Chapter 20 #3
A little while later Vyrathion returns carrying fruit in one hand and some kind of fat, pale root in the other.
He glances at the two roots I’m cooking. "Food?" he asks.
"Hopefully after they’re done cooking."
“Ah. You are trying to turn them into charcoal.”
“Not really. I can’t eat them raw, so I roast them. This is called roasting.”
He holds up the root he brought. “I will try to roast this as well.”
“That’s a good one too,” I coo. “Well done finding it.” It’s actually not my favorite root, but I know it can be eaten and the Borok tribe collects mountains of it.
He hangs his root next to mine and settles onto a fallen log. The firelight flickers across his face as dusk gathers beneath the trees. Above us, the canopy is already becoming a dark ceiling, swallowing the last traces of daylight.
For a while neither of us speaks. The silence doesn't feel uncomfortable. It feels earned.
I sit cross-legged beside the fire and turn one of the fruits in my hands while sparks drift upward into the darkness.
My muscles ache from the day's march, but it's a distant ache now, softened by warmth and stillness.
The clearing is quiet except for the crackle of burning wood and the occasional rustle from somewhere deep in the jungle.
Tomorrow. The word keeps returning.
Tomorrow we'll continue searching. Tomorrow we might finally find gold. Tomorrow Vyrathion might become what he's trying so desperately to become. And if not tomorrow, then any day after that.
A few days ago that possibility would have sounded fine. Now it leaves a strange heaviness in my chest. Because finding gold isn't really the end of our problems. It's the beginning of a question neither of us has answered.
I glance across the fire at Vyrathion. He isn't watching the flames. His gaze keeps drifting toward the jungle beyond the clearing, toward all those unseen miles of wilderness that might be hiding the thing he needs.
For a moment an old fear returns. Maybe I'm fooling myself.
Maybe the island changed nothing. Maybe the only reason he's still here is circumstance.
We were trapped together, then traveling together, then searching together.
Maybe once he has what he wants, there will be no reason left for him to remain.
The thought hurts more than I expect. I stare into the fire and try to reason my way through it.
Dragons don't settle down in villages. They don't spend evenings discussing dreams and laundry.
They don't build little domestic lives around campfires.
Everything I know about dragons says that they are too large, too powerful and too strange for that sort of existence.
The problem is that Vyrathion keeps refusing to behave according to any of my theories.
He’s both much bigger in my mind and in the world than anyone should reasonably be.
But he’s also not what I would have expected.
Not even after somewhat knowing Praxigor, to the point where he can make a correct guess at which Earth girl I am.
I look down at my feet. They're sore, scratched and dirty despite the bath yesterday. Earlier today he noticed I was limping before I did. When we stopped, he didn't complain about the delay. He simply decided we would camp.
The shelter behind me exists because he built it. The fruit beside me is here because he gathered it.
Even today, after seeing Praxigor. Even after being reminded of everything he has lost. Even after spending an entire day finding no gold at all. He still stopped for me.
The realization settles over me slowly. Vyrathion hasn't stopped taking care of me. Not on the island. Not today. Not even now. Maybe dragons don't bring flowers. But Vyrathion keeps choosing me in a hundred small ways that are impossible to ignore.
The warmth that spreads through my chest has nothing to do with the fire.
Across from me, he finally notices me looking at him. "What?"
I hadn't realized I'd been staring. I smile and shake my head. "Nothing."
His eyes narrow immediately. "You were thinking."
"I was."
"It is my opinion that you might do too much of that." He studies me for another moment, as if trying to determine exactly what sort of trouble I've created in my own head this time. Then his attention returns to the jungle and the fire and whatever dragons think about when they become quiet.
I get to my feet and walk around the fire. The moment I sit beside him, his arm settles across my shoulders. There is no hesitation in the movement. No conscious decision that I can see. He simply makes room for me and draws me close as naturally as breathing.
The jungle grows darker around us. The fire crackles softly. Somewhere far away, an alien creature calls into the night and receives no answer.
Tomorrow is still waiting for us. The gold is still out there. All the questions are still unanswered.
But tonight Vyrathion's arm is around my shoulders, the shelter stands ready behind us, and the fire burns steadily in front of us. For now, that is enough. This is Xren. Everything could end at any moment.
And this hasn’t ended. Not yet.