A/N: Hi fellas, it's me ya boi, here after a hiatus of 4 years :') good news is that I'm alive! I'm so sorry, I got caught up with life and university and things. Anyway, I do intend to somehow finish this fic, even though I don't have an interest in the fandom anymore. Here's a chapter I wrote long ago and forgot to post. Apologies if the writing is bad or rushed from here on I haven't written anything in 4 years :') To those that still stuck around, thank you very much for your support!
This chapter follows Ryad and another OC, a friend of Ryad's! I actually had Grand Plans for this fic but after my interest died down, I think I'll scale the story down and prioritise completion over complexity. Sorry for the clickbait! And sorry if I under-delivered and this story doesn't meet your expectations :(
Disclaimer: not mine, no beta
Chapter 22
Rivendell
Ryadher attacked the training dummy brutally. Her past few searches around the human settlements where the dragonlings were last seen had led her nowhere. They were often cold trails that were reported weeks too late. Lord Elrond promised to send her on the latest expedition the moment they had more news, but for now, it was just a waiting game.
Who snitched on them? The Dragonkin was supposed to remain hidden for a few more decades, at least. Only the Maiar, the Elves, and a small group of humans had been entrusted with this secret. It was very suspicious. Lord Elrond had spoken of an expedition to check in on all the dragon hideouts scattered throughout Middle-Earth, tedious as it might be. It could be their only way to track all the missing dragonlings from the source. Recently, their letters had not been responded to, which was even more worrisome.
Yet it had been days and he had not yet confirmed anything with her. Years of dealing with that sneaky elf and tingling dragon senses gleefully alerted her that he's withholding information from her. Not that that was anything new, although it sure did not make it any less aggravating.
She gritted her teeth and stabbed the mannequin for good measure. It had been a week! Enough waiting; she was going to corner Lord Elrond until he caved.
"Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!"
The Elven Lord swept past and continued his path towards the Council Room.
"Lord Elrond! I know you heard me, so stop avoiding me!"
He slowed to a halt and sighed. There was no escaping this time, it seemed. Ryadher had been especially persistent the past few days. It was a blessing that he had managed to avoid her for as long as he had so far.
Bracing himself, he turned around and smiled at the simmering dragon-elf. "Yes, Ryadher? It hasn't been my intention to avoid you. You know that I have many important matters to attend to at this time of the year."
You haven't told me everything yet," Ryadher accused.
He raised an eyebrow. "Regarding?"
"The Dragonkin!" she said impatiently. "The humans. You said I would be allowed to go on a tracking expedition to find them."
"Yes," he said, "I do remember promising that."
"So when can I leave? I'm ready," she said, propping her hands on her hip and jutting her chin out. Her eyes glowed fiercely with determination.
Lord Elrond felt fondness and exasperation stir within him. What a spitfire his daughters were, both the adopted dragon-elf and Arwen. He was so proud of them. "Not yet," he said.
Her ears twitched irritably. "Why not?"
"We've received more pertinent information and are verifying them," he said. "And you won't be going alone. A scout will be returning to Imladris to follow you on your journey."
She wrinkled her nose. "Fine. Who?"
He hesitated, then exhaled softly. "Nestriel."
Ryadher recoiled. "Nestriel? As in ruthlessly logical Nestriel who decided to up and leave m- leave Imladris to explore the world indefinitely?"
"Yes," Lord Elrond said patiently, "and I was the one who sent her to the indefinite scouting expedition."
"On her request," she muttered. She shook her head. "Nevermind. Why are we waiting so long for her? I can do without her, or go with another scout!"
Lord Elrond smiled indulgently. "She's one of our best scouts, and both of you are familiar with each other's tracking and fighting style."
"It's been years since we've worked together."
"Then learn that teamwork, again," he said.
She crossed her arms, her foot tapping impatiently. "Fine," she said. "For the dragonlings."
Lord Elrond smiled approvingly. "Very well. She will arrive tomorrow; be prepared to leave the day after."
"You're still withholding information from me," she accused.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to think of the meeting with Galadriel about the Necromancer that he was currently late for. "It'll be easier to brief both of you together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really do have to go." Without waiting for a response, he swept off, hurrying his pace. Gandalf would not be happy if he were any later.
The Dragonkin were always a handful, even one who grew up with an Elven education.
Fine, Ryadher huffed. If being paired with Nestriel was the price to pay for going on this expedition, so be it. The Dragonkin was her utmost priority, especially when it comes to the lives and well-being of her people. To let some petty drama from the past hinder her at this crucial timing was childish.
Nestriel excelled in navigation, scouting, and gathering information through espionage; Ryadher had a solid sixth sense and was good at tracking and hunting. They had good chemistry, but that was before their fall-out. She could see why Lord Elrond would pair both of them together. Despite what Elrond clearly thought, she was capable of separating these matters and working together with Nestriel. Even if she dreaded the idea of seeing her again.
The next day, Ryadher was inspecting her daggers by the fountain when she heard two sets of footsteps approach. Soft murmurs followed down the corridor: Lord Elrond's, and another lilting voice that, despite having not heard in years, was still instantly recognisable. She tensed.
The conversation died down as the footsteps grew louder, only stopping a few steps away from her. Ryadher pointedly continued inspecting the edges of her daggers. She remembered seeing a nick on one of them a few days before.
Lord Elrond gently cleared his throat. "Ryadher, we have a guest."
She looked up. "Oh!" she said, feigning surprise. "Sorry, I didn't notice you were there."
His baleful expression spoke lengths.
Ryadher turned her attention onto the lithe she-elf standing slightly behind Lord Elrond. She was half a head shorter than Lord Elrond, with defined muscles that could be discerned through her green-and-brown riding clothes. Blonde hair let loose in the style favoured by the other elves reached mid-back, shorter than Ryadher remembered them to be. Her nose was crooked - the result of a scuffle with a bear gone wrong, Ryadher remembered - and three jagged scars that were almost parallel to each other curved downwards across her left cheek, narrowly missing her eye.
Ryadher looked at the faded scars with a twinge of remorse before dragging her eyes upwards.
Green slanted eyes stared back at her. "Ryadher," the she-elf said, bowing slightly. "Well met."
"Nestriel." An acknowledgment was all that she said. She looked well. Despite herself, Ryadher felt a sense of relief at that.
"It has been years since we last saw each other. How have you been?"
Ryadher wrinkled her nose slightly, already forming a snide response when she saw Lord Elrond's sideways glance and caught herself. Even though she had told herself that she was mentally prepared to see Nestriel again, actually seeing her after two decades of absence had knocked her off-kilter. "Good," she said.
Silence.
Lord Elrond cleared his throat. Ask her back, he mouthed from behind Nestriel.
Ryadher's smile stretched stiffly. "And you?"
"The same, thank you for asking," Nestriel said with a slight inclination of his head. "I have a gift for you." She dug into her pocket, retrieving an ocarina. With a slight bow, she presented it to Ryadher. "You love instruments, do you not?"
Ryadher's smile faltered slightly before coming back in full force. That's it? She felt disappointed. Her throat constricted uncomfortably. "Thank you, but I cannot accept it," she said, words strangled. "Perhaps another time."
The silence was painful.
"Very well," Nestriel said. If her tone was icier than before, no one commented on it. "I shall hold onto this gift until that time comes. If you'll pardon me, Lord Elrond, I shall take my leave first to freshen up. Shall we meet later at the Dining Hall?"
The Elven Lord, looking exhausted, took a moment to respond. He nodded. "We can discuss the mission in detail over dinner."
Nestriel bowed once more and left.
Lord Elrond turned to face Ryadher, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in mild distress. The significance of a Dragonkin rejecting a gift, especially one known to belong to their hoard, was not lost to him. "Ryadher, you said you would be cordial towards her."
"I was." She said, her voice wavering. "But if she thinks she can just waltz in here and present me with an instrument, and that everything will just be fine after that-"
"Ryadher."
"I promised to be cordial towards her, but I did not promise to welcome her. I - cannot. But rest assured," she gave a lopsided smile, "I won't let it affect my mission."
He pressed his lips together. "I see." Gently, he tilted her chin upwards with one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flitted downwards, away from Lord Elrond's concerned gaze. "It pains me to see both of you like that, Ryad. I hope both of you will finally be able to put the past behind."
She turned away. "Only time will tell."
So much for not getting emotional in Nestriel's presence.
During dinner, Lord Elrond skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the issue at hand. "For the past few months, there have been reports of missing Dragonkin. At first, it was sporadic and infrequent - one dragon per month, in random places. We couldn't find any trends, and they were assumed to be lost, or killed in a freak accident. Rain, flood, fire - it happens."
"No dragon will die in a freak fire," said Ryadher. "That's irony at its finest."
"In human form, even a dragon is susceptible. Especially when they once chose not to reveal the existence of their race. Or, in these cases, unable to." Lord Elrond finished the last of his meal and placed his utensils aside. "They're dragonlings. Young ones, so young that the elven magic of shapeshifting is more binding than on adults. They don't have a choice; they can't shift to their true form at all."
Her grip on her fork tightened.
"The last few cases have been of dragonlings, young enough to shapeshift at will, but still susceptible and malleable at mind. It is mostly the orphans, or those whose caregivers are not of the Dragonkin, that are taken. Dragonlings that are not as well-missed."
Ryadher's expression tightened. The mention of susceptibility of the mind alludes to the worst possible scenario. "You think…"
He raised his hand and she stopped. "Listen first before your mind runs wild, young one. There are three possibilities from here. The first, which had been our guess all along, is that the dragonlings were being captured to become sacrificial beasts for dark magic."
"Yet there have not been signs of dragon remnants - they were just kidnapped, and vanished entirely from the surface of Middle-Earth," Ryadher said. "I tell you, this is unlikely!"
Lord Elrond inclined his head. "Which leads us to the second possibility, which is also one that we've been looking into recently. There is an underground trafficking trade engaging in dragonling trafficking for their prized organs and bones. They capture the most vulnerable ones that can still shapeshift, force them in situations where they're forced to shapeshift..."
"Then gouge out their hearts, skin them for their hide, and eat their liver," said Ryadher flatly. "The bones are used for false oracles, or attempts at dark magic." She pushed away her plate. No matter how many times she had heard it, it still made her sick.
Lord Elrond nodded. This was an old practice, one that he had hoped had become obsolete, but he knew there were still groups who practiced dragon hunting. Even though the existence of dragons were under wraps and they were basically non-existent, some still managed to get their hands on the dragons. The black market was a terrible place, and even Elves could be corrupted if bribed at the correct price. Hiding an entire race, and one so big (literally) was a huge secret that would indubitably be leaked.
"Is there any evidence of this?" Nestriel questioned.
Lord Elrond looked as though he aged a decade. "We found the remnants of some dragonlings in several human settlements," he said, "and traced it to a group of traders who sold fresh dragon innards to several towns, claiming that they have miraculous healing powers. We do not know where they had obtained the meat from, but we can confirm that they had been providing a regular flow of dragon innards to the town."
Ryadher hissed and clenched her fists. "Despicable. How could this have happened? They were supposed to be safe!"
"We do not know-"
"Didn't you interrogate them?"
"They're dead. The dragon-elf who found the group lost his temper and set the place ablaze before we could find out more. Other members, if alive, have not been found." Lord Elrond eyed her. "I trust you will not make the same mistakes, Ryadher." An unspoken "this is why we don't trust the Dragonkin on missions" hung in the air.
She fell silent.
Nestriel gently cleared her throat. "Ryadher has been under your tutelage for years, Lord Elrond. I'm sure she has a better grip on her temper." She kicked Ryadher under the table, and Ryadher nodded sullenly.
"I hope so," he said drily. "There is a third possibility, and a more worrisome one." He hesitated. "This, we do not have concrete evidence yet, but things have not been adding up." He cleared his throat. "We have found the remnants of chains specially made for dragons at orc camps."
"No," whispered Ryadher.
"It is possible," Elrond continued, "that there might be evil forces who are trying to manipulate the dragonlings to do their bidding. The Necromancer is rising, and dark forces are stirring. Morgoth's Servants It is not so far-fetched to believe that their attention has been turned to the Dragonkin, one of Morgoth's Servat
"They want to turn them into mindless, blood-thirsty mounts," Nestriel said, eyes wide.
"It would be like the War all over again," Lord Elrond said.
Slowly, Ryadher set aside her fork. The metal was heating up uncomfortably in her grasp. She clenched her fists, fingernails elongating to talons and digging into her palm. The wooden table under her arm sizzled slightly. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Her anger ebbed away as quickly as it arrived, leaving her feeling exhausted and drained.
"They're only children," she said.
"I'm sorry."
"Children. Why are they doing this to them?"
"There would always be those who seek to harm others for their own gain. This is the worst scenario. I hope it does not come to pass - mainly, for the dragonlings, but also because if it is true, it heralds the rise of greater evil. I fear that it would mean the start of Sauron's reign once again."
"But this is less likely?"
"Speculations, my child, but one that we cannot take lightly." Lord Elrond placed a hand on Ryadher's shoulder, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Take heart, Ryadher. There is still time to save the young ones."
Ryadher lifted her head. "That's why you're sending Nestriel and me on a scouting expedition."
Lord Elrond nodded. "Find out what happened to the dragonlings. Track down the smugglers, find out how they retrieved their information, who they serve, and what happens to the missing dragonlings. Obtain all information necessary, then eliminate them."
"After that?" asked Nestiel.
"After that, you track down the dragonlings, and bring them home." he gently took Ryadher's calloused hands in his. "You come home with them, safely."
"What about those that we cannot save?" her voice was small.
He was silent. "Do what you must," he finally said. "We will have back-up, of course. We are gathering a group of our most trusted elves, dragons and human rangers to assist in this task. However, it would take some time, which is why we need both of you to step in first to gather the information. Send the information back immediately before engaging directly with the enemy," he instructed. "More importantly, fall back if it's too much to handle. Back-up will come."
They exchanged glances and silently agreed to ignore the last part.
Ryadher squared her shoulders. "We leave tomorrow, at first light."
Nestriel and Ryadher rode continuously, only stopping to rest their horses. For the first two days, they ate their meals on the horses' backs. When night arrived, they rested in the open under the stars, snacking on their lembas.
It felt just like before, when they would go hunting and star-gaze together after. It felt just like before, if you replaced comfortable silence with awkward ones, and flowing conversations with stilted, forced small talks.
"I'll keep the first watch, then wake you up three hours later," Nestriel offered. Ryadher agreed and set out her bedroll, praying that Nestriel was not in the mood to chat. Unfortunately, she was.
"How have you been recently?"
"The same, still under Lord Elrond's care."
Nestriel gazed at her. "You've grown."
Ryadher rolled her eyes and turned the other way. "We haven't met in more than twenty years, what did you expect?"
"But dragons age slower, right?"
She considered ignoring Nestriel but decided that would be quite rude indeed. "Yes; 15 human years to one dragon year."
"Yet you look the same."
"Thanks. You too."
The conversation died there.
Ryadher pretended to sleep. It worked.
The next morning was quiet. After breakfast, Ryadher felt bad and decided to reciprocate Nestriel's efforts of talking again.
As they walked their horses through the forest, Ryadher asked, "Is this forest like anything you've visited in the past twenty years?"
If Nestriel was happy that Ryadher was talking to her, she did not show it. "This is but a normal forest, Ryad."
Ryad rolled her eyes, but Nestriel continued before she could come up with a quip.
"I've been to countless gorgeous ones. Woodlands, still brimming with life and green energy. Birds of all colours; waterfalls hidden in the deepest forests; and gentle mammals that move slowly through the woodlands. There was a whole forest filled with moss; one with flowers; and another that seemed to rain eternally."
When she turned around, Ryadher's breath hitched. Nestiel eyes were bright and filled with a dreamy wonder.
Ryadher wondered when was the last time she had seen Nestriel look so alive. When they had both stayed in Imladris all those years ago, the change in Nestriel had been so gradual. She didn't even realise how much quieter and reserved Nestriel had become over the years until the elf had asked to leave. Yet, in that moment, talking about her travels as a scout, she looked years younger, just like the young lass she had met a century ago.
"Middle-earth is huge, Ryad," Nestriel continued. "We can explore until we're tired and there'll still be new things to discover. Eriador, it's-" she shook her head. "It's old, and tired, and stifling. The Woodlands are drained, and we, along with it. Someday, I'd like to bring you there. Come with me next time, Ryad." Her expression was so earnest that Ryadher almost felt bad for the words already forming in her mind.
"Eriador is past its prime, and so you chose to run away to greener pastures and prettier woodlands, away from your responsibilities, instead of reviving what we have?" Ryadher raised an eyebrow.
The ecstatic expression on Nestriel's face fell immediately. It shuttered, and she put on the formal, stiff facade of an elf again. "No. I chose to explore while still serving my duties as a Ranger. I chose to see for myself the difference between the Woodlands, and then understand what can be done for Eriador. And how to maintain Imladris."
"You chose to leave," Ryadher said quietly. "I can't begrudge you for leaving, nor can I blame you for not reaching out. I'm glad that you love what you're doing now, and I'm glad that you're well. But I wish you didn't come back after two decades of absence and pretend that you never left. To slip yourself back into my life like that, as if you still have a place in it - that's cruel, Nestriel."
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her cowl down over her head and rode ahead.
It was awkward at night. Ryadher took the first watch, and she lay on the grass, watching the stars and listening to the insects around them. Her senses were attuned to detect abnormal movements or sounds.
As such, she was hyper-aware when Nestriel got up and sat next to her.
"I'm sorry," Ryadher said. "For responding to your honest sharing with such negativity."
Nestriel sighed. "You were right though. We never addressed what happened, and I didn't think about how you would feel about me appearing now, attempting to be cordial again, without addressing everything in between. I just-" she exhaled. "I'm sorry. I understand if you want to stay away from me, but I hope we can be friends again, or at least part on better terms."
Ryadher softened, but twenty years of grudge kept her tone stiff. She kept her eyes glued to the stars. "After everything that we said and everything that was done, I don't know if we can ever go back to how we were. Nor is this the right time to talk about it now."
Silence, then Nestriel laughed wryly. "Right once again. You've indeed grown, Ryadher." Her tone was formal once more, no longer as open and honest as it was before. Ryadher felt a tinge of sadness at that - she had liked this open version of Nestriel more than the uptight one. "I apologise. This definitely isn't the time to talk about our personal matters. Goodnight, Ryadher."
Before Nestriel could leave, Ryadher said, "It's not the time to discuss these matters, but that doesn't mean we can't be cordial to each other." She laughed drily. What was she doing? She had loathed the elf for what she had said and done all those years ago. What Nestriel had said, even if they were merely words out of anger, was not acceptable. Yet she, too, had hurt Nestriel with her words and more. And she still lived with the guilt whenever she looked at her old friend.
Twenty years was a long time for a grudge to be held, especially against a friendship that lasted more than half a century. She had thought that it would be more painful to constantly be in Nestriel's company, but now that it was happening, it wasn't as bad as she had imagined it to be. After actually seeing Nestriel again, her grudge felt weak, and to her surprise, her anger was diluted. In fact, her anger had slowly subsided, especially after Nestriel had taken the effort to reach out several times this journey.
It no longer hurt as much as it used to. Perhaps making amends was not a bad idea.
"Maybe we can be friends again, maybe not, but I'd like to find out too, slowly." A pause, then a quiet admittance, "I'll like to get to know you again, and maybe learn about your adventures too."
Nestriel's expression softened. "I would be honoured to exchange stories and knowledge with you."
An olive branch extended, their journey was a lot smoother and enjoyable. Ryadher hated to admit when Lord Elrond was right, but if this was his secret plan to get them to reconcile, it was working.
It took them three more days before they reached their first destination: a human village where several Elven children were reportedly last seen.
Even with her hood up to mask her ears, Nestriel's height and boots attracted attention at the inn. This was no normal lady, the men muttered, and kept their distance from her. She sat at the counter, talking in low whispers to the innkeeper.
"They were trying to be sneaky, that they did," the innkeeper said, "said they're just ferrying their children to visit 'sum relatives in the next town over. But my waiter bumped into one of them and the hoods to one of their charges dropped. And," the innkeeper leaned in conspiratorially, "those were Elven children, that they were. Beaten up, upset looking children. No way they could be normal charges, much less their children."
"And?" Nestriel asked.
The barkeeper blinked. "And what? I can't do sumthin' to stop 'em, especially since they bring business where business ain't often abound. Bad times now, I tell ya. The tides are changing again, things are getting darker. We do what we can to get by."
"Sir told me to tell Gabsy to write to the Elven post to tell you," quipped the waiter. "That's sumthin', if ya ask me." The barkeeper glared at the waiter. "Not that anyone asked me, of course, I misspoke, excuse me missus."
Nestriel flipped the waiter a coin. "For your silence."
The boy scrambled forward to catch it, stuffing it into his pockets before bowing deeply. "Many thanks, Madam, of course Madam, my lips are sealed."
The barkeeper cleared his throat and the waiter took his cue to flee. "Aye, I did send the Elves a letter," he said. "Such information should come at a price... yes?"
Her gloved hand reached into the cloak and the innkeeper rubbed his hands together in anticipation, eyes wide and searching.
"For the dangers taken to pass on the message," he added, and licked his chapped lips. "A huge risk I took."
Nestriel slid a golden coin on the table. "For your efforts," she acquiesced. She added another silver coin on top. "And for your silence."
The innkeeper's eyes bulged out of his head. He almost fell over himself bowing to her over the countertop, hurriedly pocketing the money. "Of course, of course, I saw nothing and said nothing. Not to you, not to anyone, of course, this innkeeper ain't got anything to do besides his business."
"Keep it that way," Nestriel said sharply. "Or else..." Gleaming eyes pierced through the darkness of her cowl and into the innkeeper's soul.
He swallowed.
She leaned forward and tapped her nails against the tabletop. "We'll overlook your inaction just this once." Her voice was almost a purr. "But we won't take kindly to it a second time, Innkeeper Brev, Son of Gar."
The innkeeper paled. He left that name behind a decade ago when he left his hometown.
"Do not try to withhold pertinent information from us for a bribe again, Brev," she continued. "And if you speak a word of this to anyone else..." the threat hung in the air.
"Of course," he said weakly, "anything you say, Madam. I wouldn't dare."
She locked eyes with him for a beat longer.
He tried to hold eye contact but his legs were growing weaker by the second. Finally, he looked down.
"Good. Thank you, Brev, it was a pleasure dealing with you." Her chair barely scraped the floor as she pushed it back.
His eyes remained downcast until he heard the telltale sound of the inn door closing. Then, after confirming that the elf had left, he collapsed on the nearest chair. He gasped and wiped the sheen of sweat coating his brows. His legs were still shaking.
"You good, Sir?" His waiter shouted from a few metres away.
The innkeeper thought of the darkness that lurked in the elf's eyes, a promise of pain if he did not keep his word. He shivered, goosebumps prickling. "I ain't see nuthin', I ain't said nuthin'. Just another day of work, aye, Morris?"
"Aye, Sir." A beat of silence before his waiter replied again, feebly. "Just another day of work."
Nestriel left the inn and approached Ryadher, who stood opposite the inn. Ryadher tilted her head expectantly. "So?"
"Human smugglers with a dozen or more children, heading to the next town." Nestriel pointed to the forest. "They went that way."
Without another word, they were off, tracking their quarry.
As they went through the forest, they saw signs of camps. There were scuffle marks as well, and a few broken chains. Ryadher gritted her teeth and kept moving.
It was a day later when Nestriel and Ryadher finally caught up with the smugglers in the next town.
The smugglers were walking around town, cowls down and masquerading as travellers. Ryadher recognised them by the descriptions given by the innkeeper. She sniffed the air, but she was standing downwind and could not pick up their scents. Something was amiss though. She frowned: where were the dragonlings?
The smugglers seemed to be in a good mood, laughing jovially and shoving each other. When one of their cloaks parted, Ryadher could see a whip, knife and a suspiciously fat coinpurse stuffed into their belts.
They were speaking in low voices, so Ryadher and Nestriel slid closer to eavesdrop on their conversations.
"-good haul-"
"-pesky elven children, almost not worth the trouble-"
"-scary, won't want to deal with them again-"
"-no idea why elven children-"
"-good riddance, I'll say, I hate-"
A shiver ran down Ryadher's spine. With horror, she watched as the smuggler leader called them together. "Good work. Let's celebrate at The Wicked Girl later. Drinks on me! Finally rid of 'em, aye?" With a hearty cheer, they broke apart and went separate ways.
"They sold the dragonlings! We were too late," Nestriel whispered.
"Shit." Ryadher bared her teeth. "I'll catch the leader and interrogate him. Their guards will be down tonight."
Nestriel agreed, and as they turned to follow the leader, the wind shifted.
And on the wind was a whiff of -
Ryadher halted.
Her breath hitched. Blood drained from her face, eyes widening in horror, as she recognised the scent.
Orcs. Dragonlings. Blood, and fear.
The smugglers had sold the dragonlings to orcs.
Their worst fears were confirmed.
End of Chapter 22
A/N: Let me know what you think! I'll really try to update faster but it's my last sem of uni soon, so things are about to get even busier, what with job searching and all :( I feel very bad that I had some setups that probably won't be fully fleshed out now, but I'll try not to leave any loose ends behind. Comments will really be appreciated!
Thank you :)