Nevaeha
Nevaeha shuddered under the waterfall. The icy stream pelted her back and head like tiny pebbles. She scrubbed at her skin with a cloth she'd found stuffed in the bottom of her saddlebag, trying to wash away the grime. Including the ash and blood of a fallen city and a dead friend.
She was careful about cleaning the wound on her neck from when Kenji had sank his teeth into her.
When Scylla needed a break from flying and Nevaeha's stomach growled, she had found a nearby stop with a shower. The bite seemed even worse in the mirror. As deep as her pinky nail, the skin was raw and red and caked with dirt.
Cleaning it had been agonizing.
But the woman Nevaeha had saved from Farina helped clean it for her before going on her way. She hadn't ever learned her name, or maybe she had told Nevaeha and she'd forgotten.
Nevaeha felt the wound beneath the water, her breath shaking from more than the cold. She didn't want to remember the memories, but she didn't want to suppress them either.
She extended a trembling hand toward the shadow hunkered in front of the waterfall. Her dragon whistled, fabric brushing her wiggling fingers. Nevaeha grabbed the offered towel and padded over to a smooth, slippery rock to dry off.
They were still in the common territory, a city above Feras where the annual tournaments were held. The city was far enough from the front to not worry about anything in the forest around her, but too expensive for the few silver she found loosely scattered in her saddlebag.
Warmth heated Scylla's scales like hot stones from a sauna, but icy winds still slipped between the nooks and gaps of her dragon's body.
"Something's coming." Scylla's voice was sharp and alert. Her head tilted, ears angled toward a noise Nevaeha couldn't hear.
Nevaeha fumbled through her bag for clothes. She hadn't risked taking them out early and setting them aside in case a breeze caught them and her clothes ended up floating down the river. Now she wished she had left them more easily accessible.
Scylla hissed and before Nevaeha could even yelp, her dragon scooped up her naked form and weaved through the trees. Nevaeha knew enough not to ask questions. She tried to peer through her dragons' talons, her gaze scanning the few areas she could see in the gaps between Scylla's wings and body. She found slivers of forest and grey light and heard the rush of a waterfall off to her left.
Her dragon froze, her chest barely moving-
Branches snapped. The sound of heavy breathing broke through the silence. It got closer, closer, closer.
Then, there were more. It sounded like a pack of hounds on the chase, but Scylla remained too still for it to be animals.
A flash of shadow ran across Nevaeha's view. Then another. Then several other shadows with jerking limbs. She heard growls and shoved herself into pants, threw on a shirt and as much armor as she could while still confined in her dragon's paw.
Once the voices were gone and the rushing stream of a river and waterfall came back, Scylla set her down.
Nevaeha stumbled into her shoes, her socks half hanging on her feet. Scylla shook and shuffled as she dressed as quickly as she could.
She scrambled up her dragon's side, her bag slung over a shoulder. "Go!"
Scylla shot into the forest. She leapt and gilded wherever she could but the trees were too close together for actual flight.
Nevaeha fixed her bag back onto Scylla's saddle then strapped her sword across her back. Her eyes searched the woods, hearing growls before she saw the Thrawlers.
Scylla circled the group without a word, her head low and steps falling silent. A man fought off six Thrawlers with a stick. Not a stick, she realized. A staff.
He swung it like a sword, connecting with a Thrawler's chin. The Thrawler stumbled but didn't falter. It lunged, teeth bared and shredded fingers reaching for the man's chest.
Nevaeha threw her weight forward and Scylla pounced. Not landing on the Thrawler, but close to it. She swung her tail like a bat, sending several Thrawlers plunging into the forest. She spun, sinking her teeth into another and shaking her head. The body rippled in half, landing on separate ends of the field and twitched.
"You!" Nevaeha shouted to the man. His head whipped around, eyes wide yet focused and strangely calm. "Get on!"
The Thrawlers shifted their attention on the bigger prey. They tried to scramble up Scylla's legs.
A dog-like creature, too large and far too skinny to be a regular dog, jumped onto the one by Scylla's hind leg and pulled. The Thrawler, a man with white hair and a frail body looked down and jumped, falling onto the creature.
The dog leapt back, darting away and behind the man. He was skilled with the staff. Every whirl and strike was precise, his footing was sure and planted in the dirt. But he was too slow and there were too many Thrawlers Nevaeha was kicking down from her mount to just grab the man.
"Grab him," Nevaeha said and Scylla spun, her tail going wide. It sent the Thrawlers flying. She huffed and the man swiftly grabbed his not-dog before Scylla scooped them up and ran out of the forest.
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Scylla touched down in a landing zone filled with bright green grass and sixty feet away from a street. Her dragon waddled out toward the side, past a man waving brightly colored flags to the other approaching dragons.
Nevaeha waited for their new hitchhiker to start shouting but it never came.
She rubbed her face, collecting herself before giving the okay for Scylla to release the man and his not-dog from her talons. Her heart raced as she demounted the saddle and walked around to meet the man.
"Are you okay?" she asked, surprised by the firmness of her voice. A warrior's voice.
The man was already watching her as she rounded into view with dark, solemn eyes. He had rich, earthy skin and short, black hair that curled at the ends. His limbs were long and lean, the muscles hidden beneath pale pants, high-knee boots and a brown jacket that looked like leather but Nevaeha knew it wasn't. With the narrow frame and padded clothing, Nevaeha could tell he wasn't a warrior but he fought like one.
He nodded, eyes shining with gratitude. "Yes, thank you."
His familiar crept behind him, its head low to the ground, dark eyes narrowed to slits. It came up to the man's waist and, like his person, the animal was clearly made to run. Lean muscles showed beneath its brown fur, its pointy ears pushed back along a long, narrow head, its wet nose twitching for a scent.
"How did you find us?" he asked.
Nevaeha's cheeks heated but she lifted her chin and tried to resemble the calm and authority of an experienced warrior. One who deserved to be taken seriously.
"I was traveling back to Khalier when my dragon heard you," she answered. Then, "what were you doing being chased by Thrawlers?"
And what were Thrawlers doing so far into the green zone. The war was two weeks away from here, they shouldn't be anywhere near this city.
His narrow face tightened as wariness washed over his expression. "You're going to Khalier?"
"What's your name?" she asked with equal suspicion.
"Milo." He didn't look much older than her. "And this is Fin."
"I'm Nevaeha," she responded. "This is Scylla."
Her dragon shifted in response, the heat wavering like fire in wind.
Milo glanced at her, his expression unmoving. It was strange to see a commoner so... reserved. "Are you guys really going to Khalier?"
"Yes," she said and wondered if she should have lied. "Why? What's it to you?"
He grimaced and shook his head. "I didn't mean anything about it. It's just-" he considered her "-I'm also going to Khalier."
"Why?"
Milo reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a wrinkled white, envelope. "I need to get a note to someone."
"Who?"
He considered her again and Nevaeha resisted the urge to shuffle. "Why are you going back to the Islands?"
Nevaeha couldn't blame his lack of trust in her. She felt somewhat the same. "The city I was stationed at fell. I have to return to my home and let my commander, or whoever is currently in charge up there, know."
That seemed to loosen Milo's tension. He exhaled, shoulders relaxing, eyes softening with pity and understanding. "I know it may be a lot to ask, but I'm also heading to Khalier, and it would be very much appreciated if I could accompany you."
This definitely screamed murder. "Why? I can do it for you."
He shook his head. "No, I have to see it done personally, no offense. It's just a really important message."
Her eyes narrowed. "Who's it for?"
Milo wet his lips, debating something. "Bram Holland and Norah Crimson."
Nevaeha stiffened. Scylla's wings rustled like feathers.
She knew about Holland from stories around the fires. The man had progressed from footsoldier to Cedric's right hand during the Thousand Year War. And anyone who was anyone knew about the half-breed--the mage.
"Why to them?" she asked. "Why not just text it or mail it?"
He shrugged. "I wasn't told. I just know that this message goes to them and only them and it needs to be as soon as possible."
Nevaeha considered his words with Scylla. "We can take you," she said and his eyes brightened with relief before quickly sealing off. "We'll have to stop by a police station first."
His eyes hardened. "Why?"
"This place is a hundred miles from the front," she told him, scanning the grassy area and the city bustling with people. "Thrawlers aren't supposed to be here."
The walls fell a bit in his eyes. Milo nodded. "Then we can't waste time. Let's go."