The walk back wasn't long.
But it stretched anyway.
Late afternoon meant long shadows and colder wind. Hearthrun wasn't loud, but it wasn't dead either. Smoke rose from chimneys like lazy punctuation, and the occasional villager gave him a once-over before going back to whatever deeply suspicious peasant things they were doing.
Ashwing kept close. For once, no bounding or tail-chasing. Just silent steps and the occasional huff of warm air against Lindarion's boots.
'…He knows something's wrong.'
Or maybe the dragon was just tired. It was hard to tell. Lindarion still hadn't found the manual for emotionally complicated reptiles.
He stopped just before the inn door. Let the cold sit a bit longer.
Inside was noise. Warmth. The group.
Outside was quiet. Solitude. Suspicion.
His hand hovered over the handle a second too long.
Ashwing nudged it with his nose.
Lindarion sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going."
The door creaked open.
Same room. Same bench. Slightly different energy.
