“Okay, yes, you didverygood.”
He trills as if satisfied, and I roll my eyes. I brush some frost off his feathers. “You obviously got us into Fifth already,” I say, because it’s far too cold for us to still be within Fourth’s borders. I must’ve been out for a while.
Argo wavers suddenly, dipping down before catching himself.
“Shit,” I hiss. “You’re fucking exhausted.”
I should’ve noticed it right away—the strain in his wings and the froth frozen at his mouth. I have no idea how long he’s been flying me. Who knows when he last hunted for food? I’ve been a dead weight on his back, and now that I’m conscious, it seems like he’s ready to drop right out of the sky.
“We need to land.”
As if he was waiting for me to say just that, he starts descending, far less graceful than usual. The rise and fall of his wings are choppy, his breathing labored. He cuts through the clouds, but the landscape is bleak and foggy. However, his vision is far better than mine, and soon, I see the copse of trees he’s aiming for.
He nearly hits the treetops, only righting himself just before his wings knock into the branches. He swoops down, body angled as he maneuvers between the trees.
“Find a spot to perch for the night,” I tell him, and like always, he understands.
Just like the messenger hawks seem to be able to know what I’m saying to them. Just as the marewings once did.
Winged creatures will feel a kinship toward you.
The scales on my chest seem to pulse, like the dragon inside of me is proving a point. That for once, my father was partially right.
Argo flies further in, and after a couple of minutes, he begins to circle one of the massive trees. A second later, I see what he already noticed. The base of its large trunk is crackedopen like it was damaged centuries ago. Though it seems the tree lived and just kept on growing despite the wound. The dead spot on the ground has cleaved away and left a hollowed space like an eye socket. Argo swoops right in, and although it’s a tight fit, he notches us inside the space.
Dismounting, I have just enough room to stand beside him inside the spot that feels like a wooden cave. He shakes out the snow and frost from his wings, sending out an icy splatter.
“Get some rest before you collapse,” I tell him, scratching his chin. Argo chuffs and then lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. He spins around, knocking me down in the process. I land hard on my ass. “You did that on purpose,” I grumble.
His slow blink says it all, though he’s too exhausted to let out an amused rumble. He twists his body into a tight circle like he’s trying to curl onto my damn lap, which he’s entirely too fucking big for.
I manage to sit down, legs stretched out in front of me, just as he flops his heavy head onto my thighs. He lifts a wing to cover us both and ward off the cold. Between that, his body heat, and the tree’s natural protection, I no longer feel the sharp bite of freeze.
With that, and with Auren’s warmth feeding in through the bond, I fall asleep almost as quickly as Argo.
CHAPTER 12
SLADE
Argo’s wing covering keeps outthe cold and the bleak daylight. When I wake and start to shift with an uncomfortable groan, I earn a growl from him. My legs have gone numb from the weight of his head, my neck is stiff, and my stomach is aching with emptiness, but I think sleep did me some good.
It did Argo some good too, because after his initial grumpiness wears off, he wakes up like a fucking toddler ready to rampage, gripping my arm between his razor sharp teeth.
Arching a brow, I look at him. If he adds any more pressure, his fangs will pierce right through my sleeves. “I know you’re hungry, but I probably taste like rot. I wouldn’t risk it.”
He scrapes his teeth like he’s testing me, but then releases my arm. I roll my shoulder as I wipe off his slobber. “You’re feeling better.”
He lowers his wing and I look out from our enclosure and take in the overcast sky. Without being able to see the sun, I’m not sure what time it is. Argo stretches up, body lifting off mine, making the blood rush back into my legs that fill with pins and needles as I stand back up.
I grab the lone strap that’s still hanging off Argo’s body, the leather pulled and strained where it’s hanging loosely fromhis side. I quickly unbuckle my pack and rifle through it, relief flowing through me when I realize that everything is still intact. The saddle is a loss, but I’m lucky my pack didn’t get ripped off too.
I pull out my waterskin, a double portion of food rations, clean clothes, and then re-buckle the pack. “Go get yourself some breakfast,” I tell him, chin jutting up.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He bounds away, snout in the snow as he attempts to scent out some prey, though I’m not sure how easy it’ll be to come by.
I quickly tear into my own rations, realizing as I’m eating how fucking hungry I am. The dried and salted meal doesn’t exactly hit the spot, but it’s filling enough to quiet my empty gut. Although I don’t relish it, I quickly strip out of my dirty clothes—filthy with dried mud from the bog.
I’m freezing my balls off by the time I’ve washed myself down with snow and yanked on fresh clothes. While I finish taking a piss, Argo comes up behind me and drops a dead snow hare at my feet.
