21

The Shelter

Water oozed down the back wall of the little shelter.

A slab of rock jutted up from the landscape, a steep enough angle to cover them. It wouldn’t have kept them hidden from the hunters, but the rain did that well enough.

If Remin hadn’t shaken the brains out of his head with all the bowing and scraping he did, then he might have mind enough to as Treylen had told him

—keep them moving toward town. At any rate they weren’t likely to find him while a mother dragon poured fire down on them through the storm.

Volgnash lay at the back and leaned on the rock, where Treylen had ordered him to go, the rivulets of water running over him and mixing with the blood that seeped from the wound on his chest. His rider sat against him. She had fussed over his wound until it became clear she couldn’t do anything. He wasn’t bleeding quickly at least. The rider had suffered a gash to
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