzzling her. Alia wrapped her arms around him, hugging his muzzle to her chest. She stroked his jaws, her delicate touch still every bit the warm comfort to him as it since the first time they held one another. He lifted a forepaw to gently caress her back, rumbling a happy purr against her body.

“Good morning, Val.” She kissed his head, between his eyes, then eased back to kiss his nose as well. “A purr, and everything? Someone’s happy today.”

“Yes, I am!” Valyrym pulled back, arching his neck in prideful display. “I’m going hunting, Alia. With my son!”

Alia chuckled, patting his foreleg. “So I hear. I’m very happy for you, Val. Just be careful, alright?” She shook a finger at him, though her tone remained playful. “No injuring yourself, unless it’s the funny sort of injury we can all laugh at.”

Valyrym snorted at her, blowing her hair around. “I’d prefer not even that manner of injury.”

“I dunno, Val.” Alia grinned up at him. “You could be striding across some old, mossy log, then slip and fall on your balls, or something. That’d be pretty funny.”

“Hah!” Krek squawked a single syllable of bird-like laughter. “That would be funny. Let’s tell Valar to lead him across as many slippery old logs as they can find.”

“Stifle your beak, bird!” Valyrym snarled at the gryphon. “Alia is allowed to make such jokes. But you most certainly are not.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Krek put a paw over his chest. “Were you under the impression that you had any manner of control over me, or that I care what you think?” The gryphon flared his silvery crown feathers up all around his head. “Because you haven’t, and I don’t.”

Valyrym merely shrugged his wings. “In that case…” He curled a foreleg around Alia, pulling her up against his body. “You won’t care when I relay to Alia, the hilarious story the Queen’s healers told me. So, Alia.” He curled his neck to grin down at her. “Speaking of someone falling on their own balls-”

“Don’t you dare, Dragon!” Krek gave irritated chirrup, glaring at the dragon, his wings half-stretched. “I’ll not have you slander my good name with slanderous falsehoods made up strictly to humiliate me!”

“Slanderous falsehoods?” Valyrym cocked his head, his frills raised. “So, when we reach the Queen, if I ask her about the stories those healers told me, she’ll take your side and deny them all?”

Krek jerked his head back, eyes wide and feathers fluffed everywhere. “You will do no such thing!” Krek lashed his tufted tail, hissing. “Her Majesty is beyond the bawdy tales told by the peasantry, and I’ll not have you befoul her ears with your lascivious meanderings.”

Alia leaned against Valyrym, her arms crossed. “Having met the Queen on several occasions, I find that extremely hard to believe. In fact, I’d wager, she’d laugh just as hard as we would.”

“A wager you would surely lose.” Krek turned his head, busying himself by preening his feathers. “Her Majesty is of fine, upstanding, royal blood, and surely ill-interested in such gutter humor.”

“Uh huh.” Alia glanced up at Valyrym. “And I’d also wager that Her Majesty has probably put her fine, upstanding royal boot right into the bird’s plums a time or two herself.”

Valyrym rumbled laughter, thumping his tail. His spines tore up a few chunks of sod. “Oh, now there’s a sight I’d pay good coin to see.”

“Valar!” Krek changed tactics, shifting his voice into a plaintive, put-upon moan. “Your family won’t stop picking on me!”

“I’m certain you have it coming,” Valar said as he rejoined them. “Father…” He glanced towards the western skies. “We should go soon, if we’re going. It looks like rain, today. And while we can certainly fly through it, I’d rather your first hunt in a lifetime proceeds without any additional complications.”

“A wise decision, my son.” Valyrym smiled at him, his chest puffed out. “I would expect nothing else.”

Weeks together now, and still Valyrym was proud of him in every imaginable way. For all his decades of anxious worry, all the nights he cried himself to sleep, wondering if his son was still alive, now he knew the beautiful truth. Valar had grown up strong, and healthy, and with a better heart in his chest than Valyrym ever possessed. It was all too clear to Valyrym now that his beloved son had grown into a far better dragon than Valyrym ever was. And Valyrym could not be happier for him.

The surrealness of it all had yet to wear off. Some mornings, when he woke from some fragmented dream of snow and tragedy, it took him a few moments to properly center himself. To remember where he was, who he was, and who he was with. But always, there was Valar with a reassuring word, or a steadying paw upon his own. Valar, with every right to hate him, had instead chosen the path Valyrym himself could not. Valar had chosen forgiveness.

Valyrym would never not be proud of him.

“Did you say it’s going to rain?” Krek padded closer to Valar, lashing his tufted tail through the tall strands of glass. “Doesn’t that figure.”

“Can you not smell it, Bird?” Valyrym waved a wing tip towards the gryphon. “Or is your beak all clogged up with feather mold?”

“Feather mold?” Krek gasped, stretching his neck. “I do not have feather mold. Why, I resent the very implication that I’ve moldy feathers!”

Valar nudged the gryphon with his own wing. “You look like an owl who’s just spotted something horrible down below the boughs.”

“I have!” Krek idly waved a paw towards Valyrym. “It’s your father. He’s a horrible old beast who delights in my suffering.” He snapped his beak at the older dragon. “And for your information, you decrepit old newt, yes! I can smell the rain. But I haven’t yet taken a moment to observe the clouds. I’d been holding out hope it was going to miss us.”

“Well, it isn’t.” Valyrym turned his attention to Alia, curling his neck to nudge her cheek with his muzzle, beaming at her. “It’s going to rain today, Alia! I can’t wait.” Excitement bubbled in his voice.

Krek stared at him, confusion slowly twisting up his face and flattening back his ears. “How in all the many Feathers of the First Hatched can you possibly be excited about that, dragon? Flying in the rain is miserable!”

Valyrym lifted his neck, arching it until he was gazing down at the gryphon. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve actually felt the rain? Since I’ve felt it run across my scales, splatter against my wings? Since the wet ground has chilled my pads on a cold day?” He snorted, tossing his head. “More years than you’ve been alive, Bird. So let it rain. Let it pour.” Valyrym turned his eyes up to the cloudy sky, ever so eager for it to burst. “I will dance in this deluge like a gods-damned hatchling.”

“Very well, then, you addle-brained old lizard.” Krek hung his head, sulking. “I suppose you haven’t got to worry about having soggy fur and feathers smushed uncomfortably under your armor, all day, either.” He flicked his tail, waving a paw as if dismissing Valyrym from his presence. “Just don’t expect any sympathy from me when your wings go numb from the cold. Or when your ill-fated hunting attempts cause you to slip in the mud and break your hip.”

“Oh, I assure you,” Valyrym said, easing back from Alia. “I neither want, nor expect any sympathy from anyone, let alone the Queen’s Carrier Pidgeon.” He turned fully towards the gryphon, stretching his wings into their full, threatening display. “Nor shall I express the smallest smidgeon of sympathy for you, when I’ve plucked your ugly head balder than the foulest vulture.”

Krek stared back at him in silence for several long moments. Finally, he turned his head towards Valyrym’s son. “Valar, what is wrong with your father?”

Valar gave a hearty, rumbling laugh. “I suspect more ailments than I can count. But as for his current assortment of threats and insults?” He nipped at the gryphon’s ear. “You started it.”

“Ow!” Krek jerked his head back, wincing. “You nearly took my ear off!”

“Fear not, bird,” Valyrym said, his voice all silk and honey. “You couldn’t possibly look any worse with only one ear.”

Krek feigned a stumble, clutching his chest. “Gods! My ego! Words hurt, dragon.”

“You still here?” A rather exasperated sounding urd’thin glared at Krek over the top of a bundle of sticks and logs. “Rain coming! If rain put out fire before Vatch have meat to cook?” He dropped his firewood alongside the pit. “Vatch getting stick.”

Krek thrust an accusing finger towards the dragons. “Don’t yell at me. They’re supposed to be out hunting, but instead they’ve chosen to remain behind, belittling a poor, innocent gryphon.”

“Well, Father,” Valar said, stretching his wings just enough to bump Krek out of the way. “Shall we?”

“After you, Valar.” Valyrym waved a paw across the cloudy sky. “I shall never tire of watching you ascend.”

Valar snorted, his tail swishing. “Well, now that you’ve made it awkward.” He took a few quick, bounding steps forward and leapt, beating his vast indigo and ebony wings. Gusts swirled around them. Leaves whirled in the air, grasses waved and bent. Embers swirled from the fire Vatch was coaxing back to life. Valar ascended swiftly, flying just over Valyrym’s head, low enough to playfully tap a hind paw between Valyrym’s horns. “Come on, you old bastard! Try and keep up!”

“Watch where you fly!” Vatch shielded his eyes from the whirling sparks. “Vatch want meat to cook, not be cooked meat.”

“Worry not, Vatch,” Valyrym said, bowing his head. “I, at least, shall respect the wishes of the Chief First Dragon Tamer.”

“That because you good friend.” Vatch hurried over to rub Valyrym’s nose, then jerked his thumb at the gryphon. “Unlike mangy bird. And son good too, must just learn manners, yes?”

“Right you are as always, Vatch.” Valyrym nuzzled the urd’thin’s head, smiling. “I shall strive to teach young Valar to offer you the proper respect a Chief First Dragon Tamer deserves.”

Krek clacked his beak. “Yes, Valyrym. I’m sure your adult son with a child of his own can’t wait to be lectured on etiquette pertaining to an urd’thin’s made up job description.”

“Bird shut beak now!” Vatch whirled around to glare at Krek, smoothing down the fur atop his head. “Don’t make Vatch get stick.”

“You’d better go.” Alia gave the dragon’s foreleg a playful shove, not that she moved him. “Valar isn’t waiting for you. And if it’s going to rain, it’ll be easier for Vatch and I to cook whatever you bring back if you’ve returned before the weather changes. I’ll dig out the rain gear we purchased while you’re away.”

“Very well.” Valyrym nuzzled her, then eased away. “Mind the tail,” he said, turning around.

“Always do.” Alia ducked out of the way, just in case.

A toothy smile parted Valyrym’s muzzle as he trotted away from the group to make room for his ascent. At long, long last…

It was time to hunt.