Page 18 of Avelina

“God . . . that is so much cooler than mine.”

He gave me the look again.

“For god’s sake, what is it this time?” I asked, throwing my hands up.

“Your words make no sense. Who is this deity you keep talking about?”

I laughed. “You don’t know who I mean when I say the word ‘god’? That’s . . . okay, no, that’s a long conversation. We should handle that another time. I need to go burn these clothes.” I was rambling, but my proximity to him made me nervous.

“The fire didn’t frighten you?” Aaron asked the question quietly, in a way that made me think the answer was important.

“Should it?” I asked.

He stared into the fire, frowning again, and shrugged.

So much grief, I thought.

I let the silence just be for a minute. I suspected he needed that space. After another minute, I asked, “Why are you out here, Aaron?”

He smiled a little. “That’s a long conversation. We should handle that another time.”

I laughed. “Touché. Well then, I guess I have some scrubbing to do. Hey, can you heat up water?”

Chapter Seven

“Syndeth is my name,” said the dragon hesitantly. “I am small for a dragon, I know, but I am big for a human.”

Linorra laughed, believing that Syndeth jested. “Yes,” she said, “you would be a big human indeed. It’s a good thing you were made a dragon instead.”

An oil lantern with an ornate bulb of frosted glass and delicately etched flowers lit the inside of the cottage. The single small room was otherwise barren. A cot in the back corner sat opposite the bath. Above the cot, a ladder secured to the wall led up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Next to the front door stood a wooden counter with a ceramic basin and a few knives and utensils, neatly arranged. On the other side of the door, a workbench with metal tools and an unfinished project awaited the return of attentive hands.

Everything in the cottage was practical, with a clear use. There were no books, pictures, or decorations of any kind. The lantern was the most decorative thing in the cottage. The place had the feeling of a bunker rather than a home, but it was also organized and impeccably clean. Aaron, it appeared, was a neatnik. I rubbed my palms together, smiling.

Enter Hurricane Lina.

A trifold room divider stood next to the bath. I stretched it out, watching Aaron turn the spigot on to fill the tub. He could heat up water, but he avoided my gaze as he did it. I wasn’t sure if he was ashamed of his ability, or if the intimacy of helping me draw a bath and then giving me his own shirt to wear made him uncomfortable. Regardless, I was grateful.

While Aaron finished heating the bathwater, I found a wooden bowl on the counter and dunked it in to gather water for cleaning Rogue. I rinsed the blood out of Rogue’s fur but decided to let him dry before applying the antibiotic ointment that I hoped was still in my first aid kit, tucked somewhere in my pack. Rogue shook, spraying me, then followed me back inside.

After the day I’d had, the hot water was a revelation, even though the “bath” was just a barrel. He only had bar soap so hard that it didn’t release much soap at all, but it smelled like spearmint, which explained a fraction of his signature scent. I used it to wash myself and my clothes. All my clothes, which left me in a bit of an undergarment situation, but I thought it best to take advantage of the opportunity to get clean while I had it.

I draped my wet clothes over the side of the tub, dried myself off with what was essentially a washcloth, then donned Aaron’s shirt, which he’d laid out for me. The shirt was white and reached just past my knees. It smelled like him. The odd thing about the garment was that it didn’t have any seams or stitches, as if the cloth had been woven directly into the shape of a shirt. When Aaron saw me, he blinked a couple of times but said nothing. Very wise.

While I’d been scrubbing, Aaron had skinned and deboned the dragon. Then he finished butchering it and cooked the “best pieces,” which included the liver for some reason, in a large, wok-like pan that sat directly in the fire. He cooked it with a broth that he’d stored in a ceramic jar, then cooked some of the scraps from the basin and tossed them in a bowl for Rogue, who devoured them.

Rogue licked his bowl clean and flopped down by the door again. He appeared relaxed, but his amber eyes were alert as always, following me around the room as I finished snooping, then sat down with Aaron to eat. The meat was chewy and tasted like whitefish, except pungent, like goat’s milk. It reminded me of the time I vacationed in Florida and ate alligator. It was weird but good, making the whole fire-vomit thing seem well worth the trouble.

It had taken Aaron hours to prepare the meal, and by the time we finished eating, it was nearly dark. Fog had invaded the garden, and it was so dense that I couldn’t see the bushes out front. It felt safe, as if the fog knew we were trying to hide and wanted to help.

Aaron set my wet clothing aside and carried the tub outside to empty. Though I had seen him lift the dragon, I still couldn’t believe it when he lifted a tub full of water.

When he came back inside, he locked the door behind him. He had to duck to get through the doorway, and his head was mere inches from the cottage ceiling. I confirmed that the door could only be barred from the inside, and Aaron closed not just one but three separate locking mechanisms on it. I wondered, again, why he was hiding.

“Thank you for the meal,” I said, looking around. We sat at a wooden table that looked handmade. There was only one chair, which I sat in. Aaron sat on a wooden chest that also looked handmade. I had the impression that it was his normal seat anyway. “I can’t believe I just ate something that tried to kill me.”

Aaron smiled. “That’s nearly all there is to eat around here. Dragon is a common meal for me.”

“Now there’s something you don’t hear every day,” I said, peering down at what I now realized were dragon-skin boots. “At least I don’t. You live out here in the forest all by yourself?”

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