Chapter 8 #2
Slinky squeaked unhappily as the mare folded her legs beneath her to lay alongside them.
Attalus bit back his sigh. It wasn’t as though he could stop the unicorn from doing whatever she wanted—like stabbing him in the eye. Probably best to please her; without giving up his very pleasant hold on his soft mate.
“Well, I suppose if we’re going to be speaking, we should be acquainted,” he said eventually.
I already know who you are.
“Yes, but who might you be?”
Pinning him with those fathomless eyes, the unicorn told him, I am Thalia the Moonchaser, daughter of Lorlain the Lightfoot, grand-foal of Archadem the Cleaver, mother of Leita, and dread-mare of the southern wilds. All who know me fear me, and rightly so.
Attalus blinked, honestly impressed. Dragons loved a list of titles and sobriquets.
Lips twitching, he couldn’t help replying, “I must say, she doesn’t look much like you.”
Thalia groaned—or perhaps farted. You’re an unamusing lizard.
“Just give me a little time.” He was good at figuring people out; it’d kept him alive so far.
Peering down at the sleeping mate in his arms, he asked gently, “And what do they call Leita?”
The unicorn’s pause was longer than he thought necessary. Squinting at her, he tried to decide what her sudden silence might mean when she finally answered, She doesn’t have other names. Yet.
“I see.” Plenty of time to earn one, he suspected. And certainly enough power. “And is it normal for fae to faint into a sleep like this?”
No, Thalia admitted begrudgingly. They take long sleeps every few days normally, but she pushed herself too hard.
Ah, ha. So he’d been right.
“She deserves rest after all she did.”
Gently pushing a lock of silvery hair behind her adorably pointed ear, Attalus adjusted her a little so she wouldn’t get a crick in her neck.
“Well, then, I suppose we can watch over her together.” He could think of many things he’d rather do than watch the rain alongside a tetchy unicorn, but he and Leita could agree on one thing at least—whatever deities were responsible for this were having a long, hard laugh.
If Thalia hadn’t reassured him that this was within the bounds of normalcy for a fae, Attalus might’ve become concerned as evening approached and Leita didn’t so much as twitch. Fae truly did sleep like the dead. Honestly, it was a bit unnerving.
As night fell, Attalus reluctantly laid Leita amongst her meager things, wrapping her up in her single blanket to replace his wings. He couldn’t help poking through her pack before putting it under her head, however. Even as Thalia stomped and whinnied, Attalus nosed about.
It didn’t take him long; there were only a handful of items to snoop through. Just the blanket, a change of clothes, a satchel with a set of knives, a few coins, vials of what looked like herbs, a few pretty stones, a soap cake, and an enamel comb.
Did she truly not have a home to take him back to? Why would she be traveling so lightly?
As a dragon, his instincts weren’t opposed to building her a home. His ancestors had done far more to woo and keep a discerning mate. Building a comfortable nest and filling it with the choicest treasures were all expected of a good mate.
However, he was less confident working within this kind of foreign terrain. There wasn’t any sandstone to heat and form into beautiful shapes. All the trees for leagues had been charred, unsuitable for a cabin—and that was if Attalus could even figure out how to build one.
Positively vexing.
With his mate as comfortable as he could make her, Attalus set about doing what he could.
Making a fire was easy, and he may have shown off a bit to the unicorn lighting the coals with his breath.
There was stew left over from that morning to reheat in a small cauldron, and he used the wood Leita had gathered to get the pot bubbling again.
The cave was soon bright, warm, and smelling savory.
The rain still pattered steadily outside, and so Attalus availed himself of the soap cake and stepped out into the downpour.
Soaked through within moments, Attalus made quick work of soaping his limbs and rinsing out his hair.
It wasn’t the most pleasant or thorough washing of his life, but he eventually sloshed back into the cave clean and smelling faintly of Leita.
The soap proved to be the notes of jasmine and fig in her scent, and Attalus quite liked the fragrance as he wrung his hair dry.
What he liked less was finding that the unicorn had moved closer to Leita, as though she meant to block him from her.
He let the mare have her way for now, going about feeding himself and Slinky. Thalia declined his offer of some and said that Leita likely would sleep through to morning.
Stomach full and content he could at least do these basics, Attalus sat before the fire, spreading his wings to dry. His joint claws made wicked shadows along the far wall, the flames flickering along their points.
The night was dark and damp, and within the stone cave, the air took on a wet chill. The fire was pleasant, but Attalus was determined to keep himself and Leita as comfortable as he could.
But when he stood and moved to pick up Leita again, Thalia and her long, sharp horn were there to intercept him.
What do you think you’re doing?
“I must keep my mate warm.”
She’ll be perfectly warm between me and the fire.
“And even more so between you and me.” Ducking quickly, Attalus found the mare a bit ungainly while on the ground. It gave him just enough of an advantage to scoop up Leita, cocooned in her blanket, and lay down with her.
The mare huffed and puffed, poking him first with her muzzle and then her horn. Finally, with a whicker, she settled on Leita’s other side.
Unicorns don’t need much sleep either. I’ll be watching you, lizard, so if you value your hands, keep them where I can see them.
“Understood.”
Settling his wing over Leita and drawing her into the warmth of his body, Attalus sighed contentedly. A dragon could get used to—
Hands, lizard.
Scowling behind his closed lids, he lifted both hands to show the unicorn before replacing them on Leita’s head and shoulder.
Slinky soon climbed up to curl in the crook of his neck. Thalia nickered in disgust.
You will wash that thing tomorrow if you don’t want it eaten.
So many demands, he replied, too tired to say it aloud.
Still, should the rain continue, it might not be a bad idea. Though she’d groomed herself several times, poor Slinky still smelled of smoke—more noticeably now that he himself didn’t. Still, he wouldn’t betray her in front of the unicorn, not when Slinky was his one ally here.
Goodnight, Moonchaser, he muttered.
Goodnight, lizard.