“Wait. Do dinosaurs not like you?”
Nobody answers. The Plood simply stare at me.
I point toward the place where the predator may still be standing. “Because if that's true, that would have been extremely useful information to know earlier.”
Clyde turns and waddles away. The others immediately follow.
I hurry after them, pushing aside a curtain of vines. “Seriously, Clyde. That's the sort of thing you should mention.”
The Plood offers no reply. For some reason, that feels like a reply anyway.
The jungle is still the jungle. That is somehow the worst part. Nothing has changed. The trees are still enormous. The vines still hang everywhere, trying to snag my arms and ankles. The air is still hot enough to make my dress stick to my skin, and every few steps some root seems determined to trip me. The world keeps going exactly as it did yesterday.
Only now Vyrathion isn't here.
I notice the absence constantly. When the path narrows, I find myself waiting for branches to be shoved aside before remembering that nobody is walking ahead of me. When something rustles in the undergrowth, my eyes automatically search for a tall figure shot through with gold who can dismiss the danger with a glance. Even crossing obstacles feels different. At one fallen log, I pause for a moment before realizing that nobody is going to reach back and steady me.
I climb over it myself and nearly slip on the far side.
"Great," I mutter.
The Plood continue onward without reacting. Clyde glances back once, then resumes leading the way through the jungle. I follow him, trying to ignore the growing ache in my legs. We have been walking for hours. At least I think we have. Time feels strange beneath the canopy. Everything looks the same, and the only measure of progress is the steady accumulation of exhaustion.
After a while I find myself speaking aloud simply because the silence has become oppressive.
"He'll come after me eventually."
Clyde looks back.
The words sound weak the moment they leave my mouth, so I clear my throat and try again. "He will."
The Plood offers no opinion. Of course he doesn't. But the silence that follows somehow feels worse than disagreement would have.
The problem is that I don't actually think it's true.
This morning keeps replaying itself in my mind. Vyrathion standing among the Plood, holding that ridiculous little cup. The excitement in his voice when he realized it contained gold. The hunger underneath that excitement. I had understood that gold mattered to him. I don't think I truly understood how much.
For several days it became easy to forget.
Not completely. I was never foolish enough to forget that he was a dragon. But I became accustomed to a version of him that felt strangely domestic. A dragon who peeled fruit because he thought I needed it. A dragon who built shelters without being asked. A dragon who stood watch while I slept and noticed when I was limping before I noticed it myself.
Those memories come back one after another as I walk. Vyrathion carrying a tree across a stream. Vyrathion gathering food. Vyrathion carrying a huge fire log through the jungle so I could fry some meat.
Each memory feels warm right up until I remember how the morning ended. I slow without meaning to.
The Plood drift farther ahead before realizing I'm no longer keeping pace. Several stop and wait. Their black eyes remain fixed on me while I stand beneath the trees and stare at nothing.
Maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I spent so much time seeing the parts of Vyrathion that felt familiar that I forgot the parts that weren't. A dragon doesn't think the way I do. A dragon doesn't place the same value on things that I value. And a dragon who has spent years starving for gold was never going to choose five strangers over the thing he needs most in the universe.
The thought settles heavily in my chest. What if that was it? What if the island was all we ever got?
A few days together. A few nights beside a fire. A few moments stolen from circumstances that were never going to last.
The jungle becomes blurry.
I blink and realize my eyes are wet. "Oh, come on," I whisper. “Not now.”
I wipe at them with the heel of my hand and keep walking, but the tears return almost immediately.
