Hesitantly, Leo peered out.
The tarasque was gone.
Not gone.
Behind him. It was right behind him.
Leo yelled and ran, tossing the contents of the horn over his shoulder.
He heard a strange squeal and the thunder of six heavy paws crashing into the wall.
He dared to turn and look.
The wing of the phoenix statue was shattered on the ground. Could he have been the one to break it?
There was no time to consider it. The tarasque was there on the ground too, crouching. It didn’t seem to be able to move, but for how long would it stay that way?
He wanted to run away from this object of his childhood nightmares, but it looked so sad and small there, its lion head bent low. It had been reduced from a creature of pure terror to something Leo pitied.
He understood then why Martha had reached out to it to tame it. He’d always wondered why she didn’t kill the monster and take its head like they usually did in stories, but now he understood.
Leo reached out his hand.
The tarasque lifted its head in surprise. Then it nuzzled against Leo’s arm.
“Would you come with me?” asked Leo. “I think I’m in danger here. I could use a protector.”
The tarasque leaned back and stood, assessing Leo.
Leo knew he didn’t look much like a hero of legend. He didn’t cut an impressive figure. He wore no suit of armor. He carried no sword.
But neither had Martha, and she’d conquered the tarasque.
No, not conquered. Befriended.
The tarasque walked beside him, waiting.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” asked Leo.
By way of response, the tarasque knelt to him.
Maybe he could do this. Maybe Leo could survive this and find his way back home, back to his research. Back to Professor Marin. Back to the family he should really write to more often.
Back to Ceri.
Leo heard the whispering woman on the way back from the dining hall with the journal and a bag full of the food he’d found that would last several days (bread, dried meat, hard cheese, and raw fruits and vegetables. It wouldn’t make for fine dining, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.)
But with the tarasque at his side, Leo was nearly unafraid. He ignored the whispers and was able to make it back to the room without incident.
He hesitated at the door. Should he bring the tarasque inside? Would that alter whatever protection it offered?
The tarasque was licking its armored paws. He couldn’t just leave it out there.
He brought it in and spread one of the sheets he’d ripped from the bed on the other bed for it.
It accepted this offering, curling up into a ball on the bed like a cat.
A very large, armored, poisoned-breathed cat.
