"Hey."

His lungs ached almost as much as his . . . the socket where his eye had been. He hardly felt that anymore. All that was left was the emptiness clawing at his insides and the desperation that kept him clinging to Wolf's hand.

"Come on. I've put together a way to carry him." Kuro wished he had not glanced up at Húli; the wince he gave upon seeing Kuro's face was contagious, and shame burned in his gut. But Húli did not falter, placing a hand on his shoulder and jostling him lightly. "We need to get him somewhere safe."

He knew the fox was right, but his limbs felt like lead. His head throbbed with just the minute motion of lifting it, and it took more strength than he wanted to raise his hand and wipe tears from his cheeks.

Kuro.

The dragon stared at him from Wolf's chest, doleful expression stabbing at Kuro's heart, and he sniffled and relented and pushed himself to his feet. "I know."

Wolf's arm had long since gone limp, its dead weight falling from Kuro's shoulder as he straightened, his back protesting the shift from his hunched position. Glancing at Wolf as he stood was a mistake; the shinobi's expression was relaxed so thoroughly Kuro might have even called it serene, and it was something he had never seen on Wolf's face, not even in the rare glimpses he caught of a smile quirking Wolf's lips or on the scarce occasion Kuro found him asleep. It was the worst part of the whole ordeal - were it not for his slow, labored breathing, Kuro would have thought him dead.

He was not fully convinced Wolf would not die any moment, and the thought spurred him into action.

Wolf was heavier than he looked, Kuro noted idly as he slipped his arms under the man's own and Húli lifted his legs; the shinobi was small for a man, but packed with muscle, and though they struggled to move him the weight was almost reassuring. The stretcher Húli had crafted from a bedroll and the tent stakes was shoddy, but did its job. It held Wolf's weight securely as they lifted it from the ground and started down the road.

And quickly Kuro realized they had to stop, because in his mourning he had yet to learn that one eye simply could not perform the job of two. Gingerly they swapped places, Húli leading, and continued on their way.

It should have bothered him more. Kuro knew that, and the dull ache reverberating through his skull from the blood-caked exposed muscle and torn ligaments was terrible enough it left his whole body weak, but it was as though he was feeling someone else's pain - someone on a different plane of existence than him, someone that just happened to occupy the same space as him. Despite how weak it made his body, how hard it became to think, how badly he wished to cry, Kuro continued walking.

He could not even claim it was out of strength. He knew it was shock; how that realization had yet to break the spell over him, he was not sure, but the void that had replaced his heart and its feelings was far preferable to grief.

The continued walking was tense. Húli was not like Kuro; when his conversational partner fell silent, he did not pick up the slack. The pack weighed heavily on Kuro's shoulders, though with the dragon off of them it was nothing he could not deal with. Even the heat that rose with the sun did nothing to shake him from the blank haze he found himself falling into - though he caught Húli growing more and more sluggish with each hour that passed.

They moved understandably slowly, what with how they were carrying a fully-grown man between them, but they continued moving nonetheless. Kuro could only wonder about the passage of time to Húli; under a distant spell as he was, it was almost as though he blinked and it was sunset, with pinks and oranges reflecting off of low, gray clouds. With no thoughts in his mind, the day had seemed to pass in an instant - and the settlement they were approaching seemed as though it had sprouted straight out of the ground before them, even if Kuro was well aware that was not true.

It was curious, really - the map and villagers had both described it as a little place not even big enough to be called a village, and that was true of the meager few houses, but they had not mentioned the temple. The four or five pitiful little homes took up less space than the old structure tucked into the trees, and Húli glanced back at him with skepticism scrawled all over his features.

"They said it was abandoned," he said, "but they didn't think the giant creepy worship house was worth mentioning?"

Any other day, Kuro might have laughed. Instead he only replied, "Let's go."

It was going to start raining any moment, and indeed as they veered onto the path to the temple a few droplets began to hit Kuro's hands. He watched as one hit Wolf's cheek and considered leaning over him to protect him, but the position was too awkward to maintain while walking, so he gave up quickly.

There was a sensation of being watched as they approached, one that Kuro only noticed when it had grown so strong that Húli's tail puffed up wildly. It looked something like a feather duster, Kuro noted with odd clarity. Coming closer, he could see the temple was old, but strong; old pillars that had weathered many elements still held up the outer roof, and the stone steps leading to its entrance did not appear particularly precarious. On either side of the stairs, however, were seated a pair of great stone lions that Húli froze to stare at. One seemed to be holding a cub under its paw; the other held some sort of ball that seemed sculpted to look like cloth.

"Húli - ?"

"Who goes there?"

And then they sprang to life.

Were it any other time, Kuro might have startled as Húli did, might have yelped or dropped what he was holding or at least even flinched, but the shock that accompanied the lions leaping down from their perches was so delayed Kuro had no reason to act on it. For though the lions grew close, they only circled, varying levels of curiosity and interest on their faces.

"What are you?" Kuro asked, and he did not recall mirroring the Mandarin they spoke, but he must have for they responded in kind.

"We asked first," said the one with the ball, surprisingly petulant despite his low, booming voice, but the other merely cocked her head.

"We have guarded this temple for many years," she answered simply, "and we will for many more."

Húli was still stiff and unmoving, but he was not abandoning them, and that, at least, was a blessing Kuro could count. The lioness with the cub (which had climbed to her shoulders and was gnawing on one ear) paused to Kuro's left, peering down at Wolf - and directly at the dragon.

"Oh," the other said softly, far more meek this time. The dragon raised his head, fixing tired eyes on the lioness.

May we take refuge in your temple?

"We would be honored to aid the King of the Western Sea," the lioness rumbled. Her eyes shifted to Wolf's injuries, then to Kuro's tired, bloodied face, and he had not known a lion's eyes could grow so gentle. "Oh, child . . . come in. Rest."

The lions parted so they could move. Kuro worried Húli would remain frozen, but he did approach the steps - and hesitate.

"What's wrong?" Kuro asked, but Húli only shook his head and peered over his shoulder at the lions. The male one huffed and tossed his head, shaking his mane out.

"Are you going in, or would you rather stay out here in the rain?"

It seemed to be the invitation Húli needed, for he swallowed and started up the stairs. It was difficult to maneuver Wolf up them, steep as they were, but they managed, the lions on their heels. The lion remained out on the veranda while the lioness led them inside the wide doorway, stone creaking and groaning as she moved.

Polished floors had collected a thick layer of dust, and they left behind footprints wherever they walked. Much of the decoration was covered in cobwebs. The interior was surprisingly nice despite it, and Kuro wondered at the contradicting factors and how long it had truly been since this temple was abandoned. Alarmingly, however, there were skeletons inside; four of them, to be precise, huddled in a corner.

"I don't suppose you plan on eating us?" Kuro found himself asking dryly, and the dragon's head snapped up to glare - it was a rather rude accusation for beings that had given him no reason to question them. But the lioness only stared sadly at the skeletons before leading Kuro and Húli to an old fire pit in the floor.

"They took refuge here, like you," she said, "but the things that chased them never left."

It was a sentence that spoke of a longer story, but Kuro could not muster any curiosity. Instead he and Húli gently set Wolf on the floor, and once the fox had the fire lit, Kuro seated himself next to Wolf's unmoving body to wait. Húli plopped down next to him a moment later, posture stiff and eyes determinedly focused on the fire.

Thank you for extending your hospitality, the dragon sighed when nobody spoke, and something that was almost guilt prodded at Kuro's conscience. Guilt that he was being impolite, that he was forcing the dragon to speak when it was working so hard on helping Wolf, but he was done talking. He could not open his mouth to say more if he wanted to.

"My mate patrols the outside, strengthening the ward as we speak," the lioness said in lieu of welcome, and the dragon closed its eyes and rested its head back on Wolf's chest. "Nothing will reach you here."

To Kuro's surprise, it was Húli that made a noise of confirmation this time when no one else stepped in, and the lioness turned to leave. She paused, however, glancing over her shoulder.

"There is a well behind the temple to clean your wounds. Please help yourself."

Her heavy pawsteps and the groaning of floorboards followed her exit until she was out of Kuro's earshot, and the temple was silent save for the crackling fire and the gentle patter of raindrops beginning to sound against the roof. A droplet or two seeped through the ceiling and dripped onto the floor, but it was nowhere near them, so Kuro paid it little mind. The dragon's eyes were closed and its body still, its magic focused wholly on Wolf; all there was left to do was wait.

After what could have been minutes or hours, Húli sighed and stood, and Kuro raised his head to follow the movement. "I'm going to look in those houses for something to patch you up," the fox said, and when Kuro offered a soft hum of acknowledgement he left, bare feet light on the wooden floors.

It was surreal, really, how serene the temple was. Kuro might have worried it was a trick had the dragon not seemed so confident of their safety. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the creaking and shifting of stone past the downpour that was steadily picking up. The only other thing to focus on was Wolf, breathing shallow and laboured despite his otherwise unbothered countenance, and though he knew the dragon was doing its best Kuro still felt tears pricking at his remaining eye when his gaze passed over the wound on his arm.

Wolf had never sounded like that before.

That first time, when Wolf had lost his left arm, Kuro had not been conscious to see it. From what he had heard through Genichiro's gloating, Wolf had hardly been conscious to feel it. Wolf had sustained far worse injuries, as well; though he had cried out before through the deep cuts and visceral stabbings, they had been instinctive noises elicited assumedly against his will, and had never stopped him from fighting back. But the way he had writhed and screamed as though it had woken him from the poison's delirium, a far more terrible sound than one of pain -

Are you ever afraid?

Fear, Kuro could guess, but of what?

Always.

Wolf had thought he was going to lose his other arm.

"Dragon," he blurted, stomach lurching and eye burning, "will he - ?"

He will not, the dragon promised tiredly, the gentle rise and fall of its body the only indication it was the one speaking, and though Kuro's shoulders drooped in relief his lips still quivered and tears still fell. Careful not to jostle the shinobi's arm, Kuro slipped his hand between Wolf's loose fingers and squeezed tight. For a heartbeat, he did not even care if he woke the shinobi, because then at least he would know all was well; it took a moment to compose himself and let go, reminding himself that Wolf desperately needed the rest.

Just as he was wiping tears from his cheek, he caught the sound of little footsteps hurrying up the stairs, followed by a low grumble from one of the lions. Glancing back, he found Húli rinsing his feet of mud using the falling rain before making his way inside with a bundle of damp linens and a bucket of water.

"I found a few blankets," he said, dropping them on the floor by the fire and setting the bucket close to the edge of the pit to warm the water. "This place . . . it's like everyone just left suddenly one day. Everything's untouched."

"I wonder what happened," Kuro mused, more in support of Húli than out of his own curiosity. It was clear Húli could tell, because after a short pause he simply hummed and began to tear a piece from one of the linens, using his claws to help.

"The water hasn't heated yet," Húli said, "but that's more for his sake. Come here."

"I don't - " Kuro began to protest, but Húli silenced him with a glare, so he reluctantly turned to face the fox and sat still as the cold, wet cloth touched his skin.

Húli started at his chin, gently scrubbing away the dried blood and staining the cloth red, then worked his way up Kuro's cheek. The dull ache spiked as Húli grew closer to the socket and the skin pulled and stretched, but at Kuro's small wince he backed off and worked around the area once more until there was no choice but to clean around the socket.

"Do you wanna do this part?"

Kuro shook his head - he did not think he could. Gingerly as he could, Húli attempted to hold the skin he cleaned in place as well as he could, though the area still throbbed enough to squeeze a few tears from his remaining eye. It was nothing compared to the initial pain, though - the thumb digging in, his eye popping out with pressure and a wet squelch, the fingers pulling and tearing until the cord holding it stretched and snapped and spurted blood -

"There," Húli piped up softly, interrupting the memory. He pulled away with a frown, and Kuro hadn't even the energy to be offended - he knew it had to be quite the terrible sight. "That's . . . odd."

"What?" That was not what Kuro expected to hear.

"There's no swelling or bruising," Húli remarked, eyebrows drawing together, "and it looks like it stopped bleeding hours ago. There should still be some trickle."

"Oh," Kuro replied lamely. "That's probably because of the dragon."

Like the last time he was harmed - the injury had undoubtedly occurred, but he had healed nearly instantaneously. With nothing to repair, the eye could not come back, but even with the dragon focusing most of its restorative powers on Wolf, it had still managed to halt any further damage to Kuro with seemingly little effort.

Kuro had never considered how much of a divide there was between heir and retainer until now, where it was displayed clearly before his very eye. After all the effort he had put forth to erase that line between them, to see it still existed was deeply frustrating.

Húli wrapped a strip of cloth around his head, and they turned their attention to Wolf. The water had warmed from its proximity to the fire, so Kuro pulled it away from the heat. Húli began tearing a sheet into pieces and setting them on the bucket's edge as Kuro set to undressing Wolf; the dragon shifted to settle on Wolf's thighs, eyes drooping tiredly, and though it took effort to maneuver the dead weight that was Wolf's upper body he managed to strip him of both haori and shitagi.

He spared only a moment's hesitation longer before setting to work unbuckling the harness and loosening the clamps on the prosthetic as well, delicately setting it aside - with all that had been happening, he knew Wolf had not spared any time taking care of the residual limb, but late was better than never. He could practically hear Aurelio's scolding about how Wolf needed to take better care of himself in general, and it brought a brief smile to his face. If only the inventor could see them now, they would surely get an earful.

It was Wolf's bicep he set to cleaning first - it was what the shinobi would have wanted. As Húli took Wolf's clothes out to clean the blood from them, Kuro gently wiped away as much blood and filth as he could; idly, he noted they both needed to bathe soon, but that was something they could deal with later. Wolf's wounds, unlike Kuro's, still oozed blood, so as he wrapped Wolf's bicep he made a mental note to swap the dressing regularly. The gash on his opposite shoulder was the next stop, but it was surprisingly shallow and needed little attention.

Next was the stab wound just below Wolf's sternum, and as he swapped wet cloths and began to wipe the dried blood away he glanced at the dragon. "What about the poison?"

He will simply have to flush it from his system manually. The statement drew Kuro's attention to the sweat at Wolf's temples and heat of his skin - he had not even thought about it. It has been too long to attempt to cleanse the wound.

Regret stabbed at Kuro's lungs, stealing air from his chest - if he had only come to his senses rather than wallowing in grief, perhaps he could have done something sooner. He had no wish to see Wolf suffering longer than necessary, especially not when he could have prevented it.

Húli was back by the time Wolf's front was clean of blood, and after placing Wolf's clothes near the fire to dry, the fox helped hold Wolf in a sitting position so Kuro could clean the exit wound. And then came the part he had been least looking forward to; reaching for their pack, he procured Joro's sewing supplies, and with as steady a hand as he could muster he began to stitch the many stab wounds shut.

It took overwhelming effort not to allow bile to rise in his throat every time the thread tugged through Wolf's skin.

Relieved to be finished, with Húli's help once more, he wrapped the makeshift bandages around Wolf's torso. A few wraps around, a few loops over each shoulder, and Kuro tucked the end into itself and checked to make sure nothing was too tight. He rummaged through the pack once more, pulling out the tanuki fur Wolf had bought him so many weeks before, and set it out as a makeshift pillow for Húli to gently lower Wolf onto.

It had been so long since then. So much had changed. Kuro was not a wide-eyed, sheltered child anymore.

With nothing else to do, Húli and Kuro settled before the fire once more. Kuro's attention was quickly drawn, however, by the way Húli sat; his back was stiff as a board and his hands politely in his lap, gaze fixed firmly on the fire, and it was more proper than anything Kuro had seen from the fox in the past few days. It was the way he had been conducting himself since they arrived, and Kuro had not even thought to comment on it, but if they were to be staying there for a while . . .

"You don't like it here."

Húli's ears swiveled toward him before his head did. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"But?"

That bushy tail flicked twice against the hardwood, irritation in the motion, but his voice was decidedly calm when he said, "We don't enter temples that aren't ours. I shouldn't be here, especially with shishi at the entrance."

"You don't think they'd hurt you, do you?" Kuro asked, surprised by the notion - they had seemed welcoming enough, if a bit stiff, and had hardly acknowledged Húli at all.

"After inviting me in? Not likely." Húli's eyes lowered from the fire to stare at his hands in his lap. "But I need to be careful how I act. And this is a very nice temple." A pause, a sigh, and then an almost imperceptible, "I wish mine was still . . . "

He trailed off, shoulders drooping so minutely Kuro almost did not notice it. But he did, and after a moment's hesitance he prompted, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Húli slumped further, until only one of his legs was beneath him; the other was bent to his side. "It's a long story."

Glancing at Wolf's unmoving form, Kuro pointed out, "We have some time."

He did not truly expect the fox to speak about it; perhaps one day, he supposed, if Kuro created a welcoming enough environment to do so. But after only a few moments of pause, Húli sighed and drew his knees up to his chest.

"Foxes used to be worshipped here. I mean, it's the same in your homeland, right?"

"Not in Ashina," Kuro replied, "but I think some other places in Japan might."

Húli hummed low in acknowledgement. "Well. I'm sure you could tell I was one of those foxes. Worship got outlawed a while back, though. Didn't stop every human, but it's been slowly closing in. For me, it happened a few decades ago.

"They used to say you couldn't build a village without a fox spirit. My humans were generous - I never wanted anything. I loved them, but I guess they didn't love me back all that much, because when rumors started circulating that I couldn't be trusted and shouldn't be worshipped they dropped me in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I was alone.

"I didn't blame them, at first," Húli went on, though the bitterness that seeped into his tone brought his statement into question. "Anyone can be brainwashed away from the truth. They never tried to chase me off, at least - I guess they were still superstitious enough to want me around. I was lonely, but I couldn't just leave. I had nowhere to go. And the longer that went on, the more children that grew up never even knowing I existed . . .

"Well, I guess that was their mistake. There was a boy - curious little thing. The kids were never taught I existed, so they weren't taught to fear me, either, so this kid goes wandering off one day and stumbles into my shrine."

"Must have been a shock, after so long," Kuro commented, and the brief smile that crossed Húli's lips was a nice respite, but a short one.

"He scared the hell out of me," the fox admitted. "But he was nice, and gentle, and though I'm a bit old to be playing with children, I was just happy to have someone around. So . . . we played. We spent a lot of time together. For a long time, I wondered what parent was just letting him come to my shrine almost daily - there was no way nobody would notice him missing for so many hours a day.

"And then . . . I realized he was alone. He had no one."

The bitterness seeped into anger, and it was contagious - Kuro could not even begin to imagine what kind of person would simply allow a needy child to suffer.

"The village wasn't stepping in to care for him, so I did what I could. He started staying at the shrine full-time, and I started stealing food so he could eat. Funny how that was what got their attention. An orphan in need, a child going missing, neither their problem, but some missing surplus and suddenly they're at my temple with torches and pitchforks."

"They didn't," Kuro blurted, horrified. He was not even sure what he was protesting against - the burning of the shrine? Harm to the child? Harm to Húli? But the fox shook his head, burying a hand in his hair.

"They didn't have to do anything. I - I was furious. It was one thing to turn their backs to me, but another to turn their blades on me." His voice grew quieter. "I lost control. My fire never burned so hot. And he . . . he was inside."

"Oh," Kuro found himself murmuring, "Húli - "

"By the time the villagers had run and I realized what I'd done, he was gone."

With the way Húli's ears drooped and his tail draped limply on the floor, Kuro almost regretted asking. Were it someone else, he would have reached out - patted his shoulder, rubbed his back, even offered a hug - but he did not know the fox, and got the impression he was not the touchy type. Instead they sat in quiet for a long while, Kuro waiting patiently and praying he had not overstepped, until Húli moved again to stare at the fire.

"Is that skull . . . ?" Kuro asked hesitantly, and Húli finally, finally turned to look at him.

"When foxes pray to the moon wearing a skull that fits them," he said quietly, "they gain the power to turn into a human. Before, I wasn't interested; after the humans abandoned me, I couldn't find one that fit. But his . . . "

It was the one that had fit - what a sad coincidence that was. Had the child lived, Húli would not have gained that power.

"Is this - him? Is this what he looked like?"

Húli nodded, averting his gaze once more. The untamed hair, the thin limbs, the baby cheeks - everything but the vivid orange hue of his hair, Kuro presumed, and the green of his eyes. He could change the appearance if he wanted to, Kuro knew, but instead he kept this memento of the child he'd once cared for - this child so close in age to Kuro, this child Kuro undoubtedly reminded the villagers of.

Kuro's heart ached at the thought.

"Well," he spoke up after a moment, "you're here now. They won't trouble you anymore. And in this temple, at least, you're safe."

"Yeah," Húli agreed quietly.

And then there was a roar from outside the temple doors, so loud it rattled the structure to its core.

Húli gave a noise somewhere between a startled yelp and threatened growl, and Kuro nearly jumped out of his skin. Even the dragon jerked upright, eyes wide and nostrils flared as he peered through the doorway to the dark outside, where all they could see were the stone lions' backs facing them.

"You will not enter."

Húli and Kuro shared wary glances; Kuro was the first to rise and approach the door, but Húli was hot on his heels.

"You would deny your kings?"

Kuro froze so abruptly in the doorway that Húli ran face-first into his back, but at the sight that greeted him the fox did not find the words to complain.

Two great dragons, with long, twisting bodies like their brothers, coiled around each other and squished together on the narrow path. One was red like fire, scales glimmering even with the overcast night, with a mane and beard that complemented his scales with a golden hue; the other was blacker than the night they stood in, his white mane and the snowflakes dotting it a stark contrast to his body. The black one appeared to be supporting the red, whose eyes drooped tiredly as they zeroed on Kuro.

"You," it growled. "The heir."

Wolf was not there to ward them off like he had with the Eastern King - but when the black dragon reached out with an enormous clawed hand, it met resistance, stopping short against some sort of invisible barrier as the lions set up roaring once more. Even the cub joined in, little growls ineffective but furious nonetheless.

They could not pass, Kuro realized - the lions had promised protection, after all. Even from the dragon kings.

Kuro, came his dragon's voice, making Kuro turn to meet its gaze, lend me your voice.

It could not move from Wolf's form, but if anyone could defuse the situation it would be the youngest brother. Hesitantly, Kuro nodded his permission and prayed the Western King would not do anything to goad the dragons on their doorstep.

"They are obeying me," came the strange voice from his own lips, and the dragons outside stilled. "What do you want?"

. . . ah. There went that hope.

"Brother," the red one sighed tiredly, and heat washed over Kuro like a summer breeze.

"You would not come see us yourself?" the black one scolded, ice in its tone.

"No."

Well, it was concise.

"We missed you," the summer dragon admitted.

"Do you think me a fool?" Kuro had not known the dragon could sound this bitter. "You miss what I did for you."

Its exhaustion, Kuro realized, must have been from the summer; how long had it been forced to suspend it in absence of autumn? Without the ability to pass the torch along, it had to be sapping everything it had. Despite his own dragon's anger, sympathy flooded Kuro's heart - perhaps they had brought this upon themselves, but it was unfair for only one of them to bear the burden.

"We missed you," the winter one snapped. "Do not villainize us. We care about you."

"You should have thought about that when you cast me out."

The Southern King closed its eyes against the accusation, a soft exhale all but confirming its guilt, while the Northern King puffed up with indignance. It was baiting, and undoubtedly dangerous, but the way Kuro's chest tightened and gaze lowered was not something he commanded his body to do. He could not scold the dragon for speaking from a place of hurt - it would be unwise to scold it at all, but Kuro knew the dragon would never fight it.

"Do not concern yourself with this," he found himself continuing. "I am returning, and you will get your vacation. Leave."

"It will not be that simple, little brother," the winter dragon commented. "In your absence, a filthy thing has moved in - "

"I will deal with it."

"Our eldest brother misses you, too," the summer dragon piped up softly, and that caught Kuro's attention - there was a fifth?

"He can tell me himself!"

Kuro instinctively covered his mouth, shocked by the venom in his tone. Both of the dragons outside, however, winced harshly, looking thoroughly ashamed of themselves. The red was the first to move, but the black moved with it, supporting it as they backed off. The stone lions began to relax, hackles lowering at the lessened proximity, and Kuro watched with baffled relief as the dragons backed down. Under the veil of the rain, they began to fade quickly as they made their way down the path.

The red one glanced back, just barely visible enough to Kuro's eye. "We really did miss you, brother."

And then they vanished into the storm, just as lightning flashed brightly and thunder crashed overhead.

It was long after the dragons had disappeared from sight that the lions fully relaxed, and perhaps a minute more that Kuro found the sense to move his legs.

He had not even noticed Húli making his escape, but as he entered and scanned the temple, he found her as the tiny vixen once more, curled up at Wolf's feet. Her wide eyes peered at him through the skull's sockets, but otherwise she did not move; if she had been scared of the lions, he could only imagine how terrifying it would be to face gods.

"Dragon," Kuro called softly as he approached, but the dragon did not move. Húli gave a little huff.

"I get a nickname, but you still just call him 'dragon?' There's not multiple of me."

It was quiet enough that Kuro presumed he was not meant to hear it, but he shot her a disapproving look anyway before reaching out to stroke the dragon's spine.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No. Curt, simple - and then, It was my eldest brother's idea to get rid of me.

Kuro decided there were some choice words he had to share with this brother if they ever met.