Solas roars in pain, his head swiveling back toward his shoulder, and through the opening, I see Cat poised in the dim light, nocking another arrow. There’s no time to ruminate on her sticking around to save me. I’m already moving, grabbing hold of the dying torch in my empty hand, then running toward the soft spot under Solas’s foreleg, where his scales separate a few inches at a time to allow the movement of the joint.
