As in a few chapters back, there is a reference to the book (it's really more of a short story) The Mysterious Stranger, by Mark Twain, in this chapter. I recommend it to each of you as it's highly thought provoking.
This chapter is uber short. Insert grimace here.
Shout-out to my editor in chief Meowki. She's awesome sauce.
Disclaimer: I will claim T.C. That's about it. Brandon Mull owns all!
Drip.
The stagnant underground river was unbearable to all the residents of the prison.
Drip.
It was the excess of several hot springs.
Drip.
Dragons in their natural form emitted waves of heat, so that any time a number of them were clustered near the enclosed space of the cave that hosted the broadest portion of the river, their combined body heat mixed with the humidity of the river produced a sort of sauna.
Drip.
Misery in the dark, damp earth is undesirable. Misery in the dark, steaming earth is intolerable. Consequently, the inmates avoided the area.
Drip.
This is where and why the Father of all Hatchlings chose to relocate to the bowels of the caverns.
Condensation formed on the roof of the cave, which sweated inconsistently off of the stalactites. Gavin found this beyond irritating. The First King claimed it was a tune that added to the ambiance of his archaic home.
Drip.
Gavin really could not stand the reverberation. He would never say so to his Master – firstly because he did not ever dare to inspire a point of contention between himself and his better. Secondly, because his verbal dislike of the noise would simply serve to increase his Master's enjoyment of the irksome sound.
Even now, as he drew further away from it, he could hear it as well as he could when he was directly under the stalactites. There was a possibility that his Master knew of his vexation with the unmelodiousness of the dripping, that he had cast a small spell that caused Gavin to hear it with clarity at all times.
The acrimony of the thought struck Gavin. Was he agitated with his Master? Of course not. Never. His Master had no faults; even his shortcomings Gavin had always opted to overlook out of respect for his king.
Besides, his Master had not informed him of anything other than the time and date for what Gavin had already known was going to transpire.
He had known it would have to be sooner rather than later. His ability to remain in the land of the living depended on it. However, he had hoped it would be somewhat later.
In explanation of the peculiar emotion that was trying to breach the surface of Gavin's disposition, Gavin wrote it off as regret. He had wanted a little more time for Kendra to undergo Stockholm syndrome. A twisted half smile broke out on his face at a mental picture of Kendra submitting before him.
Gradually, the smile faded into a frown.
Forty-eight hours was hardly enough to break such an impetuous girl.
As Gavin headed back up to his lair, with an unusually acute awareness of himself and the setting, he noticed his footfalls were landing heavily against the roughly hewn stairs. Dragging, hesitating, as though he were weighed down by a colossal encumbrance.
Drip, drip.
Gavin muttered a harsh stream of curses. He had to be about a hundred yards away from his Master's abode! Gavin honed in on his musings, covering his ears with his hands like a small child to muffle the dissonance.
Forty-eight hours until Kendra was forthwith bound to him. Gavin did not fully comprehend the particulars of the process. The basics were fairly ingenuous. He would bring Kendra to his Master's home; the ceremony would be performed, Kendra would be made a part of him, and vice versa, and he, Gavin, would thence be a permanent fixture in life.
Gavin stopped to lean against the wall, surprisingly short of breath. He felt his body, though his Master had commanded it to be an older, stronger form than he had previously had, was more unruly than it had been in the past. At least he thought so anyway. His Master had also commanded his memories back to him, his 'spirit', but sometimes Gavin found it harder to remember than others. His last few days at Wyrmroost were plainly affixed in his mind.
Kendra's calling him Navarog had made his head hurt for reasons unknown. That is why he made her refer to him as his alias, Gavin Rose. The name Gavin seemed more natural. This went against all logic. The subservient dragon could not puzzle this phenomenon out – and he had spent many hours trying too.
He had feigned having no trouble recalling his history to Kendra, though in truth the throbbing of his temples, the pulsating of his cranium, he was sure had been audible. The words that poured forth from his lips were automatic, but the images of the past were blurry and veiled with shadow. He had smirked when he thought he should, inserting an exclamation when he ought to have felt indignant, put on at appearing indifferent when the situation being retold caused Kendra to watch him carefully for any betrayal of emotion.
He had faltered only when he came to the part of his death. Still, he had recovered quickly. Based on her reaction, she had been to absorbed in his tale to see how much his recent encounter with the other side disturbed him.
His breathing was shallow. Initially, Satan had contrived the desirable level of detachment in Gavin. With each passing day, that detachment waned. Several hours ago – had it been days now? It was so hard to keep track of time in the hell hole he lived in – when Gavin had argued with Kendra, he had been struck by an epiphany.
In his mind there was a black hole. Like all other black holes in the cosmos, little by little it drew in that which strayed too close to its mouth. Gavin did not stray to close. He avoided the black hole always. He did not want to be slowly ripped apart, as time stood still, atom by atom, till he truly was nothing but a vagrant thought.
Gavin inhaled deeply, in attempt to regulate his respiration. He perspiring down his sides.
He should have bathed in the river. He scolded himself. He had left too soon. His Master would suspect him of bebotherment. Should he return? No, that would be even more suspicious.
Gavin peeled himself off the cold hard wall. He would go out. He would bathe at the base of the falls. He would hunt in the jungle. He would make a day out of his excursion.
Then he would return to retrieve Kendra. He would stay with her until the night came.
He hurried up the stairs until he reached the foyer of his home.
Gavin morphed into his dragon form, feeling fully the release of that soft-skinned cage. In his natural form he felt more right with the world. Taking flight, the cool caress of the wind against his warm scaly body, Gavin made himself forget his worries. Right then, he just wanted to be a wild untamable predator, a mighty dragon, top of the food chain, at liberty to do as he pleased in the abundant wilderness.