The Shattered Shield, Chapter 1: The Boy from Faywick

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Indeed, there hadn’t been dragons this far west of Dragonhearth since the Elder King’s Peregrination, some twenty-odd years ago. But today, for one day only, dragons would be here in Faywick, a small village tucked away in the Coldspring Valley, and Braeme Gnash did not intend to miss them.

He had woken up earlier than usual, and the light of dawn was only just beginning to illuminate the loft where he slept. Creeping around his six siblings to avoid disturbing them, he gathered his dayclothes.

Braeme slunk down the rickety ladder which connected the loft where he and his siblings slept to the ground floor of his family’s home. His mother and father’s bed, tucked into a corner on the ground floor, offered them the only privacy to be found in the house. Braeme eyed their bed warily. Both parents should already be off to their work for the day. His father, the village baker, awoke first to get an early start stoking the ovens he would sweat over until well after sunset each day. His mother, unable to sleep once her husband shifted in bed, would be off to collect water for the daily chores. Or rather, she should have been off to collect water. Braeme realised with dismay that his mother was sitting at the family’s dining table, peeling carrots by the dim light of the morning, waiting for him. She eyed her eldest son as he came down from the loft.

“Braeme, I must speak with you,” she whispered.

Braeme frowned as he tugged on his tunic. “About what?”

“I know you want to go roaming about the Continent. At your age, we all consider what life beyond the village has to offer. But it’s time to grow up.”

Braeme groaned. “Ma’, not this again!”

A noise came from the loft - a slight ruffle of cloth, someone rolling over in bed - and Braeme and Janna both paused. After a moment of quiet, they continued.

Janna glowered at her son. “It was hard enough convincing your father to let you take today off! I know you don’t dream of becoming a baker. But becoming a man means accepting your place in the village.”

Braeme chose his next words carefully, knowing he did not mean them, also knowing that they would get him out of this conversation - at least for now.

“Let me enjoy today. I’ll speak to Da’ about officially taking over the bakery tomorrow. I swear.”

His mother gave him a hopeful look and Braeme felt a prickle of guilt.

“I’ll take your word at that,” she agreed.

Sweeping behind her towards the door, he snatched a handful of cloudberries from a small basket and hurried out to meet Dahiel.



Dahiel Feran lived on his father’s farm, a little less than a league outside the village, so Braeme had to jog a while to meet him. When he reached the Feran family home, a small stone building in a large field, he could see his friend waiting, leaning in the doorway. Braeme waved excitedly.

“Finally! I was beginning to think you’d overslept!” Dahiel called.

“Today? Never!” Braeme shouted back.

Braeme hugged Dahiel as he reached him. They tried to make a quick return to the village, but Dahiel’s mother was insistent that Braeme join them for a breakfast of sausages and morning buns. They were allowed to leave only once they couldn’t eat another bite.

“Can you believe this? The Queen, Prince, and the new Princess, all in the Valley today, staying at the Willow. Not to mention their dragons,” Dahiel said, as they jogged back towards the village.

“It doesn’t feel real. We’re only missing the King. I guess he didn’t want to rub elbows with Borderlands farmers,” Braeme joked.

Dahiel scoffed. “They can’t send the entire monarchet out from Dragonhearth all at once. One band of thieves and the entire Continent’s in a war for the throne.”

“I don’t think a band of thieves would have much luck with them,” Braeme countered. “They’re travelling with practically a whole army, plus the King’s Battalion. I saw them coming in through the pass yesterday.”

“An army in Faywick. At least we can say one interesting thing has happened here in our whole lives. Did you manage to avoid your parents this morning?”

“Not my ma’. She caught me and told me - again - that I had better grow up.”

Dahiel snorted. “What did you say?”

“I swore that I’d take over the bakery for good starting tomorrow.”

Dahiel slowed to a stop, staring at Braeme, confused.

“You told me you’d rather leave Faywick than take over the bakery. Why lie?”

“It’s only a lie for today. If today goes right, I’ll never have to bake another damned loaf of bread again.”

Dahiel sighed. “Another Braeme scheme? Let me know how much trouble I should expect to be in tomorrow.”

Braeme smiled mischievously. “Let’s just go find Brigid.”

He sprinted off, leaving a laughing Dahiel to catch up.



By the time they had jogged the league or so back to the village, they were both out of breath. They slowed as they approached the main road of Faywick, heading for the central square. The Silver Willow, the only inn in the village, stood tall above them.

Two rows of knights stood guarding the door to the Willow. Their brilliant, cerulean-blue capes marked their membership in the King’s Battalion, and their rigid posture informed onlookers that they would take their charge seriously. Anyone who dared to threaten the monarchet would not dare to do anything for much longer.

Braeme and Dahiel carried on through the square, being sure to stay well clear of the towering knights in front of the inn. Suddenly, a figure cloaked in sage green rounded the corner in front of them.

“There you are! I thought I’d have to cross the whole village to find the two of you.”

Brigid Carwel stood before them, eyes shining against her flushed cheeks. She fell in step alongside Braeme.

“Did you see them come in yesterday?” Brigid asked. “Quite the procession.”

“I saw them by the pass. Didn’t see the dragons, though,” Braeme noted.

“Maybe they brought them in overnight?” Dahiel suggested.

“Perhaps. I couldn’t see the monarchet either, since they were in their carriages. I wonder what they look like?” Brigid asked excitedly.

“I’d wager the Prince is short,” Braeme replied.

Dahiel snickered as Brigid sighed.

“Let’s just make sure we get good spots,” she grumbled.

With that, the trio hurried onwards to the amphitheatre.



The amphitheatre was little more than a circle of stonework surrounding benches and a small stage, but it was the only place in Faywick where an event like the Peregrination could be hosted. It stood outside the village, in the opposite direction from Dahiel’s farm, in the middle of a wide green field. The mountain peaks which formed the rim of the valley rose high above them. A few other villagers were milling around by the time the trio arrived, and some knights of the King’s Battalion were already standing by the stage. The stage itself was covered by a large wooden canopy, and four heavy chairs sat in the shade beneath it. The trio claimed prime spots in front of the dais, with Braeme in between Dahiel and Brigid.

“Braeme, can you tell me about your plan now?” Dahiel asked. “What, are you going to try to wrangle the Prince’s dragon?”

Braeme gave him a pointed look. “I’m not that big a fool, Dal. Every babe on the Continent knows that only those highborn sots in Dragonhearth can command dragons. No, I’ll never be a dragonrider. A dragonminder, on the other hand…”

Brigid and Dahiel groaned.

“Just trust me,” Braeme assured them. “I have to do this.”

“You really don’t,” Brigid said. “The monarchet will have minders already. And if they needed new ones, there are hundreds of apprentices in Dragonhearth. More importantly, they may call it treason that you even asked.”

Braeme mustered a playful smile to counter her worried expression.

“Maybe. But fortune favours the bold, Bridge.”

Dahiel and Brigid shared a nervous look, but they left it alone. They knew all too well that once Braeme got an idea, he wouldn’t let it go until he had a worse one.



They sat for a while as the amphitheatre filled up, content with enjoying the mild weather. Braeme sat in silence, thinking. When the Peregrination had first been announced in the village a year ago, he had gotten an idea. It was a desperate idea, perhaps childish, but he didn’t care. Now it was time to put it into motion.

Within an hour the amphitheatre was full. Nearly every person in Faywick had come to see the spectacle. Braeme spotted his mother with his younger siblings in the far back.

Suddenly, the King’s Battalion knights in front of the stage stood up straighter. With a few gasps, the crowd turned to look back towards the village. An elegant carriage drawn by four horses and surrounded by soldiers was trundling along the road from Faywick. High above them, dark against the bright sky, flew two dragons.

Braeme couldn’t decide whether to gawk at the carriage, or the soldiers, or the dragons. In the end, he stuck with the dragons. Although it hurt his eyes, he followed their path through the sky, circling downwards towards the assembly. Before he could fully grasp his astonishment, they had landed just outside the amphitheatre.

The crowd murmured as the dragons settled in. They were both roughly the size of large stallions, but they had long necks and tails, and were covered in gleaming scales. They snapped playfully at one another, reminding Braeme of the cats he fed scraps to behind the bakery. As they moved, Braeme noticed saddles around their shoulders.

A few moments later the carriage arrived at one end of the stage. The soldiers that had escorted it wrapped around the amphitheatre like a river flowing around a stone. A footman stepped forward to open the carriage door, and the audience fell into hushed excitement. One of the King’s Battalion knights stepped forward, shouting in a deep voice:

“Good people of Faywick! Please welcome your Elder Queen, High Lady of the Continent, Dragonmistress Superior, Queen Rowara of House Pheron!”

As the Queen emerged from the carriage, her wide skirts of deep green silk shining, the audience erupted into applause. She entered the amphitheatre through a small gap in the stone wall near the stage and climbed the steps up to the dais. As she sat in the chair furthest from the carriage, she waved placidly to the audience. Her lined face was kindly, and a thick braid of dark hair was pinned to her head underneath a slender crown of gold.

Next to emerge from the carriage was a young woman dressed entirely in black, her eyes appraising the audience. The King’s Battalion knight shouted again:

“Good people of Faywick! Please welcome the King’s Mage Paramount, Mistress Nsiria of Nioldre!”

Nsiria descended from the carriage as if she floated, and sat in the chair closest to the carriage just as gracefully.

Dahiel leaned over again. “The Mage Paramount. She’s the one who’d smite you from the Continent if you so much as looked at the King too harshly.”

Brigid nodded. “They travel with three Mages Paramount when they leave Dragonhearth, taking turns sleeping and eating so the monarchet is always protected.”

Braeme wondered where his friends had learned all this. The footman closed the carriage door.

“Where are the Prince and Princess? Perhaps they’re coming in another carriage,” Brigid wondered.

Braeme was just about to answer when a shadow briefly cloaked the amphitheatre in darkness. With a shiver, he looked up.

A dragon of unimaginable size crossed the sky. More than a few people screamed, and some children began to cry. Braeme, despite his excitement, felt his nerves giving way.

The Queen stood. “Please, please! I know Dawnbringer is a large animal. I assure you, he will do you no harm.”

Dawnbringer. Braeme wondered at the name.

Dawnbringer sailed across the sky, quickly doubling back, descending smoothly before landing in the field behind the amphitheatre. At this distance the dragon's size was clearer; it was taller than the Silver Willow by a considerable margin. Braeme could make out two figures perched on a saddle attached to the dragon’s neck. They could only be the Prince and Princess Ascendant.

The Prince and his Princess descended a rope they had lashed to the saddle. Once they were firmly on hard ground, Dawnbringer relaxed and lay down, curling his tail around his nose. The Prince and Princess began to walk towards the amphitheatre, hand in hand.

“You’d think they could give us some warning before riding a mountain right over our heads,” Dahiel murmured.

After a short wait, the Prince and Princess arrived at the stage. The same knight from the King’s Battalion, now looking somewhat red in the face, stepped forward to cry:

“Good people of Faywick! Please welcome your Prince Ascendant, seventh of his name, Heir to the Throne of the Dragon, Prince Orthur of House Pheron!”

The Prince dropped his Princess’s hand to take to the stage as the audience erupted into applause and cheers. He was dressed in lavish travelling clothes worked with silver thread.

The Prince stood in front of one of the two centre chairs, waiting patiently for his Princess to join him. The knight shouted one final time:

“Good people of Faywick! Please welcome the Princess Ascendant, Avowed of the Prince Ascendant, Ysildea of House Orrey!”

The Princess joined her Prince on stage to the sound of more applause. She too wore travelling clothes, her skirts split for riding, with lace at her collar and wrists. She sat while Prince Orthur began to speak.

“Thank you good people of Faywick! My father spoke so highly of your beautiful lands that I was more excited for this visit than any other stop of the Peregrination. This tradition hails from the earliest dawn of our unified kingdom, allowing all people of the Continent to meet their future King and Queen before their wedding. Thus, the Peregrination reminds us all of the importance of unity. With that in mind, allow me to introduce you to the woman who has given me her vow, your future Queen, my Ysildea.”

Ysildea stood and cleared her throat delicately.

“Good day to you all! I am honoured to participate in this indispensable custom. My greatest ambition is to continue our kingdom’s legacy of peace and prosperity alongside my Prince.”

The Princess paused for brief applause before continuing.

“The first tradition of the Peregrination is the open forum. If you have any questions to ask of us, please feel at liberty to speak.”

“Do you think,” Dahiel whispered to Braeme, “I could ask to kiss the Princess?”

They giggled, drawing the eye of the Prince towards them. They slunk down in their seats.

A few villagers stood, asking questions about the dragons, the health of the king, the taxes, about anything they could think of. When the questions began to dwindle, Braeme saw his opportunity.

“Wish me luck," he whispered.

He heard his companions quietly protesting as he stood. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Your Grace?”

The Prince fixed his eyes on Braeme.

“Yes, young master?”

“My name is Braeme Gnash, your Grace.”

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Master Gnash.”

Braeme smiled as he stepped into the aisle between the rows of benches, placing himself directly in front of the Prince. The King’s Battalion eyed him down.

“Your Grace, I don’t mean to offend, but I came to ask you a favour.”

The Prince tilted his head, uncertain.

“I cannot give my agreement until I know your wish.”

Braeme nodded before continuing. His mouth was so dry he could hardly speak.

“Your Grace, if it pleases you, I want to become a dragonminder. I came to ask if I could train as one, at Dragonhearth.”

The crowd was silent. The Prince paused.

“Had you ever seen a dragon before today, young Braeme?”

“No, your Grace.”

“Were your parents, or greatparents, dragonminders?”

“No, your Grace.”

“And what work do you perform for the village? Minders must be skillful with metal and leather. Are you a blacksmith’s apprentice?”

Braeme briefly wondered whether he could get away with a lie.

“No, your Grace. I’m just a baker.”

“Have you studied dragons in books? Have you ever met a dragonrider?”

Braeme paused.

“I have met you, your Grace.”

The crowd laughed and Braeme’s heart sank.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, Braeme, I have no need for a baker. Furthermore, we have scores of talented young men and women in Dragonhearth competing fiercely for the kind of apprenticeship you seek. Perhaps in some years, if you come to the capital, you may find a minder under whom you can train.”

Braeme flinched. “But I don’t have years, only –”

“The Prince has finished with this question.”

The interruption, cool and flat, came from the Mage sitting by the Princess’s side. Braeme looked at her squarely and noted that her hands were emitting a dim glow. He pleaded.

“Please, Mistress Nsiria. I only wished to explain to the Prince why the need is so urgent.”

“You would be wise to stop explaining.” Her voice was less cool this time.

Braeme’s eyes jumped back and forth between the Prince and the Mage, hoping to find pity in either of their faces. He addressed the Prince.

“Please. You must help me.”

The Mage Paramount stood, indignant. “He must?”

In the next heartbeat, Braeme was held aloft. He looked down, and saw he was dangling, by a force not his own, two feet or so above the ground. The crowd gasped.

Braeme struggled but could not move. Whatever force was holding him pushed him backwards in the air and placed him firmly back in his seat.

The Mage’s hands were now vibrantly glowing with blue light. Once Braeme was sitting again, the glow faded, and Mistress Nsiria clasped her hands together.

“Good people of Faywick, remember that you are speaking to your future King. On behalf of the monarchet, I will not tolerate impertinence. Consider this your warning.”

The Mage returned to her seat and the Princess stood with a tight smile.

“Let it be forgotten,” the Princess said. “I believe it is now time for us to demonstrate the flying abilities of our two dragons, Stormwing and Cloudcatcher!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Two men in grey emerged from the group of soldiers surrounding the amphitheatre and approached the dragons, climbing into the saddles around their shoulders. Braeme could only assume they were lesser nobles from Dragonhearth, or else they wouldn’t have been able to get so close to the dragons without losing life or limb. The Princess spoke again.

“Some of the things we will show you may appear dangerous, but please remain calm. We have the utmost trust in these dragons.”

The audience gasped as the two dragons launched into the air with a few hard wingbeats. Brigid leaned over to Braeme.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’ll be alright.”

Braeme couldn’t muster a response. He had known it was a long shot, but he had still dared to hope. Now he would spend the rest of his life hunched over an oven.

Brigid and Dahiel shot looks at one another as Braeme glanced up at the stage glumly. The Mage was looking worried, scanning the crowd.

“Do you see the Mage?” Braeme asked.

Brigid replied absentmindedly, eyes glued to the dragons. “Leave it alone, Braeme. You were lucky she only embarrassed you.”

“Not that,” Braeme grumbled.

The Mage was murmuring to the Princess, who began to look concerned herself. Braeme studied Nsiria. She looked pale and sweaty. He watched as her eyelids slid closed and she slumped forward, falling out of her chair.

She hit the floor with a thud and the Prince rushed to kneel beside her. He was turning to the audience to speak when a body hit the ground in the centre of the amphitheatre.

One of the dragonriders had tumbled off of the lighter-coloured dragon, Braeme thought it was Cloudcatcher, and had fallen a hundred feet to the ground. The villagers began to scream, and the horses pulling the monarchet’s carriage bolted, sending the carriage hurtling away from the amphitheatre. Cloudcatcher was now flying independently across the sky, pursuing Stormwing and his rider. The Prince, looking uncertain, spoke.

“Please remain calm! Stormwing and Cloudcatcher will not harm you –”

He was cut off by the sound of a shout from above. Looking back up, Braeme could see that Cloudcatcher was trying to catch the remaining dragonrider in his teeth, snapping his jaws just inches behind the man’s head. Worse still, Stormwing was also beginning to rebel, turning his head to snap at the remaining dragonrider’s hands.

People began to flee, hurrying to exit the amphitheatre.

“We should leave,” Dahiel shouted above the growing din.

“We should,” Brigid agreed. All three remained frozen in their seats.

The Prince was shaking the Mage, attempting to rouse her, but she did not move. The Princess and Queen stood together at the back of the stage, shuddering underneath the cover of the canopy.

The surviving dragonrider had managed to wrangle Stormwing closer to the ground, where he rolled off of the dragon’s back. He hit the ground hard. The two dragons landed next to him, graceful as birds, and began tearing into his unmoving body. Brigid gasped and turned her head down as Braeme heard Dahiel groan.

The Prince turned away from the Mage, rushing to his mother and his future bride. He shouted to the King’s Battalion.

“Retrieve the carriage! Take them away from here!”

His command had little effect, the King’s Battalion being occupied with fending off the two rogue dragons that were now approaching the stage. Braeme felt a tug on his shoulder. His mother was behind him.

“Come on! Run!” Janna screamed.

Looking back, Braeme could see that they were the last ones left in the amphitheatre. He turned to his friends and they nodded. They began to rise, ready to run, when the sound of wind overtook everything else.

Braeme lifted his eyes. An enormous figure filled his entire field of vision. Dawnbringer was awake and flexing his wings just behind the amphitheatre.

The Prince shouted, pointing at Stormwing and Cloudcatcher.

“Dawnbringer! Do away with these traitorous beasts!”

Dawnbringer noticed the Prince the way a man would notice a small insect. Leaning down, the dragon roared directly into the face of the Prince Ascendant. Braeme could hardly believe the noise, immediately clasping his hands over his ears.

The Prince staggered back, dropping to the stage, looking up at the dragon in terror. In the next moment, Dawnbringer noticed the last remaining villagers and eyed them hungrily.

“Now!” Janna screamed, pulling her son behind her. Dahiel pulled ahead, not looking back. Braeme followed and was nearly at the exit before noticing something was wrong. He turned and realised with horror that while he and Dahiel had dodged right to follow his mother, Brigid had dodged left to clamber over the low stone wall of the amphitheatre. Now she was alone in the field behind the amphitheatre, running, as Dawnbringer turned towards her.

Braeme halted in his tracks and his mother stopped, unable to pull him any further.

“Keep moving,” shouted Janna, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry!”

He grunted and wrest himself free of his mother’s grasp before launching himself into a sprint towards Brigid. Dawnbringer had already caught up to her with ease.

Braeme ran past the monarchet, huddling all together on the dais. The Prince had drawn a short sword and was eyeing the two smaller dragons as they circled the stage. Knights and soldiers shouted, trying hopelessly to quell the dragons. Arrows and spears bounced off the dragons’ hides like twigs thrown against stone. Braeme leapt over the wall of the amphitheatre in one long stride.

“Hey!” Braeme shouted, as loud as he could. Dawnbringer didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to notice. The dragon lowered a clawed foot to knock Brigid off her feet, toying with her. She slid a few yards on the grass, but in the next moment she had propped herself up on her elbows to continue scrambling away from the dragon. Braeme kept running.

“Hey!”

Dawnbringer turned slightly to Braeme before returning his focus on Brigid, who was now lying back, frozen. Looking down, Dawnbringer opened his jaws, dripping saliva onto her. Brigid began to scream.

Braeme pushed forward the final few feet until he stood over Brigid, placing himself between the dragon’s open maw and his friend. Although he trembled fiercely, he held one hand, fingers spread, up to the dragon’s face.

Braeme screamed furiously. “NO!”

The dragon continued to lower his jaws toward them. Braeme could have stretched and touched one of the creature’s serrated teeth, each a foot long. He closed his eyes, ready for the pain of those teeth pulling his body apart. Icy fear gripped him.

“STOP!”

The scream tore through him viciously. Braeme felt heat like fire underneath his skin, and a jolt of pain ran up his spine. Then there was silence.



Braeme opened his eyes, certain he had become dragon fodder. To his shock, Dawnbringer was crouched before him, the dragon’s huge head bowed low to the ground, completely still. For a moment, all Braeme could do was stare. Then he laughed, a broken sound that bubbled up from his gut unbidden. He turned to Brigid.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a whisper. She stared at him, eyes wide, seeming afraid to touch him. Reluctantly, she took his hand, barely able to rise from the ground.

“I think so. What - how did you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

They locked eyes, confused, both still shivering.

“Master Gnash!”

As Braeme turned to see who had called him, his mother collided with him, wrapping him in a hug before pulling back to swat him on the chest, tears in her eyes.

“You scared me half to death, you idiot!”

She pulled him back into another hug before releasing him. Braeme noticed the Prince, Princess, and the Queen standing behind the amphitheatre, watching. The Mage Paramount, revived but looking dazed, stood with them. Cloudcatcher and Stormwing were calm once again, bowing in the same posture as Dawnbringer. Dahiel stood sheepishly a few yards from the monarchet. Only the Prince didn’t look stupefied.

“Master Gnash,” Prince Orthur began, breathing hard, “I have misjudged you. I must offer you the apprenticeship you desire.”

The Mage leaned forward.

“Your Grace, should we discuss this in private?”

Braeme could hardly contain himself.

“An apprenticeship, your Grace?”

The Prince nodded. “To become a dragonminder. I do not know how, but you commanded my dragons when I could not. You saved both your friend and the monarchet, and by doing so, have done the Kingdom a noble service. As a token of my gratitude, you will train at Dragonhearth under my personal attention.”

Braeme felt his legs turn to jelly, and was dimly aware of Brigid’s arm holding him up. He took a gasping breath, and stood up straight. The Mage spoke again, more heatedly.

“Your Grace, I must protest. This should not have been possible. The boy is not a member of the blood. Do you really think it wise –”

“Do you think it wise, Mistress Nsiria,” the Prince interrupted, “To undermine your Prince before commoners?”

The Mage’s eyes widened. She bowed her head.

“No, your Grace. My apologies.”

“It is no matter. Braeme, I trust you will accept?”

Braeme nodded excitedly before turning to Brigid. He wanted to yell, to run, to fly. Instead, he just hugged her as they both laughed.

They turned back to the monarchet, who were waiting impatiently for the slowly-returning carriage. Knights and soldiers sat panting on the benches.

“Mistress Nsiria, we must understand what happened here today. We cannot risk a similar incident at any further point of the Peregrination,” instructed the Prince.

The Mage nodded, watching Braeme. “Certainly, your Grace. I would also like to know more Master Gnash's parentage. Very interesting indeed that a Borderlands youth could command any dragon, let alone Dawnbringer.”

Braeme met the Mage’s eyes. Though her words were friendly, her gaze was cold. The carriage finally reached where they were standing, and the Queen, Princess, and Mage Paramount boarded. Closing the door behind them, the Prince stood to face Braeme once again.

“We leave at dawn tomorrow. Meet with the party at Blackwell’s pass. Be prepared for a long journey.”

With that, he returned to Dawnbringer, cautiously extending a hand. When the dragon remained calm, Orthur returned to his seat at the top of the dragon’s neck and took off. Cloudcatcher and Stormwing took off alongside the larger dragon.

Brigid and Braeme walked towards Dahiel and Janna.

“Sorry I ran, friends,” Dahiel said.

“It’s alright. We always knew you were a coward,” Braeme laughed. Dahiel punched him on the arm.

The boys erupted in laughter as they began walking back to Faywick. The whole way home, Janna scolded her son for being such a reckless fool, pausing only to ask if he was alright and hug him. Dahiel retold the day's events with excitement, imitating Dawnbringer's roar and Braeme's shouts, while Brigid laughed at his parroting. As they walked the long way back to the village, Braeme wondered when - if - he would ever walk this way again.