The Stray

Scars, Pt. 4

He'd never been in a proper Rosanian town. Two Rivers, his hometown, didn't count—Strenel was proud of its independence. Once, as a child, he'd seen this town from a great distance. Then, it had been a crown of lights against the snow, bright and colorful. Now... well, it was bright, mostly. Magic-powered lamps glowed here and there to light up the town's roads. Houses formed rows, with windows that shone brighter than anything in the Deepshadow. And there were stars overhead. To the east, over the town's earthen walls, he could see the night sky painted in grey and red from the wildfire, and while the fires were out, they passed at least one house whose roof had a great hole in it from the lightning. Something his grandma'd taught him: missed spells still hit something. The Voltcage didn't watch its fire at all.

Timothy was dressed in a hospital gown, in the smallest size they had for medium-type kindre. It was still too big on him, a fact that had both amused and horrified V in equal measure. So the gown that was supposed to open in the back fit more or less like a normal robe, and it hung to his shins. He was leaning on a cane Mat had offered him, and good thing too— he was a good long-walker, but today's march had left even his legs like lead. It felt good to have a stick on him, even if it wouldn't be much good for hitting. And at least he still had his knife on his leg (though Mandy was too starved to help,) and his burnt up bag on his back. It felt good to be fully regrown, minus the tail. He thought he might have actually lost a few scars, and the fur Mat had grown for him was thicker and warmer than the stuff he'd grown himself.

They were lucky, tonight— they'd caught glimpses of other watchmen and other people on patrol, but they hadn't been stopped. It made sense, considering Valencia and Mat walking by him. Who could mistake them for anyone else, right? Valencia carried Meri in her arms with surprising tenderness. Other than the four of them, and the occasional patrol, nobody else seemed to be out.

"It's too dangerous right now to do a lotta repairs. That all starts tomorrow." V explained. "We're almost there."

And sure enough, they stopped, after another street, before a pair of large buildings. Before they stopped, Timothy was distracted by his poor stomach throwing a fit. The air smelled delicious, like fresh bread, and sugar, and baking in general. Then they actually stepped in front, and Timothy just gaped. "Holy crap, they're huge."

"Well, we are dragons." V winked.

There were, basically, two buildings right next to one another. On their left was the bakery Meri had mentioned. It was dark inside, and the displays were empty, but it was decorated beautifully with painted dragons inside. A sign that said The Dragons' Lair hung out front. On the right, Timothy suspected, was where the dragons actually lived. It was huge! Or rather, it was scaled up— it wasn't a house that screamed "rich noble" so much as it was like a large kindre's house and then some. The doors were double doors, the individual floors were bigger, and so on. It had to have been built special for the dragons, or maybe for very large kindre.

"Welcome to our house, Timothy." Mat said.

"The dragons' lair?" Timothy said blankly.

"Yeah. Mama thought it was funny." The healer chuckled. "Nobody actually calls it that, though." The healer quickly unlocked the door, but didn't enter. "I'm still on duty for a few more minutes, so I'm gonna go see if mom needs anything on the wall."

"Fly low, Mat. We dunno if that thing's still out there." Valencia warned.

Mat shuddered. "Right you are." Then he slapped his own wrist. "Right, I almost forgot—" he rummaged around in his medical satchel, and produced a bright blue potion in a glass phial. "Timothy, you're going to want to drink a dose of this before your meals for the next week or so."