Page 66 of Upon Buried Embers
He turns away and I grip his forearm, my pinky rubbing against the black ribbon wrapped around it.
He stills, looking down at where we touch, and I snatch my hand back when his nostrils flare.
“And they will listen to you?”
“Well, Little Dragon Whisperer, we shall see, won’t we?”
Then he leaves me with a growling dragon at my back as he disappears from sight.
I turn slowly, my palms raised. “Hey… um, Drogonah.” I coo at him. A little fireball appears as he huffs, and I think he actually rolls his eyes at me before closing them, resting his head on the end of his tail.
I look at the stones.
Come on, three seconds of courage. I can do this.
I can get Effy and maybe I can go to the Elven lands, find my family, if I have one. I can be with people like me, learn how to be an elf, not be a slave anymore.
Is that even possible?
Steeling myself, I count to three and pick up a new stone, placing it in front of Drogonah.
“Can you… can you please heat the stone for me?”
Not a twitch.
“Please, Drogonah?”
A snore.
“The longer this takes, the longer I will be here. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
Nothing.
My hands fist at my sides as I eye the other dragons, even the one on its back is peeking at me, wrapping its wings around itself like some sort of cocoon.
They’re like giant house cats or something.
“Drogonah,” I try to say it more sternly, but he just huffs.
Not surprising, I’m probably as big of a threat as a mouse.
“Okay then.” I sit down and fold my arms. “I guess I’ll stay here and annoy you then.”
Or get eaten.
I don’t think the odds are in my favor.
Eighteen
Elf
Rohan showed me that under the hill his home is built on, there’s a doorway at the back. Inside, there are small, knee-high pillars where I’m supposed to place the heat stones.
On all fourteen of them.
Once in place, apparently the heat rises and helps warm his home above us. I’ve never seen something so clever, but I have to be quick getting the stones here before they go cold.
I would be in awe if I wasn’t carrying my last bucket of many, the wind making my eyelashes feel like icicles.
