The dragon notices. "You find this amusing?"
"A little."
The Plood reaches out and carefully pats my hand. Something about the gesture makes it impossible to dislike him, despite his Plood-ness. The poor thing is odd even by Plood standards. Maybe that's why I like him.
"Hello," I say softly.
“Keep up,” Vyrathion says as he turns and strides off.
“See you,” I say to the little Plood. “Run along now. Get some gold.”
But as I follow Vyrathion, the Plood turns and starts waddling after us as though the matter is settled.
I turn my back and walk on, because that thing may be cute, but he can’t keep up with us with those short legs and his ungainly body.
For the first time since entering the jungle with a dragon, I feel something almost resembling optimism. Then I remember there's an entire tribe looking for me, and the optimism vanishes like a spark in rain.
We walk on for a while, but the sun is about to set and I’m not keen on walking all night.
Before I can say something, Vyrathion turns and looks behind us. “There’s- oh, you must bejoking.”
I turn to check what he means. And there is the little Plood, still keeping up somehow.
“I guess he wants to come along.”
“I seem to be attracting followers left and right,” the dragon growls. “And there are more coming.”
I stare into the darkening jungle. “More? Tribesmen?”
Vyrathion doesn’t answer, just slowly lifts his face until he’s staring up at the dense canopy of trees. “Probably,” he finally says. “And, it seems, a dragon.”
I look up, too. And through the tiny openings in the treetops high above, I spot movement against the red evening sky. A long, sleek shape, blue as the ocean, with huge wings and a long, flowing tail.
Damn. “I think that’s Praxigor.”
7
- Morgan-
The sight of Praxigor vanishes almost immediately behind the canopy, but that doesn't make me feel any better.
For a few seconds I keep staring upward anyway, searching for another glimpse of blue wings through the leaves. I don't find one. The jungle swallows him completely.
Beside me, Vyrathion watches the sky with narrowed eyes.
"Is he following us?" I ask.
"That would imply interest," Vyrathion replies. "Of late, Praxigor rarely displays any."
I glance at him. "You don't sound very fond of him."
"I've never met Praxigor. You’d know if I had, because he would be dead."
"Then how do you know what he's like?"
The dragon snorts and resumes walking. "We’re both old. I know of him, as I do most dragons. And they know of me."
That answer somehow makes sense to him. I’m not sure it makes sense to me, but heisan alien. I hurry after him as the jungle grows darker around us. The sun is dropping quickly now, turning the patches of visible sky orange and red. The air feels heavier than before, and the noises of the jungle are changing. Daytime creatures are growing quiet while other sounds are taking their place.
