Page 111 of Upon Buried Embers
“We weren’t allowed to cut it,” I say, my eyes staying closed.
“Why not?”
“More to grab.”
He stills, a harsh breath landing on my face. “Do you want to cut it?”
I think for a moment, and slowly shake my head.
“I like my hair, but I didn’t let anyone know that. They would have cut it on purpose then.” He growls and I peel my eyes open. “My hair was my secret joy, though I didn’t know how to take care of it, and I always had to have it down.” I eye him. “Will you make me cut it?”
“No, Little Whisperer, I won’t make you cut it, I like it too much.”
“You do?”
He hums and braids my hair in two sections. Close to my head, they run from the top to the bottom, leaving two tails on either side of my shoulders.
I pick them up, smiling softly at them and twirling them. They come down to just above my breasts, nearly covering me.
His touch on my ear has me jolting, and Rohan smiles down at me, never once stopping.
It makes me squirm, my breathing picking up. He knows what he’s doing, the delight in his eyes says so.
“Elf,” he mumbles, his head dipping. “Are you—
“Wildling!” Rohan’s head snaps up, and in an instant, he’s getting me and himself out the water.
“Get dressed.” He grabs his pants, putting them on quickly before he puts his fingers in his mouth, releasing a loud whistle.
“What’s happening?” I ask, voice shaky, tunic over my head, pants and boots back on.
Rohan grabs my hand and drags me toward the treeline as the sound of wing beats follows us. He’s bare-chested, pants undone, boot ties free, but he never once stops.
A roar fills the air just as we exit the forest and Drogonah is suddenly there, his powerful body landing directly in front of us.
“Quickly,” Rohan says as he lifts me onto Drogonah’s wing that he’s lowered, and I scramble up to the saddle, heart in my throat.
Rohan is behind me in an instant, arm banded around me, reins in hand, and then without a moment to spare, we’re up in the sky.
Twenty Seven
Elf
Drogonah growls, propelling us higher into the sky. I fall back onto Rohan from the force, and he bands an arm around my waist to hold me steady.
“Look for it, Drogonah, quickly.”
A roar comes, and this time, others answer. I look around the sky but see no other dragons.
I hold onto the saddle for dear life, trying not to look down too much as nausea rises.
“Hold on,” is the only warning I get before I’m screaming. Drogonah has tucked his wings in, close to his body and then we’re diving, headfirst.
The ground is coming closer and closer, and I scream again, my hands scrambling for purchase as Rohan lets go of me and the reins. Drogonah’s wings snap out and we land on the ground.
I fall forward from the harsh impact, the front of the saddle hitting my stomach. Rohan leaps off of Drogonah with an axe, rolling to a stand as he lands.
Where did he even get an axe from?
