Page 20 of Foundling

Last was a group of martens in their brown summer coats. They stared at him with their glassy black eyes, little noses twitching as they sniffed. One by one they slipped out from under his wing.

All but one.

One was more cautious, looking this way and that but refusing to leave the shelter of his wing.

Attalus gave a warning growl—he needed to move and find his own shelter. His red scales were more noticeable than even the fox, and he didn’t doubt the gorgoroi would be looking for him.

When the marten still didn’t move, Attalus just shrugged. His wing folded closed creakily, nestling the little creature within the membrane. So long as it didn’t start trying to chew its way out, he could take it with him for now. Perhaps a little morsel for later.

His legs shook violently beneath him, but Attalus forced himself up. His wings wouldn’t lay flat to his sides properly; something was probably broken, but he couldn’t feel it so didn’t care. Tail dragging behind him, Attalus trudged through the devastated forest in search of a safe place to rest.

The venom coursed hotly through his veins. There was an antidote to dragon venom, of course, but he wouldn’t find it outside the Droplets. Without it, there was nothing to do but ride out the fever and pain and hope he survived it.

He wasn’t sure of his chances, given how much Damianos—Demetrios—whoever—had managed to pump him with. He hoped whichever bastard it was looked downright stupid without their missing fang.

Attalus wasn’t sure how long he walked. Every step was arduous, and the ground beckoned him as surely as a siren’s song. He lifted one heavy leg after another, though, determined to not stay out in the open.

The land began to incline, and Attalus followed the ridge of hills north. A hill could be just what he needed, as hills sometimes had—

The yawning mouth of a cave appeared to his right, and Attalus could hardly believe his luck. Limping inside, he didn’t even care that there was probably a bear further in. Within the shelter of the rocks, Attalus finally let himself collapse.

Rolling onto his unabused side, he gingerly probed the bite wound with gentle claws—and came away hissing. The exposed flesh was hot and angry, the cauterization still fresh.

With a mighty sigh, Attalus let his muzzle slump onto the ground at the cave entrance. Here, at least, he might die in peace.

Leita strode into the water, clothes and all. Thalia followed her in, releasing an appreciative nicker as the cool water washed away the worst of the grime.

The wide spot in the stream was deep enough to sit down in and let the water flow around her shoulders. With a flick of magic, Leita cleared the surface of its sooty top layer and plunked her face into the cool relief. Gobbling down great gulps, her parched throat ached with the succor.

Three days it took her to finally put out the blaze. A few hotspots likely lingered, but the remaining forest and wildlife were, for the most part, safe from the fire.

Now they could worry about possible mudslides in late summer and how to encourage new growth next spring.

That sounds like a worry for tomorrow, thought Thalia, dipping her long face into the water. Flicking droplets from her ears, she reminded Leita, You deserve a rest.

You’re right, tomorrow’s for worrying about mudslides. Today, we need to check the border.

Thalia whinnied unhappily, blowing bubbles just under the surface. Since when are you such a responsible monarch? You can rest for a day, Leita. You’ve earned it.

Maybe she had, but that didn’t mean Leita would stop just yet.

It was true that whatever caused the fire was long gone. If they’d set it to weaken the border and pass through undetected, they were likely days away. So, the best, smartest thing Leita could do was investigate and reinforce the border if possible, so that whoever had slipped out couldn’t slip back in.

Plunging underwater, Leita shook out her hair and scrubbed her face before resurfacing. Spitting an arc of water at Thalia, she told her mama mare, C’mon, don’t be difficult.

Me? Difficult? the mare huffed. Never in my life.

Sloshing through to the other side of the stream, Leita slogged up the shore as water sluiced down her soggy body. Thalia followed begrudgingly, stopping to shake out her mane and tail in Leita’s face.

With another flick of magic, Leita expelled the excess water and gave it back to the stream, leaving her clothes fairly dry and her hair nice and fluffy. She itched to unfurl her wings from the little protective bundle they made folded up on her back, but she suspected the dirty air would feel even worse.

They headed upstream toward the border, leaving behind footprints in the ash.

What exactly is it you’re looking for?

Anything, I suppose. A break or proof of wherever it was this person passed through.

Would that leave a sign?