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“Stop bringing logic into an emotional argument.”
“And at one point, you thought gruel was a satisfactory meal, until you grew some teeth and found the rest of the world’s food waiting. Now cease this line of thinking. It does not serve to make you stronger.”
“Would Riorson let you rush off into a battle against gods know how many wyvern—or worse, the venin who created them—when you’re wounded?” His eyebrows rise. “Yes.” I step out onto the midpoint of Tairn’s tail, my stomach settling at the familiar territory beneath my boots as I look back over my shoulder at Dain. “That’s why I love him.”
The problem with mankind is we too often find our souls to be a fair price for power.
“Remind her that I can sever her head with one bite,” Andarna growls, the sound higher than Tairn’s menacing rumble. “I will not. What does Tairn tell us?” “We don’t eat our allies,” she mumbles, but there’s a distinct tap of her talons against the rock floor.
If I focus on tomorrow’s death roll, I’ll be on it.
“Say it. Don’t just guess,” she demands. Even a slow breath won’t calm my racing heart. “Your scales aren’t really black.” “No.” Even now, her scales are changing, taking on the grayish hue of the stone around us. “But he is, and I so badly want to be just like him.” “Tairn.” It’s not hard to guess.
