Are you sure? You bare the mark of an Outlander. And, however long ago, I can still see and hear all that your time amongst them imparted to you.
Unconsciously, Asher reached up and touched the patch of skin under his left eye. The faded black fang tattoo had been etched into his face as a young child, an event he could not recall.
I see where you’re going with this, he said, aware now that Avandriell was calling on some of her mother’s wisdom to help him through it.
You are not Arakesh, the dragon asserted, just as you are not an Outlander. Everything that came before has given you the foundation on which you can build a new life, a life with me. And we are rangers! Alidyr Yalathanil, Nasta Nal-Aket, Lady Gracen, and now Veda Malmagol. They are all gone. There are no more Mothers or Fathers. No more Nightfall. It is done.
The ranger hadn’t heard a couple of those names in a long time, nor had he paid them much thought. He wondered how long it would be before Avandriell’s grasp on his memories stopped being so strange.
Asher gave a resigned smile. Perhaps you are right.
I am right, Avandriell replied boldly.
The ranger was almost upon the field now, the camp once again falling behind him. Who am I to argue with a dragon?
Avandriell’s focus sharpened and her tone grew serious. Never forget, you have a dragon heart. Whatever else, now and for evermore, you are a dragon. That makes us equal.
A warm and genuine smile lit up Asher’s face, a smile he would always hold in reserve for Avandriell alone. He knew his responding feelings were passing through their bond and so he didn’t need to speak.
Navigating the trees, Asher didn’t have to enter the field to know that Ilargo was already in it. Piercing the trees, the morning sun struck the green dragon and highlighted his golden speckles.
Catching Ilargo’s eyes, the ranger offered a bow of the head before making his way towards Gideon. The old master was standing with his hands on his hips and looking down at Doran, who was issuing orders to a handful of his kin as they arrived with a small cart.
“What’s all this?” he enquired on approach.
Any answer was delayed when Avandriell dropped out of the sky at a run. She came to a stop beside her companion with a cheeky glint in her golden eyes. It occurred to Asher that only he could see that expression in her and he liked it, even if it did leave him feeling a little suspicious.
“Ah, there ye are, lad!” Doran beckoned him closer with a gesture. “I’ve not long - I’m needed in a dozen other places. While ye lot were still makin’ yer journey this way, I had me boys make somethin’ for the three o’ ye. Though,” the dwarf admitted, “we’ve had to make some quick adjustments for Avandriell. We didn’ know how big she was goin’ to be.”
“Three of us?” Asher looked questioningly to Gideon and found a good deal of doubt in his demeanour.
“Aye, the three o’ ye; Gideon, Inara, an’ yerself.” Doran turned back to his fellow dwarves. “Come on lads, get to it!”
Asher turned briefly to Avandriell. Why do I get the feeling you know what’s happening?
The dragon glanced at Ilargo before returning her companion’s look. Because I do.
“It was very good of you to think of us, Doran,” Gideon voiced.
Doran shrugged at the compliment. “Ye don’ ’ave to use ’em. I jus’ thought it might even out the field a bit. After all, Alijah an’ Malliath ’ave one.”
The tarps pulled back, the team of dwarves revealed three saddles and a tremendously long set of straps. An abundance of excitement and anticipation rose up in Avandriell.
Gideon twisted his mouth as he examined them. “Dragons aren’t meant to be ridden,” he muttered. “But I suppose we aren’t Dragorn anymore,” he added, looking up at Ilargo.
Following his gaze up to the towering dragon, Asher was amazed to see Ilargo’s expression in a way he had never noticed it before. Until that moment, the changes in his reptilian face had only been noticeable when his mood changed drastically. Now, he could see the subtle movements in the finer muscles and the emotion in his eyes. Ilargo appeared content with Gideon’s assessment.
Doran raised his hands in a display of innocence. “I would never compare a dragon to a horse or even a Warhog. I know they’re not mounts to be guided. That’s why there’s no reins. Instead,” he added, tapping the front of the long saddle with his foot, “they’ve been fitted with a pair o’ handles. That should give ye somethin’ to hold on to when things get hairy.” The son of Dorain looked directly at Asher. “There’s saddlebags too. I know a ranger needs space for their gear.”
Asher gave an appreciative smile. “Thank you, old friend.”
Doran nodded once. “A long time ago, there was an alliance between dwarves an’ elves, between dwarves an’ dragons. We made weapons for ye.” He gestured to Mournblade on Gideon’s hip. “We fought with ye. An’ we died with ye. Followin’ the victory o’ our alliance, the world seemed to fall apart for us all. Me kin looked inwards an’ we shunned all else. I don’ know what the future holds for ye, either o’ ye. But jus’ know, ye, an’ all like ye, will always ’ave friends in Dhenaheim. That I promise.”
Gideon placed a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “And Dhenaheim will always have friends in the sky.”
Doran responded with a tight-lipped smile before a sigh escaped him. He looked back at the main camp, through the trees. “I need to get back to it,” he said half-heartedly. “We only ’ave today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? They will assist ye as ye require,” he added before walking away.
As the dwarves went about fitting the new saddles and
