Chapter 1: Kailin
Five years ago
The 27th Day of the Third Month
Year 11663 of the Dragon Pact
Year 3384 post Division
It is said that you can smell death on the wind before it comes to claim its due. Tonight, the air tastes of frost and pine and something else—something metallic and sharp that makes my skin crawl—but I ignore it and convince myself that there is no chance the monsters will come for me on the one night I'm left alone in the house.
—From the journal of Kailin Strom
I added a sketch to my journal entry, trying to capture visually the feeling I struggled to express in words. Drawinghad always helped calm my nerves, turning vague impressions and uncomfortable feelings into more tangible visual representations, but tonight even the familiar rhythm of pencil scratching against paper couldn't quiet the churning in my stomach.
Perhaps it was the wind howling outside my window or the cold seeping through every crack and crevice in the old stone walls, but I didn't really mind the cold, and I was used to the wind, so neither could be the cause of my sense of foreboding.
The most likely culprit was my brother's impending pilgrimage and my apprehension over the fate he would learn at its culmination.
Coupled with our parents' return trip home and the potential dangers they might face on the journey, was it a wonder that I was anxious?
Shedun attacks were rare in our area, but no place in Elucia was immune to this scourge.
Still, what was probably at the root of my unease was the realization that Dylon would not be coming home regardless of the fate awaiting him at the summit of Mount Hope.
When my brother had walked out the front door this morning, he'd left our childhood behind, and the life we'd shared was already reduced to a collection of memories and journal sketches.
With a sigh, I tucked the journal under my pillow, turned on my side, and propped myself on my elbow to gaze out the window.
The auroras were particularly spectacular tonight, great ribbons of green and purple light dancing across the sky. Their glow transformed the mountainside, casting an ethereal light over the landscape and making the snow-covered peaks shimmer. From afar, it all looked magical, but Elucia's breathtaking beauty was as harsh and unforgiving as its people.
In the distance, I could make out Mount Hope, its sacred summit disappearing into the clouds.
Tomorrow at dawn, Dylon would start the ascent, and in three days, he would reach the Circle of Fate and learn his destiny.
In five years, it would be my turn.
Thousands of young Elucians joined the three annual pilgrimages, hoping to be declared gifted and become riders, but only a handful were selected, if any.
The ability to bond with dragons was rare, dormant until awakened by Elu's touch and coaxed to the surface by the shaman's words. The trait ran in families, and since neither of our parents was gifted, it was highly probable that Dylon and I would be found talentless and get assigned to other branches of the Elucian military. But there was that one distant relative who'd been gifted, and that was enough to feed my brother's dreams and my nightmares.
I was probably the only Elucian dreading the possibility of becoming a dragon rider, and there were several good reasons for that, but chief among them was my fear of heights. It was uncommon for a mountain-dweller, and I did my best to hide the embarrassing affliction, but merciful Elu was all-knowing, and I clung to the hope that the shaman would not decree a fate I couldn't endure.
Naturally, if I was chosen, I would fulfill my duty and serve my country to the best of my ability, but just imagining myself astride a dragon sent chills down my spine. I could barely handle a hover-car skirting a ravine even with my eyes tightly shut. How could I possibly soar through the skies on the back of a flying beast?
With stubborn determination, that's how.
I was an Elucian, after all, and Elucians didn't let fear rule them.
Telling myself that I needed to set these thoughts aside and get some rest, I moved my journal to the windowsill and burrowed under my thick blanket, pulling it up to my nose. The warmth slowly lulled me to sleep, but I had barely started to doze off when Chicha's warning bark sliced through the night like a thunderclap, startling me awake and sending adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I bolted upright, the loud and rapid rhythm of my heartbeat nearly drowning out the barking. But then, as my terror burned through the cobwebs of sleep and my mind processed what was probably a false alarm, I took a calming breath and commanded my racing heart to slow down.
It was nothing.
Chicha had the courage of a mouse, treating every rustling bush and passing night bird as mortal threats, but despite her tiny size, she had the lungs of a lioness and a ferocious bark.
We'd all learned to dismiss her dramatic outbursts.
In the event of real danger, the night guards would blast the bullhorns, rousing the village defenders to arms.
"Quiet, Chicha!" I called out, dragging my pillow over my head.
She barked once more in defiance before dropping to a low growl, but that didn't last long, and soon she launched into another volley of frantic barking.
I loved that little dog dearly, but right now, I could happily banish her to the sheep pen. Not that I'd actually do it—partly because I would hate to extract myself from the warm cocoon of my blankets, but mostly because Chicha had mastered the art of wounded dignity. She'd give me that look, all betrayed eyes and drooping ears, until guilt gnawed a hole in my resolve.
Instead, I tried to ignore the racket she was making and go back to sleep, but it was no use.
My mind might have rationalized that the barking was not a likely sign of danger, but the lingering surge of anxious energy coursing through my veins would take time to dissipate.
Sighing, I turned on my back and let my thoughts drift to Dylon and the fate awaiting him at the end of his pilgrimage. Was it selfish of me to wish for my brother not to be granted his heart's desire?
Despite the so-called immortality the bond bestowed upon dragon riders, they rarely survived to old age, and those who did seldom got married or had kids, even though they were encouraged to do so to produce the next generation of riders.
There were never enough of them.
The trait was rare and the number of gifted in the general Elucian population was gradually dwindling, but I couldn't blame the riders for not wanting to raise a family in the Citadel, knowing that their kids might get orphaned before they were ready to fly.
I didn't want that for Dylon. I wanted him to find love, to give our parents grandchildren to spoil, and to grow old in our village, where we knew everyone and everyone knew us.
The truth was that I missed him already, and he'd been gone less than a day. If he joined the Dragon Force, months would pass between his visits home. But if my selfish prayers were answered and he was assigned to any other branch of service, he'd return sooner and more frequently, and when his duty years ended, he'd settle back in our village, and life would continue as it should.
Dylon would hate me if he knew what I prayed for, but he would thank me later when he was surrounded by family, friends, and neighbors whom he'd known his entire life, instead of the cold, lonely skies. Because I’d volunteered to stay behind and watch over our livestock and Chicha so our parents could see him off, I wouldn't even get to hug him one more time and wish him luck before the start of his pilgrimage.
Suddenly the barking ceased, replaced by a quiet whining, which wasn't Chicha's normal mode of operation.
Something was wrong.
I bolted out of bed and hurried downstairs. My bare feet were silent on the wooden steps, but Chicha should have heard me and rushed to greet me, and the fact that she didn't added to my growing sense of dread.
In the kitchen, I found her wedged beneath the sink in her favorite hiding spot, her small body shaking.
"What is it, girl?" I reached for her.
She whimpered and pressed herself further back into her nook.
My heart began to pound. Chicha might be a cowardly little thing, jumping at shadows and fleeing from her own reflection, but in all her years, she had never shrunk away from me.
Her terror was eroding my courage, but I couldn't let fear paralyze me. I had to keep a clear head.
It was most likely a mountain lion or some other wild beast trying to snatch one of our sheep, and the distressed bleats from their shed reinforced my assessment. A Shedun attack was always a possibility, albeit remote, but the guards in the watchtowers would have spotted the monsters long before Chicha could have sniffed them out and sounded the alarm.
Still, a mountain lion was not a beast to trifle with, and I have never taken one on by myself, but there was no one else home, and it was up to me to protect our livestock.
I could do this.
I might be only sixteen, but I had a steady hand and a true aim.
My skill with a rifle was praised not only by my father but also by my instructor in the youth training camp. Even Dylon had grudgingly admitted that I was a better shot than he was.
I can do this, I repeated it in my head as I hurried to the front door, pushed my feet into my mud-covered boots, got my coat on, and grabbed a rifle and two boxes of ammunition from the shelf above the doorframe.
My hand shook as I unlatched the locks and opened the door, but the little courage I’d managed to muster fizzled out as soon as I stepped outside.
Something felt off.
Despite the howling winds, there was an unnatural stillness about. The trees swayed in the wind, but apart from that, nothing moved. Everything around me seemed to be holding its collective breath. Even the sheep had gone quiet, and Chicha's whimpers had ceased.
The small hairs on the back of my neck tingled as dread spread through my veins. Something was definitely wrong, and I had to decide whether to backtrack into my house and lock the door or keep going.
Glancing at the nearest watchtower, I hoped to see the night guard's silhouette against the aurora-lit sky, but deep down, I already knew that the tower would be empty even before my gaze confirmed it.
I should have panicked. I should have run back into the house and barricaded the door. Instead, a sense of numbness enveloped me. I was in denial, trying to convince myself that this couldn't be happening tonight of all nights, but at the same time I was certain that it was indeed happening and that I probably wouldn't make it out alive.
"Maybe the guard went down to relieve himself," I muttered, in another effort to convince myself that everything was alright, but the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.
The guards never left their posts until their replacement arrived. If they had to, they did their business in a bucket.
The guard was most likely dead, and it was up to me to sound the alarm, provided that I made it to the tower before they got me.
Without making a conscious decision to move, I was already running, crouched and silent, with the rifle slung across my body. It took me mere moments to traverse the short distance between my home and the closest watchtower, but it felt like so much longer.
As I hurried up the ladder, my sweaty hands slid over the smooth wooden rungs that were worn by years of use. Climbing, I still tried to convince myself that I was overreacting and that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the guard's absence, but it was just self-talk to boost my floundering courage and keep me going.
One more rung and I would be at eye level with the platform, but my foot hovered in the air, refusing to move.
I drew in a breath, hoping to steady my nerves—but the sharp, coppery scent that filled my lungs only served to confirm my fears.
Even then, knowing what I would find, I wasn't prepared for the scene that greeted me when I finally forced myself to climb up that step. The guard lay face down in a spreading pool of blood, his throat cut, his rifle lying just beyond his outstretched hand.
Somtan. I recognized him by the plaid shirt I had seen him wearing so many times before.
I stood paralyzed, my mind refusing to accept what my eyes were seeing.
Remembering him carrying me on his shoulders during the harvest festival when I was little, I couldn't accept that I would never see his cheerful smile again or that his four young children would have to grow up without a father. His seven nieces and nephews would never get to ride on their uncle's broad shoulders again, and his elderly parents would now face their final years without their son.
The world tilted sideways, and bitter acid rose in my throat as my body finally reacted to the horror before me. I doubled over, ready to empty the contents of my stomach.
Except, I didn't.
Somehow, training kicked in, and I forced the bile down and tore my eyes away from the still-growing pool of blood.
There was no time for shock or grief. The village was under attack, and if I didn't move fast, things would quickly get much worse.
The Shedun must have sent a forward stealth team to silently eliminate the guards, and their main force would soon follow to violate, torture, and slaughter the rest of us.
We had minutes, at most.
My hands shook violently as I grabbed the bullhorn, and it took me two tries to position my finger over the button and sound the alarm. It blared across the sleeping village, its harsh sound shattering the silence and the false sense of calm, urgently rousing everyone.
Lights began to flicker in the windows, and in mere moments, doors flew open as my neighbors emerged with rifles clutched in their hands.
At the sound of heavy footsteps on the ladder, I turned with my rifle trained on the intruder, but it was just old Ednis climbing onto the platform. The grizzled veteran took in the scene with one glance, then knelt beside Somtan's body.
"He's gone," I said, my voice sounding strangely calm to my own ears, like it wasn't I who was speaking but some alternative version of me.
Ednis checked anyway, his weathered fingers seeking a pulse that we both knew wouldn't be there. When he straightened, his face was grim.
"Get yourself home, Kailin," he said gruffly. "Hide in the cellar and bar the door from the inside. Don't open it. Not even if someone you know is telling you that it's okay to come out."
The Shedun were known to hold a knife to a child's throat, forcing its desperate parents to betray their neighbors. But they were also known to set fire to homes, so hiding in a cellar was not such a good strategy either.
My fingers tightened around my rifle. "I'm staying here." I was surprised by the steel in my voice. "I know how to use this, and I have two full boxes of ammunition in my pocket. I can help."
"Kailin—"
"I'm staying, Ednis." My hands were still shaking, and I had to grip my rifle even tighter. "I feel safer here with you, fighting, than hiding and cowering."
Ednis studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Don't let yourself get killed, girl. Your parents will never forgive me if you die on my watch. Stay close to me and do as I say, understood? No stupid heroics."
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir."
I scanned the darkness beyond the village boundaries, but with the auroras casting ever-shifting shadows across the mountainside, it was difficult to distinguish movement from tricks of the light. Somewhere out there, the Shedun were gathering, preparing to attack, and soon they would emerge from the shadows like a pack of demons, ready to devour every living soul in their path.
Was it too much to hope that they had abandoned their plans after I sounded the alarm?
I clung to the sliver of hope even though I knew we wouldn't be that lucky.
All four watchmen had failed to sound the alarm, forcing me to conclude that they’d been killed, so luck wasn't a word I should use, and yet I was immensely relieved and grateful that Dylon and my parents were safe, away in Skywatcher's Point.
"They're coming," Ednis whispered beside me.
I raised my rifle, sighting along its barrel into the aurora-lit landscape.
The night stretched on, tense and terrible in its stillness, save for the howling winds that only added to the dread. None of the animals bleated, mooed, or neighed, and I wondered why they were so quiet. Did they sense death's approach and keep silent to escape its notice?
The Shedun came like shadows made flesh, materializing from the darkness like the demons they were. Covered in black from head to toe, their faces painted with black tar, they seemed to absorb what little light reached them. The only splash of color on them was the red symbol of Elusitor stamped on their foreheads.
They moved with an unnatural speed that made my skin crawl.
Rumors claimed that they used dark magic, fueling it with the blood and suffering of their victims, but I didn't believe in magic. I believed in medicines, and there were herbs that could enhance performance for a short period of time. The same substances also ravaged the mind, unleashing a savage madness that perfectly explained the Shedun's infamous brutality.
It wasn't sorcery that had created these monsters.
They were manufactured by a warped ideology, twisted, evil faith, and science.
"Steady," Ednis murmured beside me. "Wait for my signal."
I forced myself to breathe slowly, trying to still my trembling, sweaty hands. My rifle felt impossibly heavy as I tracked the approaching figures through its sight.
Could I do this?
Could I aim and shoot to kill someone when I had never shot a living thing before?
This wasn't like the practice range. This was real, but I had told Ednis that I could help, and by Elu, I would.
The first shot came from the western tower—a crack that whipped through the unnatural silence. A Shedun dropped, but the others didn't even break stride. They didn't mind losing their own because they glorified death, and life meant nothing to them.
"Now!" Ednis said.
I squeezed the trigger without thinking, the rifle's recoil slamming into my shoulder. My target stumbled but kept coming. I'd hit him, but not well enough. I had to keep shooting. Gritting my teeth, I took aim again.
The night erupted into chaos. Gunfire echoed off the mountainsides as our village defenders engaged the attackers. The Shedun returned fire, their weapons making odd whistling sounds.
Before long, I barely noticed the rifle's recoil and the violent clap of detonation with each bullet fired. I became one with the weapon, a machine without feelings. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, but my breathing became steady, measured, and my aim improved.
I was defending my people—nothing else existed beyond that singular purpose. Later, I would have to confront this cold, empty space inside me, this strange detachment that had settled over my mind. But for now, that void was a gift I couldn't afford to question.
"Down!" Ednis yanked me to the floor of the watchtower as bullets splintered the wood where I'd been standing. "Did they teach you nothing in the Youth Training Camp, girl?"
The void shattered, the clarity was gone, and terror flooded back along with the raw horror of what I'd seen, what I'd done, and what I still had to do.
"Sorry," I murmured, trying to control the shaking of my hands and slow down the frantic beat of my heart.
I still had a job to do, and I couldn't succumb to panic.
When he released me, I followed what I'd been taught and crawled to the other side of the tower, peering through a gap in the wooden slats.
Three Shedun were attempting to flank the Marson family's home. I lined up my shot and fired. The nearest one went down hard, clutching his leg. His companions hesitated, and in that moment of indecision, they made perfect targets for the defenders in the eastern tower.
"Good shot," Ednis grunted, picking off another attacker with a careful aim. "Keep watching that side. Don't let them get behind the houses."
Time seemed to lose all meaning. I fired, reloaded, fired again. My shoulder ached from the rifle's recoil, and my ears rang with the constant gunfire. But I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
A scream cut through the noise—one of ours.
I risked a glance and saw Weber clutching his arm, blood seeping between his fingers. But he kept firing one-handed, his face twisted with determination and pain.
"They're retreating!" someone shouted. "They're running!"
Sure enough, the Shedun were melting back into the shadows as quickly as they'd appeared, dragging or carrying their wounded with them, but leaving the dead behind.
"Keep firing!" Ednis bellowed.
I tracked a fleeing figure through my sight, squeezing off two shots in quick succession. The second one found its mark, and the Shedun crashed to the ground.
He didn't get up again.
Within minutes, the surviving demons had disappeared into the darkness, and I could imagine them jumping into the mouth of their tunnel—a dark hole torn into the mountainside, carved out by one of their giant worms.
The sudden silence was deafening.
"Is it over?" I asked.
Instead of answering, Ednis turned and lifted his eyes to the sky. As I followed his gaze, there was nothing to see, but I heard the distant beat of powerful wings approaching.
A thunderous roar shattered the night, so powerful that it made the wooden tower tremble. My head snapped up just as five massive shapes burst through the auroras, their wings creating gusts of wind that whipped my hair around my face.
Their scales gleamed like polished steel in the ethereal light as they dove after the fleeing Shedun. The lead dragon opened its maw, and the stream of blue-white flame that erupted turned night into blinding day. The raiders were consumed in an instant, their bodies reduced to ash before they could draw a breath to scream.
I should have felt satisfaction watching our enemies burn, but the raw display of power made my insides twist, and the acrid stench of burning flesh brought about a wave of nausea.
This was different from rifle fire.
This was devastation on another level—nature's fury harnessed as a weapon. And yet, death by dragfire was swift and far kinder than what the Shedun offered their victims.
These vile creatures did not deserve such mercy.
Fueled by an irrational hatred of dragons and those who bonded with them, the Shedun dedicated their collective miserable existence to hunting both. Every life they extinguished was an offering to their abhorrent god of death, a deity as cruel and as insatiable as its worshippers.
Elusitor, the dark face of Elu, the deceiver, the destroyer, the tormentor.
It was this relentless onslaught that forced all Elucians to dedicate long years of their lives to military service, standing with our winged, fire-breathing allies against the tide of darkness.
The ground shook as the massive lead dragon landed in front of our tower, and I instinctively gripped my rifle tighter, even though I knew it didn't mean us harm.
Frankly, I was as awed as I was terrified or perhaps the other way around.
No, fear was definitely the stronger emotion. This was an apex predator, and I was a puny human it could snuff out with a hiccup.
Dragons were just as intelligent as humans, but to assume that they were anything like us was a mistake. As my dragon lore teacher had said on multiple occasions, they didn't think like us, they didn't feel like us, and they didn't make the same judgment calls.
It was never wise to lower one's guard or underestimate their destructive power.
It or rather he, because it was definitely a male, bent his long neck so his eyes were level with mine, holding me transfixed. Glowing like molten gold, those eyes conveyed intelligence and curiosity, and as he regarded me, I felt as if he was looking straight into my soul and measuring my worth.
Mesmerized and terrified, I didn't dare breathe, but then something stirred inside of me, and I felt compelled to shift my gaze from those golden eyes to those of the rider, which were no less captivating and unnerving.
It almost felt as if the dragon wanted me to look at his rider and had somehow communicated his wish to me, but that was absurd.
Even if I had the gift, it wouldn't manifest until I was twenty-one and the shaman coaxed it to the surface on top of Mount Hope, which would take place five years from now.
Still, here I was, gazing into the impossibly dark eyes of the imposing rider and feeling dazed and lightheaded. Was that why I was seeing gold flakes swirling around his irises, even though he was too far away for me to see such minute details?
Could it be another thought that the dragon had planted in my mind?
When the rider finally released his hold on my gaze, I sucked in my first breath since the start of this strange encounter. He shifted his eyes to my rifle, then the bodies of the Shedun strewn on the ground, and a small smile lifted his lips. A two-fingered salute followed, but instead of offering it to Ednis, it seemed as if he was offering it to me.
Did he think that I, a sixteen-year-old girl, had killed all those Shedun by myself?
I wanted to correct his misconception, but the words refused to form on my lips. Then his dragon dipped its head as if to second the rider's opinion, and my head started spinning.
I stumbled back.
"Easy, girl," Ednis said quietly as he put a hand on my back. "Never show a dragon that you fear it. It might mistake you for prey."
"I'm not afraid," I murmured. "Not anymore."
I was mesmerized, enthralled, and some other emotion I couldn't decipher. A yearning for something.
No, yearning wasn't the right word to describe the intensity of what I was feeling either.
Need.
I needed… what?
To climb on the back of that dragon and look into the eyes of its rider from up close?
What an absurd thought that was!
I was surrounded by carnage, the smell of burned flesh still permeating the air, and yet I was thinking about a guy and the strange connection I felt to him?
It must be the shock or the adrenaline or whatever other hormones were released during battle. Survivor's high. Perhaps a post-combat elation. I'd read about that, but never really understood the phenomenon before.
Now I did.
The thrall was only broken when the dragon launched back into the sky with a powerful beat of those massive wings, the downdraft nearly knocking me over. Ednis steadied me with a firm grip on my arm, and together, we watched as the dragons pursued the last of the fleeing Shedun.
The night was lit up with multiple streams of flame, turning the mountainside into a canvas of fire and shadow. It was an awe-inspiring display, and in my post-battle euphoria, I cheered our dragons on. I wanted them to turn every fleeing Shedun into ash so none of the monsters could return to slaughter the people of another Elucian village.
"They're making sure none escape back into the mountains," Ednis said, his voice filled with vengeful satisfaction. "Burning them as they try to crawl back into their tunnel and then sealing the hole."
Once their grim task was completed, the dragons wheeled overhead in formation, with the huge obsidian dragon that had landed before us taking point and leading the others in a final pass over our village before disappearing into the ribbon of lights above.
The sudden absence of their presence left me feeling strangely hollow.
Despite the auroras still dancing overhead, the night suddenly seemed darker, smaller somehow.
"Those eyes," I whispered, more to myself than to Ednis. "I've never seen anything like that."
"Aye," he said. "That's why we call them the Wise Ones."
I hadn't meant the dragon's eyes, although they too were magnificent. It was the rider's gaze that had seared itself into my soul, and I knew that I would dream about it for many nights to come.
I shook my head and took a long, steadying breath.
As the haze lifted, reality crashed back with the acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with the sharp scent of dragfire, the nauseating smell of burned flesh, the copper stench of blood, the dead bodies strewn about, and the moans of the wounded.
Then, the throbbing pain in my palms suddenly registered—the splinters buried in my skin from the tower's rough wood making themselves known.
"We have to make sure all the Shedun left behind are actually dead." Ednis was already moving toward the ladder. "We also need to check for survivors, take care of our wounded prepare our dead for their rites."
I started to follow, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. Now that the immediate danger had passed, my body was remembering how to be afraid. My hands began to shake violently, and I clung to my rifle by sheer determination.
"Hey now," Ednis's voice softened as he turned back to me. "It's alright, Kailin. It's over. You did good."
A sob caught in my throat. "I killed people."
"No," Ednis said firmly, walking back to me and placing his hands on my shoulders. "You killed monsters. Those weren't people out there, Kailin. People don't slaughter innocent villagers in their beds or torture captives to death for the sake of their twisted god's pleasure."
The tears came then, hot and unstoppable.
Ednis pulled me into a rough embrace, letting me sob against his shoulder. "It's okay. Let it all out."
He smelled of gunpowder and pine smoke, so much like my father that it was enough to center me and help me regain my composure.
When my tears finally slowed, he held me at arm's length, studying my face. "You've got steel in you, girl. Now, go on home and get some sleep if you can. We'll take care of the rest."
"But I can help—"
"You've helped plenty," he cut me off. "This next part is not for you. Go home, check on your animals, and try to get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll honor our dead, but tonight, there's more ugly work to be done."
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion was already settling into my bones. Looking down from the tower, I could see shapes moving in the predawn light—villagers emerging from their homes, checking on neighbors, gathering the fallen.
As I climbed down the ladder behind Ednis, my muscles protested every movement, and as I made my way home, every shadow made me flinch, every sound had me clutching my rifle, but finally I made it through the door.
I needed to check on the sheep, but it would have to wait.
Chicha launched herself into my arms the moment I crouched down, her tiny body vibrating with relieved whimpers.
"We are okay," I whispered, holding her close. "Thanks to you. You saved us, you little alarm fiend." I kissed her shaggy head. "Wait until Mom and Dad hear that. Mom will make you your favorite snack."
At the word snack, Chicha perked up and lifted her snout.
"Tomorrow, sweetie." I kissed her head again.
Tomorrow, there would be funerals to attend and damage to repair.
Tomorrow, we would mourn our losses and strengthen our defenses.
Tomorrow, I would face my parents when they returned from Skywatcher's Point and tell them that their sixteen-year-old daughter had killed for the first time.
Tonight, though, I would cuddle my little dog and dream about a pair of dark eyes with molten gold swimming in their depths.
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