Gray dusk descended over the road as Alweard rode out once more, the Oathsworn’s camp long behind him.

At the inner gates to the docks of Pelargir, wagons moved swiftly in and out day and night stocked with produce and equipment and travelers. Faron watched them with a lazy eye, yawning. He had pulled this duty, guarding the Pelargir civilian docks, some six months ago and had really found it pretty cushy. Better than the front, certainly. However, some weeks were better than others. This week, so he would have three full, glorious days off next week to propose to Prella, he was doing the worst shifts.

Mistake. Yet another mistake.

How much? How much more must I take?

What I had. What I love. What I lost. 

After wrong, for right I swallow bitter cost.

Scream. I want to shout. 

Rage. Destroy. I want to let it all out. 

Numb. My outside, my shell is numb.

Thrandili tried to get her breath back, but it felt like there was a whole nest of baby drakes fighting in her belly. One little kiss and her world was blown apart. She dropped the heavy pouch of zircons on her bed and listened. Was Byli still downstairs? He wouldn't come up, would he? For one mad moment, she wished that he would. Her parents were away and - no no, she shouldn't think that. She was the daughter of the Uzbad.