[ThorenVald Estate—Morning—Warehouse—Leif's POV]
I woke up to a very serious problem.
I was stuck. Pinned. Immobilized. Alvar's arm was clamped around me like a steel chain, his face buried in my hair. His entire body screamed possessive dragon hoarding treasure—except the treasure was apparently me.
Anyway. I'm used to that.
What I wasn't used to was Sir Haldor at six in the morning, storming out of the village like an avenging god with my crimson baby perched on his shoulder.
"MY BUDDIES WILL CHOP THEIR LEGS OFF," he roared, voice echoing like a war drum. "AND LET THEM RUN ON SNOW WITH LIMPED LEGS!!!"
And somehow—somehow—my crimson pack threw their heads back and HOWLED in agreement.
"…Master," Zephyy said dryly on my shoulder, "are you absolutely certain you're the one who tamed them, and not that lunatic captain?"
I stared flatly at the sight of Sir Haldor marching away with sir Roland like the god of vengeance himself, crimson babies howling in chorus.
