Deacon followed close behind the man who had introduced himself as Quinn, and felt the presence of his nameless dog. It had never occurred to him to give the dog a title. He had never really thought of it as important.

Quinn stepped into a large room, filled with a glowing light provided by torches and candles set around the walls. Tables and chairs littered the floor, and over in the corner was a large cooking area. Cupboards were built onto the walls, no doubt filled with the essentials with which to nourish the colony.

Deacon sensed that his presence was less than welcome in some areas. In one way, he had provided them with news from the outside. but in another light, he had invaded their lives, arrived uninvited and unannounced. Too sudden for some.

Quinn sat at one of the smaller tables, with less room than the others, pouring himself a glass of some sort of liquid refreshment. He showed the bottle to Deacon, who nodded. Quinn poured a second glass, before knocking his back, grimacing for a moment afterwards.

Deacon slowly sat opposite the mysterious leader of this colony, and picked up the glass, smelling it discreetly.

It reeked, but, with a shrug, Deacon downed the substance with one gulp. The burning hit the back of his throat, and the less than subtle aftertaste set in fast. He coughed once, and laughed.

Quinn grinned. "Strong, huh?"

Deacon nodded vigorously, and asked, "Where did you get it?"

Quinn laughed. "We made it. Don't even ask how. I'm not too sure of that myself. But," he added with a sigh, "it works. Numbs the senses pretty damn fast too." He laughed again.

Deacon smiled.

"So," Quinn began, pouring another glass for Deacon and himself, "why are you really here? You seem to have something on your mind, and it's not a matter of shelter."

Deacon considered Quinn for a moment, and pondered over whether or not he could trust the man. After a few silent moments, he replied, "I came to warn you."

This seemed to grab the Englishman's attention immediately, and the half-smile faded into a sombre expression. "Warn me about what?"

After downing the second glass with a grimace, Deacon bluntly said, "About a dragon."

Quinn laughed suddenly, and knocked back his second glass, quickly pouring himself yet another. How could he stand the substance in such quantities? "A dragon? Well, take a look around, Deacon," Quinn said, emphasising his name, holding the small glass for a while, staring into the liquid, "there are plenty of dragons around already. We don't need you to announce every one's presence." He smiled sarcastically, and drank the drink down. This time, he coughed himself.

Deacon sighed quietly, rolling his eyes at the English sarcasm. "Not just any dragon, Quinn." He emphasised the name too, returning the smug attitude.

Quinn looked him in the eyes, and it seemed the man had been right about the power of the liquor. He seemed pretty much half inebriated already. His dark eyes looked distant, and he blinked more often than before, as if fighting the temptation to sleep.

Deacon realised he should just tell Quinn his news before the other man passed out. "A male."

This simple statement clearly sobered the Englishman immediately, and sat up straight, and mumbled quietly, under his breath, "Dammit, I knew it." He turned his gaze back on Deacon, and asked, "Where? And when?"

With a heavy sigh, Deacon let his shoulders slump, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "About." he hesitated, thinking, trying to recall, "three hundred miles from here, to the north."

"Shit," Quinn muttered, biting his bottom lip, and waited for the American to continue.

Deacon didn't disappoint. "It was about. oh, say, two weeks ago. Bastard nearly got me five times. He's fast. big."

A little too suddenly, Quinn said, "We've dealt with a male before."

"We?" Deacon repeated, and continued, "All I've seen are children so far. You take them to hunt, do you?"

Quinn glared, and bluntly replied, "Me and my wife."

A wife? Deacon hadn't been expecting that. But where else had he gotten the ring on his finger, and what reason would he have had for wearing it?

"You're married?"

"Yes," Quinn replied, taking a large gulp of the alcohol, "for nearly two years now."

"Congratulations," Deacon mumbled, and added, "I didn't even know people still bothered."

Quinn didn't reply.

"So, where is your wife?" Deacon inquired, feeling the need to brighten their conversation from the previous topic about dragons and the like.

Quinn waited a while before replying, "Resting."

Deacon cocked his head.

Quinn continued, "She's pregnant."

Deacon raised a single eyebrow, and again said, "Congratulations. When is it due?"

Again, there was a hesitation, as though Quinn didn't feel it was any of Deacon's business to know such information. He finally said, "In a month, maybe sooner."

Deacon nodded slowly, and reached down, scratching the dog on the top of the head, letting the conversation die right down to silence.