Jonnor brushed open the door.  Alaus was there, sitting up and hugging his knees.  Well, at least he'd moved from lying prone.
"Come, now," he told his son, "You've been on that bed two nights and a day without a word."
Alaus grunted - an acknowledgment he'd heard, but little more.  His eyes were fixed on his wardrobe door handles.
"Dinner is downstairs," Jonnor said flatly, "If you want any, you'll have to come down now.  I won't let the maidservant keep bringing it up to you; this isn't healthy."
Silence.
Alaus waited for the the click of the door shutting.  Had it really been two days?  It seemed like a week, and he didn't feel any closer to sorting out his thoughts and emotions.  Quietly, he agreed with Father - it wasn't healthy at all.  He'd known that.  The prospect of going hungry, though, gave him enough motivation to stir himself.  A sigh escaping him, he stirred, put his feet on the floor, and drifted out of his room toward the stairs.  The fire snapped as he descended.  His eyes slid over the sword and shield mounted above the mantle overarching the licking flames.  With a shake of his head, Alaus made his way to the dining room.
 Jonnor had barely seated himself in his high-backed, rigid-armed chair when the maidservant began setting his plate before him.  He glanced up from the meal to find, to his quiet relief, they were not alone.
The maidservant faltered, nearly dropping a dish of tripe into Jonnor's lap, when she noticed Alaus.  "Oh, it's so good to see you up and about," she spouted, "To think, a dragon in the vale, after all these years!  It must have been horrible to you!  And you're feeling better in just two days, it's a mercy!  Talk's all over town, everyone underst-"
"Magdell," Jonnor gripped her arm insistently.  "No need to fluster the boy.  Bring out his food, then it's probably best that you let us be."
"Oh.  O-Of course."  Stammering an apology at Alaus, the maidservant did as she was told, hustling back to the kitchen, while Alaus chose the nearest seat that wasn't the foot of the table.  The maidservant returned with another dish of tripe and a tender selection of lamb, set it before him, and ducked out of the dining room with embarrassed haste.
 Jonnor was at least gratified to see Alaus hadn't lost his appetite, and was content to remain quiet for the duration of the meal.
Finally, however, Alaus pushed his plate back, even as he mentally attempted to do the same with the maidservant's words.  Rahamuth had flown him over the village in the buff, and those who hadn't seen him in the dragon's clutches had definitely heard of it.  Of the tale of what had befallen Alaus, there were as many speculative versions as there were villagers.  But from what he'd heard, none of them even came close.  They were outlandish, but nowhere near as surprising as the truth only he himself and Father knew.
No one suspected Alaus had, perfectly willing, submitted himself to be mated like an animal.
"Is there something you want to talk about?"  Jonnor prompted.
'Something'?  His father wouldn't even mention the subject - it was laughable.  Though Alaus did not feel like laughing in the least.  Quiet and the crackle of the fireplace reigned.  By the time he spoke, it came as a surprise to Jonnor.
 "It seems so arbitrary."
"Pardon?"
"This...  'Law'."
"Well...  It is.  At least in the realm of nature."  Jonnor folded his hands on the table.  "Consider, an inanimate object cannot help but be what it was meant to be.  A plant cannot change the course of its fate, cannot escape its roots, nor its dependance upon the sun and rain.  A creature follows its instincts, though it was never taught.  Come man and intelligent beasts, it is a different matter entirely: the Law cannot hold sway over free will.  It would not be just.  Free will would be an illusion, except where free will knowingly accepts its rule.  Therefore, the Law is an illusion to us, except where its model is understood and willfully accepted.  Then, too, follow the consequences for deviation from the model of the Law."
Alaus had the most lively spark of life in eye of the last two days, when he looked to his father questioningly.  And perhaps with a note of accusation.  "It wasn't Rahamuth's choice to be owned by you."  Father's words painted only pictures of puppets in his mind - puppets eternally bound up in strings.
 "No.  But I accepted the consequence of sparing his life.  And he had already accepted the consequence of making himself helpless before me, which makes my hold all the stronger.  It is so with any choice a man can make; the way we live affects those with whom we interact, for good or ill."
Alaus frowned at the nearest table leg.  If it wouldn't be 'just' of the Law to impose on free will, what did that make someone like Father?  But then, men did some pretty extreme things sometimes.  Tales of the campaign against dragons in the vale all told of how destructive the dragons had become in such numbers.
Jonnor seemed to assume he didn't quite comprehend, however, continuing.  "Consider, even without Law, the son of a noble may apprentice himself to me as I am passing through.  His father has little say in this, and he must live with it.  It is his choice, however, not to permit his son to leave the city, making it impossible for the young man to learn with me on my travels, nor at my home.  Then I have a choice - whether to reject his apprenticeship, or spend far more time in that city.  One choice after another, each has consequences for the others."
 Alaus wondered vaguely where Father was taking this illustration.  His thoughts drifted, at first aimless, then to Rahamuth.
"His name is Anteroch."
"What?"  Alaus' eyes shot up.  "Who?"
"The young man I plan to take as my apprentice."  A small smile crept onto Jonnor's face - a rare sighting.  "And I don't think it could have come at a better time."
"You found an apprentice and you didn't say anything?"
"It was a hardly appropriate time.  Rahamuth had just...  You...  He'd..."  Jonnor's gaze slipped away.  His smirk, demolished, left a wince frozen on his features.  Alaus' stare eventually broke him of reverie, and he recovered some levity in his voice.  "Think of it, Alaus.  The vale is a beautiful place, but if we move to the city, I can train my apprentice, and you could apprentice yourself to a proper herbalist if you please.  And I think it would be good for you to meet Anteroch.  He shows promise as a warrior, and great discernment."
"Discernment?"  Alaus snapped.  "The kind of discernment I lack, falling for Rahamuth?  Is that it?"
 "Alaus, that's not what I-"
Alaus cut him off.  "I'll think about it.  I'll be down for breakfast."
Jonnor watched him go, propping his elbows on the arms of his chair and resting his chin on his interlocked fingers.  One thumb stroked the streak of silver down the middle of his beard.
At the clomp of Alaus' shoes on the stairs, the maidservant reappeared from the kitchen and busied herself gathering dishes, quietly grousing over how Alaus had left half his food untouched.
"I should have stopped them."
"Milord?"  Magdell blinked at the unexpected statement, perplexed that he spoke as if in apology; she knew of no offense against her.
"They both had to learn," Jonnor sighed, "But the more I tell myself that... the more I think I just couldn't stand Alaus looking at me like that."
"What ever are you talking about, sir?"
"He couldn't bear to see my face."  Jonnor sighed, "That look upon one's own son...  This is a pain no decent father ever had to bear.  I've stood by and allowed him to become entangled in matters he is not mature enough for."
 "Begging your pardon, but I believe he's older than you give him credit for.  You are a generous father to him, and he needs that.  After all, he never had a mother."
"There comes a point one is too generous, Magdell."
* * * * *
Father's voice.  "Come down here, Alaus."
He came to the voice, out of the kitchen and into the main hall.  Father had his sword and shield down from above the mantlepiece, Rahamuth tied in their place.  His tail was coiled in the fireplace.  "What's he doing here?"  Alaus asked.  "Why?"
Father was holding out something, a whip.  "He deserves it."
"I don't know..."  Alaus shook his head.  "Maybe, but I don't know..."
"Well maybe it will be good experience for my apprentice."  Father pointed.
There he stood, the apprentice with Father's sword and shield.  He wore Alaus' own face.  
Father offered the apprentice the whip.  "He followed the Law.  He had discernment."
The apprentice jeered with Alaus' face.  "He deserves it."  He took the whip, lifted it...
"Alaus!"
His eyes cracked open at the mention of his name, banishing the dreams that plagued him.
 "Alaus, breakfast!"  The maidservant was calling.
He told himself what he had to do: get up, dress, walk downstairs, sit at the kitchen table, eat.  And he desperately wished it were as easily done as said.  But he would have to move eventually, and with that thought in mind he convinced his reluctant limbs that now was better than later.
The maidservant was mercifully quiet throughout serving this morning, and if Father was surprised that Alaus was true to his word, he did not show it.  Silence reigned like a tyrant.  It was almost worse than dreading what Father might say.
Almost.
Jonnor finished his meal with steady precision, motioned the maidservant to refill his tea, then dismissing her.  He lifted the steaming cup, and between breaths to cool the liquid's surface, informed Alaus, "I've been offered an estate just outside the city.  A fair sight larger than I might have liked, but...  I must leave tomorrow morning to make arrangements.  Perhaps a week, two at most.  When I return, I will hire wagons."
 Eyes on his half-untouched plate, Alaus knew what was coming, as soon as Father completed the overly careful process of sipping his tea.
"Have you considered my proposal?"
There it was.  "It doesn't sit right with me.  Seems too convenient."
"I would have thought you would jump at the chance to start afresh."
"That's just it."  Alaus sighed.  "I let a life fall apart here.  I wouldn't feel right just leaving, making a new life without picking up the pieces first."  He braced himself to meet Jonnor's reaction.
His eyes were regarding, and not as harsh as Alaus expected.  "Honorable, perhaps."  Jonnor spoke slowly, deliberately.  "Unless your motive is solely...  pleasure... from Rahamuth."
And that was what Alaus was afraid he would think.  "I wasn't lying.  I have a score to settle with him, but I wasn't lying."
"Alaus..."  Jonnor sighed.  "Know that I have your best interest at heart when I say: stay away from him.  Nothing good can come of this."
He had a hard time not snapping at that.  "Honestly, could get any worse than it is?  I don't know what I'm going to do... about him, at least."  With that, he rose abruptly.
 "Alaus, where are you going?"
"To find something to do about the rest of my life."
* * * * *
Considering how long he'd pent himself in his room, Alaus shouldn't have been surprised that he enjoyed simply walking in daylight.  And yet, he was.  That pleasure, simple though it was, outweighed the looks the occasional passing villager gave him.  Much as Alaus hated being pitied or gossiped about, he was genuinely glad to be out and about.
By instinct ingrained in his legs over his apprenticeship, he found himself before Vilda's house - both her home and her place of work, for a healer was never to be unavailable.
That apprenticeship was over, discharged without honor.  He wished he could recover from such a disgrace, but even if he could, would he want to beg his way back under Vilda's tutelage?
No.  With hardly a glance back, he picked a direction and kept walking.  With the clustered village to his left, a few farms and the distant edge of the forest to his right, he skirted the edge of the village, lost in musing.  And despite his efforts to turn his thoughts from the subject, the most frequent question that harried him was, 'Why, Rahamuth?'
 The chlunk and clatter of an ax cleaving wood alerted him to a man chopping by a rather mountainous stack of logs sawn into foot-and-a-half segments.  Behind the stacks and the working man stood a humble house with well-kempt gardens.  With a practiced motion, the man set another thick log upon the stump that was his chopping block.  Fluidly, he flung the ax backward past his shin, over his head, and brought it down to split the log neatly in two.
Alaus hadn't known who lived there, but seeing still more timber piles around the back of the house, he guessed to to be the local woodcutter.  He'd heard a bit about the man, and thought he recalled his name - Ferce.  His suspicion was confirmed when he was close enough to see the crisp red beard the man was so proud of.  The woodcutter waved a greeting at Alaus' passage, but rather than pass by, he paused for the sake of curiosity.  He wasn't sure, but...  "Don't you have an apprentice?"  Alaus asked.
"Nay, lad," came Ferce's reply as another block of wood was riven in two by his ax.  The blade embedded itself deep in the stump, and the woodcutter spared a grin while he pumped the haft, working the ax free.  "Me son's learning the trade from me, though.  Got a few years on you, I believe.  Alaus, wasn't it?"
 "Yes, sir."  He was glad to find someone in the village who still treated him normally.  No pity, no condolences.  "He's not helping you this morning?"
"He's away this summer, learning from a fellow in the city," Ferce explained, setting up another log.  "Wants to build a sawmill down by the river next year.  Dreams big, my boy does.  Nor's aught to stop him with his kind of drive.  Good thing, I say, even if he's left me to work by me lonesome under the sun."  The next log cracked under the swift blow, but the last quarter-inch didn't quite split.  Ferce barely broke pace, kicking the halves apart with a well-placed blow from his boot.
"Need a hand?"  Alaus offered.
"Out an apprenticeship, I hear tell."
"So you heard."
"Saw with mine own eyes, too, that dragon what nabbed you.  Now," he hastened to add when Alaus' eyes darted away at the mention of the event, "That's your business, lad, and none of mine.  I don't rightly know you, so: far as I'm concerned, your reputation with me starts here.  If you want to lend a hand, I promise you I can keep those arms busy."
 "Thanks," Alaus met the man's eyes, found them level and appraising.  "It might be good for me."
"Ever handle an ax before?"
"No."
"Good skill to have for any man.  Take over, here - show me what you can do."
Alaus found his aim was true, but it took him some time and steady coaching to get comfortable swinging the ax with enough force; Ferce made it look easy.  Many of the early logs he only managed to split halfway, and those Ferce finished off himself.
It was the physical challenge Alaus relished.  When he thought of it, it felt good not to dwell on the stale thoughts from his two-day, self-imposed isolation.  His head felt remarkably clear, the new rhythm in his arms clearing away the stagnant cobwebs in his mind.  He felt alive again.
Once he was satisfied Alaus was holding his own, the woodcutter retrieved a second ax and set himself up on another chopping block.  Though Ferce worked much faster, Alaus impressed himself with by making a considerable contribution to the mountain of logs to be split.
"Pace it, lad," Ferce called, "No use wearing yourself out."
 Pace as he might, his shirt was soon enough drenched in sweat, front and back.  He didn't quite realize how much time had passed until a woman emerged from the house.  Despite the dress she wore - a shade of orange impossible to ignore - Alaus' eyes were immediately drawn to the platter in her hands.  She carried two great tankards and helpings of bread and cheeses.
"My wife Chelle," Ferce introduced her, "I might have found a helper, least for today."
Chelle smiled.  "I saw you've been working hard.  Daresay you've earned this."
Alaus gratefully accepted a tankard.  It was only water, but just then it tasted like the best water ever to grace his parched throat.  He was welcomed to share the simple meal with the woodcutter, while Chelle retreated indoors.  Ferce seated himself on a log, and Alaus did likewise.
"You seem to have a good wife," He observed, spurred by her generosity.
"Aye, glad with my choice," Ferce chuckled.  "Not that we ain't got problems.  Everybody does, once you get close to them.  Just a matter of choosing the ones you're willing to bear 'em to know.  Ah, but listen to me go on..."
 Alaus bit into his helping of bread, and found its flavor seasoned by choice herbs.  She was apparently a cook of no mean skill, as well.  "That goes for more than just wives, though, doesn't it?"
"Aye.  Same for who you call a friend."
"I guess the only ones you don't get to choose to be close to are family," Alaus said with a hint of a mirthless laugh.  "I'd never have chosen to be the son of anyone with renown, and I can name plenty who would.  And your son is fortunate," he added, just a bit sullenly, "You approve of his aspirations... his intentions."
"He'd not always count himself so lucky."  Ferce shrugged.  "Say, you got your eye on someone?"
A wedge of cheese paused halfway to his lips.  Not Rahamuth, despite that image being the first leaping to Alaus' attention.  That was all lust.  Demille, perhaps?  Not likely, after he'd slapped her...  Definitely not Rahamuth.  Beginning with physical intimacy was an abysmal grounds for any relationship.  Not to mention the dragon's charade, purposefully seducing him.  Not to mention he was a dragon and, oh yes, male.
 Ferce's chuckle and the hand smacked across his shoulder shook him from his thoughts.  "I know that look, lad.  Conflicted.  Ha!  Youthful yearning.  I know how it is."
Alaus turned his face away, loosened his jaw to inform the man that no, he really had no idea.  He couldn't find it within himself to form words, though that was likely for the better; he might regret raising uncomfortable questions.  Instead, he took a huge bite of cheese to keep himself chewing.  He instantly regretted it; the flavor had a strong tang.  But, having born worse, he kept his face straight.
"Alright, keep your peace, lad, I ain't aiming to pry.  But if you want my advice - or even if you don't, pardon me - keep your eye on the strange one."
"Wha...?"  Alaus questioned dubiously around his mouthful.
"No, serious.  The one you find hardest to understand - make the effort to understand 'em.  Because it's in those people you'll find qualities you don't have, those're the ones who can be strong when you can't.  And when you see that something special...  there's your one.  And believe you me, the hardest ones to befriend are the ones who need it most."
 Alaus finally swallowed his overlarge bite of cheese, and caught himself wondering at Rahamuth.  The real Rahamuth, not the charade.  What did Alaus really know about him?  Besides that he was an egotistical, sadistic, vengeful overgrown lizard with a ravenous libido.  And he was witty and intelligent, even if he typically wielded those gifts sardonically.  He hadn't a clue what drove the dragon.
Days in his room, hours spent pacing or staring at the ceiling, and he hadn't been able to decide what to do with the dragon.  He realized he never would until he understood the creature who had used and humiliated him.  Now that he saw it, it was a difficult thing to swallow, but he made up his mind: he was going to see Rahamuth again, that very evening, though he knew not what to say.  Whatever Father might say, he had to do this.
"Ha!  Look at ya.  And here I thought that kind of musing was something wives taught men."  Ferce tapped him on the arm.  "You up for some more chopping?"
"There's something I think I need to do soon."  Alaus washed his last bites of food down with the rest of the tankard.  "But, yes, if you don't mind me leaving in a few hours."
 "I'll not complain to have an extra help for even one hour.  Got some lumber out back need splitting lengthwise - ever seen that done?"
"No, sir."
"Well, come on and I'll show you.  Goes quicker with two people.  You get yourself a big hammer and a couple o' wedges..."
Alaus gratefully lost himself in the labor once again.  The hours passed quickly, and he almost wished he could stay and keep working despite the ache he was beginning to feel in his arms, and even much of his back.  But he glanced up at the sun, knowing from it's position if he didn't get going, he would hardly make it to Rahamuth's cave - let alone have any time to talk - and still make it back before nightfall.
When his eyes fell from judging the sun's position, however, he blinked.  Father was there by the road, dressed in his travel attire and green cloak.  Dropping his hammer and abandoning the wedge half driven into a lengthwise crack in the lumber, Alaus jogged to meet him.  Why was he out here?  He wasn't supposed to leave until tomorrow morning!
 "Keeping yourself busy, I see."  Jonnor sounded pleased, giving Alaus a nod.
"Yeah, but I'm calling it for the day."
"So early?"
"I want to be back before nightfall."  Alaus squared his shoulders.  "I'm going to talk to Rahamuth."
Jonnor's features hardened.  "No."
It dawned on Alaus why Father was wearing his travel garb.  "You thought I was already there, didn't you?  You were going to follow me again?"
"As a matter of fact, no.  This time, I am going to speak with him."
"You..."  Alaus shook his head.  But it fit; not only Father's garb, but the time of day - just as he himself planned to be leaving for convenience.  "No, I'm going, and you're not going to stop me."
"Don't try my patience, Alaus.  I leave in the morn, so it must be today."
"You can't stop me from following you.  And when you leave..."
"Alaus!  I told you: stay away from him.  I thought you would have learned your lesson."
"What are you so afraid of?"  Alaus snapped, and barely noticed his voice was rising.  "I just want to talk.  I'm not about to let him use me again.  You said it yourself, he's not heartless.  He's bitter.  Toward you, not me.  And quite frankly, I can't blame him.  By your own argument, it wouldn't be just for the Law to be so arbitrary over free will - and yet that's exactly what you do!"
 Jonnor shook his head.  "You know nothing of what you speak."
"I know you didn't stop him from mating me when you obviously had the chance, so either you didn't want to, or you couldn't.  I don't really care which, because either way, you won't stop me now."
"Has Rahamuth polluted your mind so deeply?  Alaus, he thinks like a beast in these regards!  You must see what you are engaging in is unnatural."
"I just want to talk..."
Jonnor cut him off.  "I had hoped you would learn from the consequences of your own actions - and Rahamuth as well.  Will neither of you learn?"
"So you're equally concerned for us both, are you?"  Alaus spat.  
"You are twisting my words.  Merely speaking to him, you are inviting him to influence you - you know what he is capable of, and yet you persist!  You were ignorant to begin with, but now the responsibility for this is squarely on your shoulders!"
"Then go spout your Law at your new apprentice!"  Alaus realized he was shouting, and didn't care to lower his tone.  "I want no more to do with it!  He'd probably make a better son than I!"
 "Alaus!"
"Just go!"  He spun toward the heart of the village, stomping halfheartedly up the road.  Away from the forest.  Home.
By the time he was halfway back to Vilda's, he glanced back.  Father was gone... but there was Ferce.  Briefly, he entertained thoughts of going back to work, if he wasn't going to see Rahamuth.  But he dismissed the thought; he had no way of knowing how much the woodcutter had overheard.  Tomorrow, maybe he'd be back.
* * * * *
Alaus utterly ignored the summons to breakfast.  Instead, he paced, checking out his window as he passed to see when Father left.  They'd not exchanged a word since Jonnor returned from speaking to Rahamuth.  Now, it was Alaus' turn.
But Rahamuth was not in his cave, nor at the falls, nor the heirsbane glade.  The thought came to Alaus as he ventured helplessly deeper into the woods:
Had Father killed Rahamuth?
No, that couldn't be it.  That would have been bad for Jonnor - hadn't he said that would have some have some kind of consequence by Law?  More likely he'd ordered Rahamuth to leave forever.  That was almost as bad.  No, maybe worse.  Death was finality, at least, but this was torture.  Alaus might never find him, but he was still out there somewhere.  He could have flown a hundred leagues, though Alaus hoped he'd flown not one mile further than what Father's Law demanded.
 He was really starting to hate this Law.
He dragged himself from the brink of dispirited tears with a simple fact: he didn't know.  There was no telling what might have transpired when Jonnor visited Rahamuth last.  Maybe the dragon was simply out hunting today?  Regardless, all Alaus could do was go back.
But not back home just yet.  He was back in the village by mid-afternoon, and found himself once again before the woodcutter's home.  The man grinned at him around his beard and welcomed him.
"Sorry about that argument in front of your house, the other day," Alaus sighed.
Ferce waved it off.  "Think nothing of it, lad."
"I don't know how much you heard, but..."
"Think naught of it; it's forgotten, and none o' my business," the woodcutter interrupted.  Anyhow... here to work?"
He swallowed.  "Yes."
"Don't suppose you've ever handled a saw like this.  See, I grab this end, and you take that end..."
Though not as heartening as his first day with the woodcutter, the work took his mind from his troubles.  He worked late, and when he returned home, the maidservant demanded he have a positively massive helping of dinner.  Dreams wracked his sleep, and come morning he was anxious to be back to the woodcutter's work to ease his mind, tired through he was.  Just being around the vibrant man and his gracious wife was a relief to Alaus.  Ferce's rambles were a highlight - the simple view he took to life was refreshing, and he was eager to share the wisdom of his experiences almost to a fault.  If Ferce noticed Alaus growing fatigued much more quickly, he did not comment.  He did, however, insist on paying Alaus a sum of coin for his time.
 By that afternoon, Alaus felt he could face the prospect of seeking out Rahamuth again, even if he was nowhere to be found again.  However, a new idea struck him;  he worked to the end of the day, and informed Ferce not to expect him back in the morning.  Later in the day, perhaps.
Late though it was, when Alaus set out to follow the river, there was no way he could have gotten to the falls and back again by nightfall.  This time, he wasn't planning on coming back today; he'd packed blankets, dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast.  If Rahamuth really had been ordered to avoid Alaus, he might still return to his cave to sleep when Alaus wasn't likely to be there.
And he had braced himself, expecting to find the dragon's haunts empty - as he did.  Though he didn't relish the thought of sleeping on cold, hard stone, the cave was the only place he was sure Rahamuth wouldn't spot him from the air and fly by without Alaus ever knowing it.
There was one plus to sleeping on such an unforgiving surface: he slept very lightly and did not dream.  And he hoped any noise of Rahamuth's return would awaken him.
 And indeed, he was stirred by the scratch and clack of claws on the cliff outside.  Alaus' eyes shot open a moment before a low hiss echoed from the cave's entrance.
As quickly as he could, Alaus freed himself from his makeshift bed and tore across the cave to the entrance, but by the time he got there, the cliff beyond was empty.  There was only the silhouette of a dragon blotting out the stars as it swept away.
"Wait!"  He called desperately after the receding figure.  His voice carried well on the night air, but if the dragon heard, it did not sway from its course.
"So you are avoiding me," Alaus sighed.  He still didn't know whether Rahamuth might be willfully fleeing, or compelled by this damnable Law.  He wasn't sure which possibility bothered him more.  "Maybe I could trap him or something..."   But he dismissed that notion, as he had neither the skills nor the ingenuity.
Reminded of his weariness, he tried to lie still on his blankets, but could not help fidgeting.  At length, he channeled his restlessness: with a flake of stone, he chiseled at the base of a thick stalagmite by where he lay.  Again and again, he traced the words, 'We need to talk' into the stone.  Though it was doubtfully legible; in the dark, it was impossible to tell if he started his letters at the same place each time, even if he could trace the same lines exactly.  Still, he kept at it until he was too tired to lift his arm, and at last he slept again.
 He woke well past dawn, and gazed in confusion at the scuffed section of stone before him.  After a moment, he remembered and - to his amazement - could actually make out his message.  Maybe Rahamuth would see it.
Then again, he had no idea whether Rahamuth could read.
But it was time to go home and chop wood.
* * * * *
Had it really been a week since he met Ferce?
Alaus' mind wandered, but his aim the logs he was splitting never wavered.  Thrice more he had returned to Rahamuth's cave, and he knew the dragon had been back at least twice.  Once, he'd gone in the afternoon.  When he examined the area around the message he'd scraped into the side of a stalagmite, he found a new slantwise gouge beneath his scratches.  But as he could not hope to presume any meaning from it, he had ignored it.  Perhaps it was coincidence.  The next day, he'd gone in the morning, and noticed a large patch of the floor was warm; Rahamuth had slept there, he was sure of it.  He just kept missing the dragon.
He wasn't going today, though; it was getting on toward evening.  He hoped, perhaps, if he waited a while Rahamuth would begin to return to his cave more regularly, assuming Alaus had given up.  Alaus, however, did not know when Father would return, nor whether he could actually stay behind.  Would he be able to remain in Jonnor's house?  It was a bit much for one person, and Alaus had never lived on his own.  And if Father insisted he come, he didn't know if he could so obstinately refuse.
 From there his thoughts drifted through everything that put him in his present mess.  Though, with a start, he realized he'd not split a log for at least several moments.  Though his arms might ache from the unfamiliar strain, this was purely absentminded negligence.  With a grunt as he hoisted his ax, he rent the fated log cleanly in half.
"Troubled, lad?"  Ferce drew his eyes.
"Troubled?"  Alaus echoed.  "Why?"
"Had the look of far-off thoughts, you did."
Alaus dropped his head, slouched, and leaned on his ax's haft.  "Just wondering where it all went wrong."
"Your apprenticeship?"
"Many things."  His eyes turned to the woodcutter with question.  "Weren't you always going on about 'none of my business'?  Why the sudden interest?"
The man shrugged.  "Aye, tell me off and I'll leave it be.  But it seems to me you've spent more than plenty o' time mulling, whatever your missteps.  Not healthy, you hear?"
"So they say," Alaus sighed,  "but I've made a lot of mistakes...  And you gathered my father isn't to happy with me, either."
 "Even giants of men make mistakes, lad."  The monumental slap the woodcutter landed on Alaus' back nearly threw his balance off the ax he leant on.  "More oft than you'd think, too.  It's the ones closest to us usually at risk."
"That doesn't really make me feel any better about it."  Alaus shook his head.  
"Sometimes, we don't realize what someone means to us until we hurt them."
Bending down to choose another log to be hewn, Alaus' gaze darted briefly o the side.  His eye was caught by a palomino tearing down the road with a rider on its back.  "Wonder what that's about?"   For the moment, however, his staying power won out over curiosity.  Though his heart wasn't in it, his arms performed the motion of another chop.
"I do believe that'd be Frisk," the woodcutter intoned like like bad news.
"Who?"
"Cousband's horse."
Alaus frowned.  He felt like he aught to know that name.
His expression must have asked for him, for Ferce added, "I believe you know his daughter, Demille."
"Oh..."  The horse was close enough now, Alaus could make out it had not one rider, but two - the forward figure bent nearly double, only held in the saddle by the other.
 "About a week back, Cousband seized up with a storm o' thrashing, then dropped."
Alaus nodded to the woodcutter's words.  He recalled - the night Demille hadn't shown up to meet him, and Vilda mentioned her father had had a seizure that day.
"Way I heard it," Ferce continued, "it looked to be nothing serious... so long as it didn't happen again.  Sure looks like that's what happened, though."
It was clear, now, the slumped form on the palomino was a thin man, apparently unconscious, and the rider behind was Demille.  She spurred the horse desperately, heedless of how her skirt hiked up around her thighs or the dirt kicked up on her shins.  She was oblivious to the onlookers as her steed thundered past.
Alaus dropped his ax.  "I'm going."
Ferce shook his head, a bit incredulous.  "Really think you can help, lad?"
"I don't know, but... I think I owe it to Demille to see if I can."
* * * * *
Sure enough, the reigns of the palomino were tossed over a post outside Vilda's place.  The stallion was still huffing, and its flanks were drenched beneath the saddle.  Alaus passed it by and quickly ducked indoors.
 "Alaus!"  Demille exclaimed as he barged in.  She sat on the edge of the cot where her father lay, clasping one of his hands in both of hers.  The man was deathly pale, but seemed to be breathing.
If Vilda was in the least surprised by the appearance of her once-apprentice, she did not show it.  She stood by with folded arms and a grave face, as though immutable to sorrow or shock.
"What are you doing here?"  It was Demille who questioned.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"  Alaus made his intentions clear by inquiring of the statuesque healer.
Vilda made no sign of even acknowledging him, and made no sound as she turned to the door to the back room, which swung open just as silently.  Leaving Demille with her father, Alaus followed.
It was somewhat gratifying to see Vilda referencing one of her scrolls; for all she'd pushed memorization onto Alaus, even she couldn't remember absolutely everything.  The oppressive weight of the situation forbade him from smirking, however.
"Told Cousband it was a one-time thing, I did," she muttered over the scroll, "no signs of any larger problem.  But 'fraid that's how it turned out after all."
 "Can you do anything?"  Alaus half-whispered, "Can anyone?"
"With the right medicine often enough, mayhap, but that ain't happening."
"Why?"
"Haven't got the makings for this medicine."  Vilda lay the scroll on her desk and snatched three more.  "Some ingredients may be bought from a city what's got 'em.  Hire a courier to get 'em here.  But not for this, no, the ingredient I don't have has to be fresh picked.  May be something that'd do as a substitute..."  She didn't sound hopeful.
Then again, she rarely did.
Alaus looked over the scroll upon the desk.  It wasn't one he'd read before, one of the newer scrolls, and discussed subjects he couldn't quite follow.  From the second paragraph, he garnished it had something to do with blood being blocked in the brain.
But his eye was drawn downward, toward the list of ingredients of the proposed medication.  To the side was a sketch of a mushroom, accompanied by a note.
Agaricus incourtus, or "regent's cap"; use fresh cut.  Once dried, the necessary essence bonds with incourtus' inherent toxins and will not separate, even with an alembic.
[See medicinal preparation, step 2.]
[Studies of the elusive Agaricus incourtus detailed in the writings of ...
 Alaus' eyes lingered on the sketch.  It couldn't be, but if by some stroke of fate it was...  "Is this...  this 'regent's cap' also called 'heirsbane'?"
Vilda rounded on him.  "Where under the bleedin' sun did you hear that?"
"Does it really matter?  Is it, or is it not?"  Alaus demanded.
"In the days of me grandame it was.  Where did you hear-  Where do you think yer going?"  She chased after, as he ducked back into the main room.
"I've seen them!"  He all but shouted, "I know I have, and I know where they grow!  I've been there a dozen times!"
Demille and Vilda were staring at him with remarkably similar looks of incredulity and bewilderment.
Alaus forced himself to take a deep breath; getting excited wasn't going to help.
The old healer lifted a bony finger to waggle at him as if in warning.  "If you speak true, the sooner I have some, better Cousband's chances of waking come morn and remembering the names of his own daughters."
Demille's breath caught.  "It's that bad?"
"Possibly."  Vilda was dour.
"Then," Alaus thought aloud, "I'd better go alone...  No offense, you're old, and you'd slow me down."  He cringed, but Vilda took it as a fact and nodded.  "It takes me a few hours to get there...  is that too long?  Will it have dried out by then?"
 Vilda strode past him to a shelf by the door, producing a bag from a shelf and handing it to him.  "Put it in this.  Should help."
Running his fingers over the treated leather of the bag - and feeling the hard lump of the knife for gathering cuttings - he nodded.  "I won't be back before nightfall...  Do you have a lant-"  Vilda shoved a small lantern into his hands.  A tiny slosh from within announced it was full to the brim with oil.  "Yeah.  Thanks."
"Cousband better be the one thankin' when you get back, if anyone.  Haven't done aught yet, have ye?  Off with you."
"Good luck!"  Demille chimed after him as he stepped outside.
Alaus blinked at the scene before him.  Several villagers had gathered around the front of Vilda's place.  This was a fairly common occurrence when someone was in dire condition, but it still unhinged him a bit to be met with the crowd.  A whinny from the horse brought him back to reality.  And gave him an idea.
Alaus poked his head back inside, and sought Demille.  "Can I borrow Frisk?"
 She nodded vigorously.
* * * * *
"Oh, come on!"  Alaus attempted once more to spur the stamping horse.  "It's the best river crossing we're going to find.  I know you don't like water, but your owner's health is at stake."
His mount merely snorted indignantly.
With a grunt, Alaus hung the lantern on the saddle's pommel, swung himself down, and tugged at Frisk's reigns.  Reluctant though he was, the stallion took a few steps.  Alaus preceded him into the shin-deep current, egging him on.  Finally, Frisk stepped in, and decided to get the rest of it over with, breaking into a trot across the shallow stretch of river.  Alaus lost a hold of the reigns and was drenched from the chest down with the huge splashes the stallion kicked up.
"Well at least you're across," he sighed, stepping up by the horse, who offered no more resistance.  He made sure that the lantern remained intact, which it was.  Bracing himself against the reek of horse sweat, he remounted and directed the horse upstream again.  He hated just holding the lantern, but it was too big to wedge in his belt as he'd done with the bag Vilda gave him, and Frisk's tack hadn't included saddle bags.
 Alaus kicked the horse into a quick trot.  He wouldn't dare a full gallop, as he'd almost certainly be thrown, but even a canter was faster than it would take to walk all the way to the heirsbane glade and back.  Admittedly, his horsemanship had never been exemplary.  All the control Frisk allotted him - even the moderate tempered, well trained horse that he was - Alaus owed to his sense of urgency, which lent him a more authoritative posture than he could usually muster.  That didn't stop the stallion from champing the bit irritably, though.
Quicker though he traversed the distance, it felt longer than ever - the situation forced him to be aware of details he was so accustomed to, he normally overlooked.  It felt odd looking down from so high above the trail his feet knew by heart.  Shadows stretched, and the sun was low on the horizon when, at last, he reigned in at the edge of the glade; he still wasn't going to make it back before nightfall.
"Right," Alaus told Frisk as he dismounted and disentangled his foot from a stirrup.  "You stay here."  He tossed the reigns over a branch and again hung the lantern on the pommel.  Drawing out Vilda's bag and knife, he cast about for the nearest heirsbane mushroom.  Kneeling by it, he attacked the stem and swiftly had the cap tucked away in the bag's leather folds.
 He stared at the knife in his hand, wondering if he should gather more, when a shadow swept over the entire glade, and was gone as it came.  His eyes snapped upward, and his heart leapt at what he saw: black scales and wide wings, unmistakable.  He cupped his hands around his mouth.  "Rahamuth!"  Only after his first shout did he realize how close he'd come to getting an extra-close shave with Vilda's knife, which he was still holding.  Dropping it, he stood and redoubled his call.  "RAHA-A-A-A-Ah!"  He ran out of breath before he could finish the name.
The dragon's head cocked.  Though a moment passed and he sailed on, a diminishing shape, he banked tightly and, with a single beat of his mighty wings, shot toward the glade.  Rahamuth hit the ground on the far side of the clearing and loped to a halt.
Frisk roared.  Alaus spun, and watched frozen in increasing horror: the stallion reared; the lantern dropped from its perch; the branch snapped, the reigns freed; glass smashed as the lantern struck a root; and Frisk brayed wildly, breaking into a gallop.
 "No, no, no!"  Alaus yelped, finding his voice suddenly.  A string of oaths followed the panic-stricken horse as it tore into the forest.  Giving up after just a few steps - for he couldn't hope to catch Frisk now - Alaus sank to his knees and took a deep breath.  He was angry, but the fault for scaring away Frisk was as much his lack of foresight as anything.  Rahamuth couldn't help that he was a dragon.  His anger drowned quickly in eagerness - he could finally to talk to him!  "That's it, you owe me a trip back to town," he said, getting to his feet.  "And more if that stallion doesn't find his way home."  He rounded on the dragon.
...and blinked at what he saw.  Rahamuth cringed as though struck.  His eyes shifted away from Alaus.  He was poised with his shoulders slumped and his wings half-furled, neck bent and tail down.
"Rahamuth?  What is it?"  Alaus half-whispered.
"I will take you your village, if that is what you wish."  Rahamuth's words were flat, "I owe you much more than that."
Alaus frowned at the dragon's behavior.  He didn't seem to be fighting any compulsion of Law to remain here, and yet...
 He took a step, then another, and Rahamuth's eyes darted to him for the briefest moment.  Alaus took hold of one of his horns with a single hand, meeting no resistance as he inclined the dragon's his head so he could hold the gaze of one draconian eye.  Though he half-expected it, what he found still struck him: in that one golden eye he held with both of his, he found a simmering fear.
"Father didn't make you avoid me, did he?"  Alaus asked softly.
"He did not."  The dragon's tone was as level as ever.  "I expected-  You do not-  You..."  hissing at his faltering, he wrenched his head from Alaus' grasp and peered at the sky between two trees' branches.
Alaus set a hand on Rahamuth's snout.  "We need to talk."
"And what do you wish to gain by this talk?"
"Not now," he shushed the dragon.  "But I want to be able to find you when I come back.  You have nothing to be afraid of, not from me."
Rahamuth released a strained breath halfway between a groan and a sigh.  "I will be here.  Or my cave, or the falls, or somewhere in between where you can find me when you return.  You have my word."
 "Thank you."  His hand slid away from their contact, and Rahamuth's head sank by a foot.  Briefly, Alaus glanced at the shattered lantern.  No sense bringing that back.  And there was nothing he could do about the spooked horse.  His eyes fell on the forgotten knife, and he retrieved it quickly.  For good measure, he cut another heirsbane mushroom and added that and the knife to the bag, and tied its drawstrings around his belt; he didn't want to drop it in midair, and he didn't trust his hands.
"Again, you with your fungi.  Are you quite certain you aught to be gathering such a deadly reagent?"  Rahamuth's tone was remembering it's typical luster, and a hint of levity.
Alaus chuckled.  "I should thank you that I knew this was here.  It's for medicine, actually.  Now, I have to get back to the village as soon as I can.  Can I ride on your back?"
The dragon huffed.  "Appropriately demeaning to me as that would be, I know few swifter ways to lose your male extremities."
Alaus glanced at the train of spines down Rahamuth's back and shuddered in sympathy, imagining trying to sit on those.  "Point taken.  You can carry me like you did before, then.  Unless you have a better suggestion?"
 "I have none."  Rahamuth pushed himself into a slightly prouder posture, but he hesitated.  "Alaus..."
"Hush.  Save it.  We'll speak again soon, I promise.  Just take me home swift...  properly, this time."  He stepped toward the dragon.
Rahamuth reared up, spreading his wings back for balance as he lifted the young man in his foreclaws as carefully as he could.  Alaus unconsciously held his breath, tensing.  Last time, he'd been dazed, and hadn't had the chance to anticipate flight.  Then, he'd been hung in the dragon's clutches like prey.  This time, Rahamuth held him to his chest, one foreclaw under Alaus' arms, and the other about his knees.  He felt the dragon's breath wash over him, Rahamuth glancing down to ensure he was secure.
"You reek of horse."
Alaus was split between a grimace and a laugh.  "Sorry."  He clutched the topmost of the claws holding him - not that he could secure himself any better, but it was the alternative to letting his hands dangle.  The scales pressed against his back rippled with the contraction of powerful muscles beneath, Alaus' only warning before the dragon's wings beat down, and his rear legs kicked off from the ground.  He gasped as the ground fell away.
 Five more strokes of Rahamuth's wings bore them high above the trees, into the sky painted with its fiery sunset.  Barely noticeable through the forest canopy, billows of cloud were ablaze with oranges and golds.  Alaus grinned at the sun, seeing it was about half set; he just might make it back by nightfall after all!  With a slight dip in altitude, the dragon angled toward the village and buffeted the air steadily, driving them still faster.
The view and the rush of flight were breathtaking, but what awed Alaus most was the power of the muscles he could feel against his back.  As gracefully as the dragon flew, he would never have suspected how much effort it demanded to keep the massive beast airborne.  Even gliding, Rahamuth's chest was taut, holding his wings steady against the wind whipping under them.  Always he made tiny, unconscious adjustments for seemingly minute eddies in the air, keeping the ride incredibly smooth.  It was frightening to think how thin were the membranes that captured the fierce winds of their speed and kept them aloft.  When last Rahamuth had flown Alaus, he had barely beat his wings.  Now he worked them liberally, and Alaus' gut told him they were going faster for it.  He was immensely grateful for the haste.
 It occurred to him that the villagers might see him with the dragon again, but he found he didn't care in the least.
When he caught sight of the village, and the sun had only sunk by a quarter, his heart lurched with elation.  Rahamuth's speed was incredible.  As he began his descent, however, it was over a clearing at the edge of the woods.  Lifting his voice, hoping it would carry over the wind, he yelled upward, "All the way!"  His mouth was dried instantly by the wind.  He pounded the claw holding him - surely he'd feel that, and maybe listen harder.  "All the way to the village!"
Rahamuth must have heard him, for he swerved sharply back toward the village.  Goats bleated in fright as he swooped over an outlying farm.  They must have appeared a black silhouette, stark against the fiery twilit sky.  A few farmers working late shouted indiscernibly or ran for cover.  Just twenty feet or so in the air, Alaus could make out the stacks of timber by Ferce's house.
Over a road a stone's throw from the village proper's first row of houses, the dragon tilted his wings, rearing in midair.  With a tremendous scrape, his rear claws struck and skidded on the hard-packed earth.  He rocked forward, his wings slammed the ground in place of his occupied foreclaws, and with a thump his haunches and tail slammed down, catching his rebounding weight.
 Alaus' legs were freed first, allowing him to get his footing before he was released.  Rahamuth, stepping aside and allowing him to stand, was panting heavily.  Pushing himself for such speed seemed to have taken quite a lot out of him.  His breath was the only noise whatsoever, all being starkly quiet after the whipping wind of the dragon's velocity.
"Thank you."  Alaus bade him.  "Go on, now.  No need to draw more of a crowd.  Remember: I'll come find you soon."
Rahamuth nodded stiffly.  He swerved back the way he'd come and loped across a field, gathering speed before he took to the sky again.  Tearing his eyes from the majestic sight of the dragon against the vivid brazen clouds, Alaus got his bearings and made for Vilda's with a swift stride of his own.
There was a whole contingent of villagers standing out front, now, most holding candles in silent vigil.  A murmur spread at Alaus' approach, and they parted for him.  Vilda's front door swung open in silence, as though it too feared to break the quiet.  The healer stood - so far as Alaus could tell - with her feet on the exact spots by the door where she'd stood when he left.  He handed her the bag and its contents, which she examined.  The lines of her face deepened, and she nodded, for once offering no critique.  It was the highest praise he'd ever received from Vilda.
 Even as she tramped into the back room to make her medicine, Demille burst into thankful tears and barreled into Alaus.  Her hair and its scent, like a bakery, smothered his face, and she clutched at his back and thanked him over and over.  Alaus wanted to push her away, to get his breath as what he'd just accomplished overwhelmed him.  But it would be rude, so instead, he held her shoulders until she calmed herself.
"I don't know how you did it," she said, pushing against his chest, putting an arm's length between them.  "You said you wouldn't be back until nightfall..."
"Yeah, well...  This dragon owed me a favor, and he was faster than Frisk."  He chuckled halfheartedly, and she peered at him uncertainly, not knowing whether he was joking or serious.  Alaus barely noticed, dreading what he had to say next.  "Look, I'm sorry, but... he spooked Frisk and...  I couldn't catch him.  I don't know where..."
She saw he was dead serious.  "Oh, I don't care about Frisk.  My father's more important than one horse."
 "Still, I'm sorry..."
"I said I don't care."
Alaus fidgeted.  Noticing he still held Demille's shoulders, he dropped his arms and took a step back to a more respectful distance.  He glanced toward the back room.  "Need any help back there?"
"Nay," came Vilda's terse answer, "Not a mite ye could do I couldn't do faster."
"Well," Alaus stalled, forcing his eyes to meet Demille's.  "I'm... really tired, so..."
She nodded.  "Go get some rest, then."
Thankful for quick goodbyes, he slipped out the door.
The crowd holding vigil didn't let him by so easily this time.  Alaus was peppered with thanks and blessings from nigh total strangers, and it seemed every single one of them wanted pat him on the shoulder or arm.  Most were women, and he thought he would have recognized them if he'd seen their husbands.  He did recognize Chelle, Ferce's wife, and he shared a smile with her.  It seemed like his whole run of bad decisions and terrible luck turned around at that very moment.
He arrived at home, glad to find he was content to be there.  For the first time in what felt like a month, he thought he might actually sleep soundly.
 And indeed, his only dream that night mirrored a memory:
Alaus hovered on the brink of sleep.  The moon was high, and the shadows were those of trees, but his mind told him he was in his bed with soft blankets and his familiar pillow.  A heavy shadow fell over him, and he was scooped up into the embrace of gentle claws, warm scales, and the mighty frame of Rahamuth settled beside and around him.
"Rahamuth?"
"Yes, whelp."
He knew it was a dream, and remembered the dragon's soft tone; it was not the voice of a betrayer.  But instead of crying, "She wasn't there, she never came," as Alaus truly had that night, he willed the dream in a new direction.
"Everything's going to be ok."
* * * * *
A quarter hour past dawn, Alaus shouldered Vilda's door open, as his hands were occupied by a parcel.
He froze under the eyes of Demille, her older sister whom he had forgotten the name of, a pallid woman who could only have been their mother, and five other strangers he supposed were extended family.  They'd scavenged chairs from somewhere, and sat clustered around Cousband, still apparently sleeping...  hopefully just sleeping.
 Not to sound sympathetic, Alaus asked despite his dry throat, "How is he?"
"Vilda says we won't know 'til he wakes."  It was Demille who answered.
Alaus nodded.  "Where is she now?"
"Right 'ere."  Alaus jumped at her voice and sudden presence behind him.  Hastily, he vacated the doorway, allowing the old healer to stomp into her own home.
"Ah," Alaus attempted, hunting for words.  "You gave me a lantern the other day and...  Well, since it broke, I just bought you another."  After a moment, he remembered he had it in his hands, and presented the parcel.
With a nod and a crooked finger, Vilda indicated the shelf by the door, and Alaus promptly set it there.  "Acquitting yourself well, now, are ye?"
"Doing my best, ma'am," Alaus sighed.  Unconsciously, his eyes slid helplessly to Demille.  The lantern had been nearly everything Ferce had paid him so far.  He couldn't hope to replace a horse.
"So you're Alaus?"  It was Demille's sister.  "You lost Frisk?"
Try as he might, he still couldn't think of her name.  "Sorry..."
 She waved a hand dismissively.  "Pft.  Found him this morning just across the river, grazing his heart out no less."
"Oh."  Alaus sighed in relief.  "That's good to hear.  But," he added, quickly searching for a vindication for a quick departure, "I need to... ah...  go help Ferce split some lumber."
No one acknowledged him, and that only hastened his step to the door.
Not more than a dozen paces down the road, however, someone called to him, "Alaus, wait."
He turned.  It was Demille.  She caught up to him with a swift stride.  "You're not really in a hurry to help Ferce, are you?"
"No," he admitted sheepishly.  "That obvious?"
"I could teach you a thing or two about graceful exits," she chuckled.
Despite himself, Alaus grinned.  His tension lessening, he wondered, "You didn't come out here just to tell me that, though, did you?"
"No."  They stood there, a respectful distance apart, facing one another on an empty street.  "I do believe I agreed to go on a walk with you."
Alaus blinked.  "Well..."
"I know what you're thinking," Demille said, brandishing a finger.
 That was odd; Alaus didn't know what to think, himself.
"You said there was someone else..."
Comprehension dawned on Alaus, and he mouthed 'oh' - of course she thought he was hesitating because of this significant other.
She continued, regardless.  "...but I want to know where to find these mushrooms."  With a shrug, Demille explained.  "I know you're not going to be here long.  And if Vilda's going to have to keep making this medicine for Pa, and she needs it fresh...  She's old, she can't go traipsing out in the wild as often as she used to.  So show me; I can do that much for my own father."
"Oh, of course."  He nodded.
She waited.
"Oh, now?"
"Do you want to now?"  She chuckled.
"That will work."  Quickly, Alaus mind raced over the prospect, trying to think rationally before he took her there.  "Ah, do you need anything before we go?  It's a long walk.  And, no offense, I'd rather not ride."
"That's fine.  Elanna's the one who rides everywhere."
Elanna; that was her sister's name, Alaus recalled.
"Though I'd rather not ruin a skirt."  Demille picked at her dress; it was the same one she had worn the previous day, when she'd taken her father to Vilda's.  The hem was still dirt spattered, and it looked slept-in.  "Tell you what.  You come by my house in, oh, a half-hour and I'll be ready to go from there.  How's that?"
 Alaus nodded.  "May want to eat, too, if you haven't already."
"Or we could pack something!"
"I don't know..."  He wasn't sure he wanted to go picnicking with her in the heirsbane glade.  That thought didn't sit well with him; he couldn't put his finger on why.
She sensed his discomfort, and shrugged off the notion.  "Oh, alright, I'll have a bite."
"Right.  See you shortly, then?"
"Right."
It was only after she left Alaus realized he had only a vague idea where her family's farm was.  He returned home to pace for the interim, but wound up setting out for her farm early, thinking he may have a hard time finding it.  With a little help from Ferce, though, he located it quick enough.  Demille turned out in short order, looking like a totally different girl with her hair tied back, having exchanged her dress for pants and a much grungier-looking blouse.  He blinked, she flashed a grin, and they were off.
Demille quickly surprised him.  She handled herself well in the forest, and she was easy to talk to.  They found themselves on the subject of plants, which Alaus had studied under Vilda, and he mentioned their uses in poultices or herbal remedies.
 "Know what you can use this one for?"  Demille fished an incredibly bright pink-orange blossom.
"Uh... no?"
"Nothing.  Just beauty."  She cupped it in her hand, though it was only as wide as two of her fingers.
Maybe it was a plain joke, but Alaus took away a deeper message: there was more to life than practical value.  "And just maybe," he thought aloud, "Beauty heals things too."  It was simple, but it struck him.  "Not physical wounds, obviously, but..."
"Yes."  She stopped him before he toppled the moment with literalism.  For a time they walked in silence.  As they passed the falls, they didn't need words to admit still greater beauty of the vista.  And so they came upon the glade.
Alaus stooped to indicate one of the heirsbane mushrooms.  "These are what you want."
Demille nodded, studying the fungus for a moment.  However, she began to dance across the glade without warning, laughing.  She glided amid the many mushrooms and the lengthy grasses, her steps in time to no song but seemingly the chirping of birds.  Finally, she came to rest half-leaning, half sitting against the mossy semicircle of stone on the far side.
 "I like it here," she said, as though in explanation, as Alaus approached her.
Choosing a mostly-flat ledge of stone to seat himself on, Alaus wondered how long she might linger.  But he was content with the scenery, including her.  That orange-pink flower now adorned her hair, just above her temple; he hadn't realized she'd put it there until just then.  It fit in her auburn curls like it belonged there, and it was a stark contrast to her rugged clothes.
She spoke again suddenly, "So, I have a question."
"Oh?"
It was with a ponderous eye at a squirrel in the branches of a tree that Demille asked, "Who's your 'someone else'?"
That, of all questions?  Alaus sighed.  "It's not what you're thinking... I don't think."
"Well, I imagine you'd have your pick of the girls in the village, or near enough.  What with having Jonnor for a father."  
"There's no one in the village I want."  He dropped his eyes.
"No?"  She gave him a quizzical gaze.  "That's it!  You've been writing, haven't you?  Someone in the city?  Did you convince your pa it was time to move to the city so you could..."
 "No."
"Still no?  Now I'm really curious."  Demille sighed, "I just have to know.  You approached me, and then..."
"I know, I know..."
"I won't tell another soul, if it helps."
It didn't, much.  The difference between one soul and the whole village didn't seem like much.  "You wouldn't believe your ears."
There was a familiar rumble behind him.  "Then have her try her eyes."
Alaus head sank even lower, and he groaned.  Silently, he willed Rahamuth not to say or do anything untoward.  Lifting his eyes, though, and seeing Demille pale, the least could do was reassure her.  "He's not going to hurt us."
She was, nevertheless, frozen to the spot as if rooted to the stone holding her weight.  She had all the liveliness of a pinned moth, and he knew well what her eyes must be following: the dragon's figure, his haughty eye, and the grace in each step Alaus heard softly behind him.
"He is quite correct."  Rahamuth's head appeared over Alaus' shoulder, and the slight fump told him the dragon had settled in a semicircle behind him.  "He enjoys stating the exceedingly obvious.  Astute, is he not?"
 "Demille," Alaus interceded, "This is Rahamuth."
"Why, thank you for giving away my name for me," the dragon scoffed, "without permission."
"Be polite," Alaus snapped back.
"I prefer to be enigmatic, which tends to make everyone else polite."  Rahamuth came back smoothly.
Alaus ignored him.  "When I said there was someone else, I didn't mean... romantically."  He glanced at the draconic head beside him.  "He's just... demanding."
The dragon's head bobbed with his laugh, "And just listen to him!  He evades the whole heart of the matter.  He forgets how lecherous I am..."  His jaw parted wider, his tongue snaking out to caress Alaus' neck.
Face draining of blood, however, Alaus's fists clenched in blinding fury.  His elbow came down hard on Rahamuth's snout, whose jaws clocked together, teeth slamming down on his tongue.  The dragon hissed, the wet appendage vanishing into his maw, though not before a drop of blood adorned his scaly lower lip.
"I have had it with your antics!"  Alaus shoved Rahamuth's nose away from him as he stood, rounding on the scandalous beast.  "You acted so miserable, I promised to come back and talk to you... and this is what I get?"  His tone was harsh on his own throat, and he quickly grew hoarse, and he had to shout around a knot in his throat.  He ignored it with a grim satisfaction, seeing the dragon's wide eyes.  "Was it even real?  Did you regret anything?"  The dragon pushed to its feet and crawled backward a step.  "Were you ever actually afraid of what I'd think?  Or were you just... playing me all over again?"
 Finally, Rahamuth turned tail and slunk back into the tree line.  Alaus about-faced with a ragged sigh.  Now what was he going to tell Demille?
Turning his back was a mistake, however; he felt the dragon's tail whip against his shoulder blades, and he found himself harshly thrown face-down to the ground.  At first he made no effort to move, only to fight down a sob.  His face was wet - only now he realized he had been shedding tears through the whole outburst.
A hand gripped his shoulder, and Demille helped him sit up.  "He's gone now."  Her soft tone surprising him.
Alaus didn't see a way to convince her Rahamuth might have been joking, not after he'd gotten so angry over it.  So after spitting out a gob of muddy moss, he began to tell his story, right from the beginning when he'd first met the dragon.
"Hush," she told him, "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, yes I do."
And if she was disgusted with what she heard...  Well, Alaus didn't dare to look at her until he'd finished his story.