“They think I have something to do with it.”
“Of course,” Gorn growled. “I’m not sayin’ I agree with them, but for your own safety I’d stay out of sight for a few days. It could be nothing but some drunk Port-dwellers’ dream.” He tried to cheer me, but I knew that his hope was false. This probably would not end well for any of us.
Gorn stood and dislodged his son from my clothing. We said our goodbyes, and I was escorted out.
I stood in front of his house, enjoying the cool evening air for a moment. The sun was now low in the sky, and shone just over the tops of the houses. I shivered, but not from the cold. Ill times were ahead if a dragon-kin came to Readimina.
However, I was not going to let a stupid dragon-kin let my friend suffer with a painful leg for another day. Breathing deeply, I continued toward the forest, completely on edge until the steady rhythm of my hooves against the cobbled street lulled me like a lullaby.
This has nothing to do with me, I made myself think. Everything
will be back to normal in a few days.
Before long I was strolling down a dirt road amid the fields that were Readimina’s life-blood. It was nearing the end of summer, and several men were out preparing for harvest. I found myself wishing very deeply that whatever trouble was brought about in the following days would not hurt these people, nor stop them from obtaining the food necessary to last the winter. My heart sunk again at the thought, and I tried to distract myself by looking forward into the thick trees that bordered the fields.
The path narrowed abruptly as the underbrush thickened and the trees blocked sight of the setting sun. I continued to follow it, though the small bushes constantly pricked and prodded at me, sometimes getting stuck on my clothes or fur. Usually these hindrances were enough to discourage humans from entering the forest, but I knew what beauty laid just a few feet further.
The trees had divided in this part of the forest, letting the light of the sun hit the forest floor. A stream had once wound through the thick underbrush here, and hundreds of delicate white-flowered plants now bloomed in its place. These were the silver milkweeds that I needed to harvest.
I eagerly settled down in the old riverbed and began snipping flowers from the