Illogically, I wish that the news had come at a better time. Making my way down the mountain in the black of night is less than ideal. I can see my breath fog and shimmer before me. 

I have travelled these paths enough to know how to avoid my former mistakes (namely, dropping into a cavern), but no amount of experience can prepare me for everything. I light a branch with Wart's flame and mutter a spell to prevent it from burning down to the quick. My skin shrinks from the immense heat, but at least there is some visibility.

Cast into flickering shadows, the forest appears alive with movement. The trees seem to dance around me like giddy dryads. The ground feints underfoot. Several times, I stumble and have to balance myself before I can set fire to my surroundings. The Inteans have forgiven me for much, but somehow I doubt that they would be magnanimous with their city in ashes.

Rather than fly, Wart sticks close beside me. After the fright of the bear, neither of us is ready to be apart again. It slows our progress somewhat, but I can hardly resent the minutes if they are the price for my reassurance. The call of the wolves is more menacing without Grif to answer it.

For all of my fervor, my body is not able to keep pace. My legs burn and my stomach growls. Eyes sting, their lids heavy. I am not long able to ignore them. I have gone without food, without sleep, for as long as I can. 

I huddle close to Wart for warmth. I rest my weary head on his leg, and his tail wraps protectively around me. The dragon's barrel chest rises and falls against me. In his steady breaths I pretend I hear the sea. I slip quickly into dreams of it. Of Ohna.

When I awake there is sand in my eyes. Gradually, visions of the beach subside. Birds twitter cheerfully, flitting from branch to branch as they eye me with inquisitive tilts of their heads. Wart registers my movement and gets to his feet, terrifying our curious visitors into flight.

Lazily, he scratches his head against a branch and stretches his wings. A puff of smoke is exhaled as he yawns. His thick tail thumps against the forest floor.

I learn to pace myself, aware that I will never reach them if I am too hasty. It is hard to balance my concern with my reason, but I can no longer afford to be impetuous. I wish Enos were here to tell me what to do. I wish I had listened better to all of the wisdom he had imparted. Fifteen years with him does not seem nearly enough now. I still have so much to learn.

The ground levels, and I follow the sound of trickling water to a stream at the trough of the valley. I fashion a net to catch our lunch and lower it into the stream as I position my feet against a moss covered rock. The algae is slick between my toes, and the crisp coolness of the water soothes my calloused feet.

I trail my fingers in the water. Long legged insects attempt to maneuver the surface. I draw in a deep breath. The croaking of a frog has lured Wart from me, and I lie back against the riverbank, fingers twining behind my head. Blue sky is just visible through the swaying boughs.

By the time Wart returns, our nets are teeming with silver, seething bodies. I have to overcome my inhibitions to prepare them, though the dragon just swallows them whole. My own meal requires a bit more finesse. I prefer, at least, to have the scales and bones removed.

I am not looking forward to the desert, but at least this time I am prepared.

I cake mud onto my skin to spare it the harshest of the sun's rays. Cloth is piled loosely around my head, piled over my shoulders and arms. When we make camp, Wart extends one leathery wing to shelter me. I no longer fear that he will be lost in the storms. 

Unconsciously, I find myself searching for signs of my friends, though the wasteland would have swept clean anything left of them by now. Seeing nothing is almost more reassuring. Still, I keep my eyes trained on the horizon.

At night, I use the stars to guide the way. It is better to travel during these drops in temperature, too, and rest in our self made shade when the sun is at its zenith. Wart burrows beneath the top layer to the cooler sand beneath. Sometimes when we awake, we are covered over with golden grit. We shake free of it as if from the rubble.

A clear sky at night is enough to illuminate the ground, but the coming new moon slows our progress. As every passing evening grows dimmer, I imagine my parents nearing Inte. A lifetime without them should make this easier, but somehow it doesn't. 

I hadn't even thought to leave a message. Will the chief tell them? Will they wait? Will they even care? What if they go out in search of me? Will we miss one another yet again? Gone is any guarantee. In choosing to leave, I have sacrificed any certainty that we will ever meet. But it was the right choice. In that, at least, I have some confidence.

With the darkened moon at my back, I trudge toward Balai, my dragon and my sword at my side. Whatever happens, it cannot be for nothing.