Once again they found themselves to be alone on the road. They were heading west but also a bit south too. Griswold was straight north but they were sticking to Avalyn's idea of going the opposite direction. Would they find Avalyn's mother in Griswold? He did hope so, for Avalyn's sake. He wondered if they were being followed and then knew it was probably so—Avalyn was more valuable dead than alive.

He couldn't even bring himself to imagine what would it would be like if she were killed—his mind blocked him from stewing on details but not without a great plummet of his stomach and drying of his saliva.

He watched the land around them cautiously, to keep lookout for any sudden movement. He hoped they would reach a roadside inn before nightfall in order not to have to sleep outside where vulnerable.

Avalyn had been scowling since their departure, deep in thought all the while they had been walking. He wanted to ask her what was the matter but then a thought occurred to him—she hadn't transformed in nearly three days, she must have been growing agitated and thoughts of the white witch surely didn't calm her growing anxiety.

All of a sudden, Avalyn started to hum that tune again, the one he did not know that she had sung while bathing in Scharberlutes and when he found her in the Imperial City gardens.

"You keep on singing that song, what is it?"

She stopped in mid-hum and considered him, "My mother sang it to me. It's a lullaby—and it's often trapped in my head. It has always made me feel better—singing it, somehow letting my mother know that I'm still here—connected to her, though she is not near enough to hear it."

Her words tugged on his heartstrings—so she did carry some hope that her mother still loved her. The song itself seemed to ease her agitation.

"So, Marv called you Ava the entire while we stayed in his company—you never told me you were known by a shortened name."

"I forgot about it, honestly—no one ever called me Ava after I was left with the farmers. It was only an endearment my mother used, and I guess Marv chose to use as well."

Jaythen smiled and wondered, "May I call you Ava?"

"No."

His face fell with disappointment—bitter and bemused. He looked forward and said, "I thought that you trusted me?"

"I do—I just don't want you to call me that."

"Why not?"

"It would make me feel uncomfortable."

"Why?"

She stared at him so hard that he felt like his soul could be laid before her. He suddenly didn't want to know her answer and averted his eyes—she the unspoken victor of the conversation or lack thereof. She was agitated once again—so he thought of a way to distract it.

"So, can you teach me the song?"

She gave him a doubtful raise of her brows, "You sing?"

He shrugged, "Not usually, I'd just like to know it."

She sang it with the words. He realized the tune was short but when he had previously heard her hum it, it was just the same words and tune over and over until she felt like stopping.

The words were very sweet, and had a tone of love in them. No wonder Avalyn kept it close to her heart. She would remember her mother's voice singing those words to her.

"Now you sing it," she demanded.

"I told you—"

"I taught you, so sing it. Do so for I want to know if I succeeded."

He sighed and cleared his throat, to appease her—

"If I had words to make a day for you

I'd sing you a morning, golden and new

I would make this day last for all time

And fill the night with moonshine"

He only sang it once, but raised his brows to hear her judgment.

"Very good," she wore a half-grin.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, thinking of other ways to prolong her transformation, and to keep her preoccupied.

She regarded him suspiciously, "There is no music."

"Ah, well I could hum the tunes like when I first taught you," he held out his arms with an inviting smile, "You know with I teaching you to dance, and your teachings to me for song—I'm sure we could form a rather entertaining duo of minstrels."

She laughed lightly, just the way he had intended her to—and stepped forward into his grasp, with her hand on his shoulder. He took that for consent.

They started off in a minuet, him leading them progressively down the road while managing to sing tune and keep in step. If anything, Avalyn had a real talent for dancing.

When they stopped, she demanded a gavotte and he—although somewhat winded—obliged.

"Now a waltz."

"Oh, Avalyn. We would dizzy ourselves too entirely," he breathed taking a moment to stand still and run his hands through his hair.

"Fine," she simpered and continued forth by herself-dancing alone. At least she was enjoying herself.

They continued forth, Jaythen wondering how he should tell her that the woman in white surely wanted the girl with green eyes rather than her mother. He didn't absolutely know for sure if his suspicions were correct but figured there was a slim chance Avalyn wasn't being hunted.

Avalyn was back to humming, but now to one of the waltz tunes from their engagement celebration and she was dragging a stick along the dirt of the path. Often, she went twirling around in different directions so there was an unintentional but intricate design left in a path behind her.

Abruptly, he grabbed her stick and threw it to the side of the road in a harsh motion.

"What was that for?" Avalyn demanded, not at all in her blithe mood—changing to anger so suddenly.

But he was angry with himself, for not thinking of it sooner and there was probably a few miles of the stick's carved path behind them.

"You're making it easier for her to follow us, do you want to get yourself killed?"

Avalyn's eyes were still angry but he saw a worry show through, "I can take care of myself. If she even dares to hurt me, even if she's a witch, I am greater."

Jaythen sighed crossly, "You think you're all these things but the truth is you are still, deep down, a naive girl who needs protecting. When I first met you, it was only by luck I did not accidentally cut your throat open."

Avalyn bristled with contempt, "I don't need your protection. I can do very well on my own. I always have, I've always had to!"

She marched forward but stopped with a snarky laugh, "Unlike you, I have not been coddled my entire life enough to deny me of my confidence, independence, and bravery."

He furrowed his brow at her extraordinary insult and opened his mouth to retort but she whirled around seething, "If anything my Lord, I protect you and that has been the way since I first met you. You are a fool to debase me, and you are a fool to anger me.

He suddenly feared her skin would rip apart into her beastly form and then snap him in half with one swift bite. The way she glared at him was like acid on his heart. How did things change for the worst so rapidly—from laughing and dancing—to this argument?

But she didn't change, and she didn't eat him. He relaxed his muscles somewhat. She snatched off her amulet though, and then threw it with all her might high into the sky.

Then, right before his eyes, her human shape twisted abruptly. Her body distorted and grew long and lean—covered in gold scales. Talon nails protruded from a massive claw, catching the tiny jewelry onto one. A deafening roar sounded over the vacant countryside. He fell back, terrified. Pieces of her green dress and white undergarments flittered around him as the dragon spread her sail-like wings and leapt into the air, cutting though it sharply and within seconds was not in his vision any longer.

His heartbeat was battering against his chest and eventually slowed but never back to a content pace He realized miraculously, that he wasn't dead—although she had looked angry enough to kill.

Was that it then? Did he anger her enough for her to leave him? Would she ever—if at all—return?

His answer he knew when he picked up a piece of cloth that had been part of Avalyn's bodice—dyed a deep green—that had landed on his shoulder. She was gone.

A heavy sear cracked its way through his insides, deep into his very being. He wished he wouldn't have been so harsh with her, he wished that she would come back. Why did he have to ruin everything?

With a heavy sigh, he picked himself up and adjusted the knapsack on his shoulder. Now the only thing left for him to do was to go home, to return to Wendbury—a place he would most likely meet his true demise.

For the first in his life, the young lord was completely and utterly alone. For the first time in twenty or so days, Avalyn was not just a few steps away.

Even though she was angry, and even though she couldn't know—he hoped with all his heart that she would come to no harm and that she would find Alys.

By midday he crossed a fork in the road, one led further south and one led north. He took the northern path, as it would lead home. He wondered how he should explain himself when he arrived back at the castle—explain how he wasn't dead.

Halden saw there was a dragon, and when he awoke, must have assumed it had eaten me, he thought and chuckled, because Halden didn't know that the dragon was the girl with green eyes. At least he had the element of surprise on his side—perhaps he could scare his cousin by convincing him that he was an angry spirit. That thought garnered a slight smirk to spread across his lips but he realized that his idea was foolish. Avalyn was right, he was a fool.

He had anticipated that he would spend most of his time thinking of Nicolette but could not recall any old memories but the ones he had thought of already. He figured he would have remembered every moment he spent with the princess—the girl he had been in love with—but somehow, his mind had given up on her. It was all because of what the herald had said.

"She is Queen of the Evening Isles," his voice filled with loss, broke through the silence around him—startling himself.

He didn't know much about the evening isles, only that it was a large island with smaller islands from what travelers had told. It exported white gold, delicious spices and many fruits and vegetables. The people were said to be suspicious, modest, upright, and godly.

He remembered his brief glimpse of the prince of the Evening Isles—and agreed that the man seemed to adhere to the stereotype.

Evening had started setting in, but he had not come across a traveler's inn, not that he should try spending any more of his money. At least he wasn't in danger of being set upon by the woman in white now that Avalyn was gone. Still, he would gladly have kept the risk if it meant that she should return.

He grew thirsty but couldn't hear any water running around him. He hauled off the knapsack and looked through it. On top of everything was the folded quilt Marv had given them—and it saddened Jaythen that Avalyn would never have a chance to tug it away from him while he slept. He shook his head and continued to the bottom where the remaining potion vials were.

He grabbed one out and listed on the inscription tag was 'Luck'. He shrugged and threw the contents back into his throat to wash the dryness away. The liquid tasted like strawberries, and while he was at it, made sure to consume every last drop. He licked his lips, speculating how quickly the potion would take effect, as his hair-growth potion took a day.

Well, if it set in quickly, maybe he would find a stream or an inn.

By nightfall, he had found neither.

"Bloody apothecary," he grumbled, searching for a place just off road to sleep. He had been walking all day, he had given up hope on just about everything—the luck potion, Nicolette, Avalyn ever returning, him winning against his cousin, and even sleeping comfortably.

There was a meadow with grass growing partially high, so thieves couldn't see him from the path. He crunched the grass down, and laid the quilt over it and settled onto his back—staring up at the stars. He dug into the knapsack to tear a piece of a loaf of bread Marv had also given them before they left—just in case they weren't to find a place with food. He tossed the bit in his mouth and tried to imagine flying through a vast night sky as a dragon.

Avalyn had once said that it felt amazing to fly, and from the few times Jaythen flew with her as she held him like a piece of prey—he could tell that it was. He nodded off while in his thoughts which turned to dreams.

His eyes snapped open, instinctively—the glow of the moon illuminated a female figure that was staring upon him. She wore a white, silken gown and she regarded him with amusement.

"You," he gasped, sitting up and once, and retreating backward.

"Where is your fiancée?"

"You won't find her. You won't hurt her."

She stepped forward and leaned over—close—her dark eyes searching him with a glint of innocence that they both knew she didn't ever possess. He noticed her body, it's shape, and her eerie beauty—eyes so dark of a brown they might have been black, and her even darker locks of hair, that spilled over her shoulders and barely brushed his shoulder from where he was sitting.

"What makes you think I would hurt her?"

She must have been tricking him, luring him to say what Avalyn really was.

"I know what you are, and what you want."

"Oh?"

He only nodded, eyeing his sword that was an arm's length away. If he was fast enough, he could grab it without being intercepted.

"Well, if that's the matter—" she waved her hand and his sword was pushed farther away, into the grass. She had confirmed it, now he was sure she was a witch and that she wanted to kill Avalyn.

He stood to run, to go after it—as it may have been his only chance for survival but she moved unnaturally fast and took a hold of him, pressing her body into his.

"From the start I knew you weren't betrothed, you both are horrible pretenders—now don't be difficult dear, tell me where she is. Tell me and I will not harm thee." She spoke her words against his neck, horribly taunting the savage, impulsive lust inside of him.

He controlled it though—knowing she was doing it on purpose. He shook his head, refusing to answer—instead asked another, perhaps to distract her because he was good enough at that, "How did you find us?"

He pressed lips swelled into a sly smile as she took his jaw and pulled it down so he had to face her, "I'll tell you, if you tell me where your dragon is."

"You first," he tried to match her smile, but he was a fear short of making it. Admittedly, she did know of Avalyn's nature.

"Very well, in good trust I shall tell you—but be warned I will be very angry if you have lied to me." The most frightening thing about the woman in white was that her tone was always light, blithe, and untroubled for speaking such threats or animosities.

He had lied though. He was just hoping he could stall enough time to grab his sword.

"I followed her song."

Jaythen had to take another look at the woman, because he did not understand.

"A being's voice is as unique as the patterns deep in their eyes—none match it. I used her voice to find her—it was rather easy because she is constantly humming or singing."

"How did you even—" he started in hysterically but caught himself, knowing the answer already. "—Obtain her voice?"

"Scharberlutes."

He knew there was a catch for paying with song instead of gold.

"If you have been following us this whole while, why haven't you killed her yet?"

"Dragons are tricky, and she's a special one—I need her to live, at least for the time being but now she is gone so now I need for you to tell me where she is."

Her grasp on his arm had loosened and with a mighty pull he was free, he dove into the grass, landing next to his sword. Before he could grab it, a weight befell him—wrestled with him and pinned him solidly on his back.

Her raven hair looked disheveled but only a concentrated stare was held in her features—eyes a solid black as the moon could offer no distinction between pupil and iris while her head was lowered and away from the moonlight.

"I don't understand. She is not your beloved; she is a dragon who could at any moment tear a whelp like you to pieces. Why protect her?"

"She's my best friend," he raged, but it cooled as he realized, "and she is gone. I know not where she is."

There. He had told the woman the truth.

"I do think that she will return to you—and when she does you will take your sword and slice her—" the woman in white drug one of her nails across his abdomen which gave him uneasy shivers, "Here."

He shook his head, "I would never hurt her."

She then traced her finger upward, across his chest, over his throat until it touched his bottom lip. She was now smiling a broad, power hungry smile that was reminiscent of his father, "You will."

Then she kissed him—with cold stone lips that chilled him to his toes.

Then, his eyes snapped open again. Again?

He blinked rapidly, many, many times—bewildered—before he realized it was morning. He sat up slowly with a crick in his back, looked to his side and his sword was there, unmoved.

Birds flew above twittering, and morning dew sprinkled the tips of the grass around him, catching the rising sunlight and causing the meadow to look as if it were filled with diamonds.

He shook his head, had the woman in white only been a dream? It felt real though, the struggle, her lips, and his fear.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eye as he tried to reason what it was. Avalyn had mentioned that she had dreams—well—nightmares with the white witch in them. Perhaps this whole experience of the past two days had caused him to think too much about it and he, in turn was having dreams about it now too.

Anyhow, he was glad for it to be over. He packed up the quilt and began to stuff it in the knapsack, but paused and grabbed the small empty vial from inside it—staring at it.

His face twisted into a sneer and he tossed it over his shoulder, "A lot of bloody luck you did."

Oh snaps, Jaythen!

BTW on-topic about Dragons: "How to Train Your Dragon" is an amazing movie. You might think it's a kid movie but I'm 23 and was very impressed at the story, the wit, the depth of the characters, THE MUSIC, and the visuals. If you haven't gotten to see it yet, I highly recommend it :) (plus-it has dragons! yee!)