Kael's thoughts were cut short when something tugged at his sleeve.
The twig.
He raised a brow, asking what without words, and the aide hissed back in a whisper that was far too sharp for someone clinging for dear life. "You could've warned me that the statues were something!"
He wanted to say that they were—in a sense—but even he couldn't predict when the guardians chose to borrow those vessels. For a century at least, none of them had moved. Still, the mortal kept inching closer, brushing against his arm each time they passed another carved figure, practically bumping into him as though Kael's clothes had suddenly become a shield. It was distracting. Oddly, not unpleasant. So he didn't bother to correct him. Not that he could, since the truth was only meant for seated dragon lords.
Instead, he shifted the topic. "We have a few hours before we have to leave to check on the nest."
The aide blinked up at him. "Huh? We're actually going there?"
"Of course."
