Lavender woke to the smell of damp stone and dragon breath.

  It wasn’t unpleasant. Not exactly. It carried the mineral tang of the basin. Wet rock, the faint metallic taste of freshly disturbed earth. Layered over it was Zemmal, smoke without fire, heat without flame. Like a forge after the hammering stopped.

  She blinked slowly, then immediately regretted it.

  Pain bloomed behind her eyes and down her arms in a hot, throbbing wave. Her hands felt like they’d been crushed between millstones. Which, she supposed, wasn’t far from the truth.

  “Don’t move,” Brute instructed.

  Lavender’s gaze shifted. He was curled against her side, his body warm and solid, pressed close enough that his fur brushed her cheek when she breathed. His eyes were open, and exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t blinked since the lake tried to eat them.

  “I wasn’t,” Lavender rasped. “I was blinking.”

  “That counts.”

  Lavender tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace.

  “Where are we?” she asked, voice thin.

  “Still in the basin,” Brute replied. “But not at the shore.”

  Lavender’s eyes tracked upward. They were under an overhang now. One of the valley’s stone ribs that rose from the earth like a broken spine. Zemmal had positioned himself at the mouth of the shelter, half blocking the opening, his coiled body forming a wall of scales and heat.

  A very irritable wall. Zemmal’s eyes flicked toward her.

  You are awake.

  Lavender swallowed. “It’s my favorite hobby.”

  It should not be, he replied. Dead serious.

  Brute huffed a laugh through his nose. “He means you should be resting.”

  Her brows knit. “He means I should have died.” Zemmal did not deny it. Lavender stared at him for a moment, then let her head sink back against the stone.

  “Comforting,” she muttered.

  Brute’s tail thumped once, dry and unimpressed. “He’s a dragon. Comfort isn’t in his job description.”

  Correct, Zemmal rumbled, as if confirming a fact in a report.

  Lavender’s lips twitched despite herself. The movement tugged at her bruised ribs and she hissed. Brute’s posture changed immediately, rising partway, nose hovering over her hands. His breath slow and careful. Her palms were wrapped in strips of cloth. Some of it her own torn undershirt. The bandages were already stained through.

  Lavender flexed her finger experimentally.

  Pain exploded up her arm. She bit down on a sound and failed. A sharp whimper escaped her before she could swallow it.

  Brute’s ears pinned back. “Don’t do that.”

  Her eyes watered. “I’m just checking if I still have hands.”

  “You do,” Brute shot back. “They’re just… angry.”

  At that, Lavender let out a broken laugh. “I didn’t know hands could be offended.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Zemmal shifted, the stone beneath him grinding softly.

  They are not offended. They are damaged. And you are fortunate the damage is localized.

  Lavender glared weakly. “Thank you, doctor.”

  You are welcome, he replied without a hint of irony.

  Brute snorted. “He thinks that was sincere.”

  “It was sincere,” Lavender argued hoarsely.

  “It was also horrifying,” was Brute’s reply.

  Lavender turned her head slightly, squinting past Zemmal’s bulk toward the basin. Light spilled in from outside, bright and clean, glancing off pale stone. The lake was out of view, but she could hear it. Gentle, lapping against rock, quieter now. Subdued.

  Not singing.

  The absence felt like its own bruise. She swallowed, throat tight. “Is it… still there?”

  Brute didn’t ask what she meant. “Like Zemmal said. Buried, not destroyed.”

  Lavender’s spirits sank. “So it could come back.”

  Zemmal’s tail tip tapped once against the stone. Impatient. Everything buried can return if the earth shifts. But not soon. Not unless called.

  Lavender closed her eyes. “Great. So we just don’t …call it.”

  Brute leaned closer, voice dry. “Yes. Let’s add ‘don’t summon lake horrors’ to your daily routine.”

  She exhaled, the sound half laugh, half wince. “I’ll write it down.”

  Brute’s nose bumped her cheek lightly. “You can’t even hold a pen right now.”

  “Details.”

  There was a pause. One of those quiet spaces that could have become heavy if they let it. Instead, Brute lay back down fully, pressing his side against her again, a steady warmth that soothed the worst of her shaking. Lavender hadn’t realized she was.

  Zemmal remained at the entrance, silent and still, his presence filling the overhang like a watchful cliff. Lavender stared at his back. At the scars along his leg where she’d healed him before. At the subtle way his breathing changed, barely noticeable, whenever she made a sound of pain.

  It was almost… human.

  Almost.

  “You stayed,” she said quietly, surprising herself.

  Zemmal’s head turned slightly, one golden eye visible. You are necessary.

  Lavender’s mouth twisted. “Romantic.”

  Brute muttered, “Careful, Lav. He’ll start writing poetry.”

  Zemmal blinked once. I do not write.

  “That’s a shame,” Lavender said. “I’d love to read your feelings.”

  Brute barked a laugh. “He doesn’t have feelings. He has judgements.”

  Zemmal’s eyes narrowed. Incorrect.

  Brute froze. Lavender froze, too. Even the basin seemed to pause, the distant water quieting as if listening.

  Brute’s ears twitched. “You… have feelings?”

  Zemmal’s voice was slow, deliberate, like he was choosing words that did not exist comfortably in his mouth. I have… loyalty. Obligation. Respect. He paused a moment, And irritation.

  Brute’s tail began wagging despite himself. “Irritation doesn’t count.”

  It is constant. Therefore, it counts.

  Lavender laughed; really laughed this time. It hurt, and she didn’t care. It unfurled something inside her chest that had been clenched since the barrens. Since her father’s death, and the first time she realized the world wanted her quiet.

  Brute nudged her again, gentler. “You did good,” he said, voice low.

  Swallowing hard, she managed to get out, “I almost got you drowned.”

  “You didn’t.” Brute said simply. “You pulled the ground out from under me.”

  Lavender stared at her bandaged hands. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

  Zemmal’s voice rang from the entrance. You did not know you could carry it.

  Her throat tightened. “Is that what this is? Carrying it?”

  Yes, Zemmal replied. And you will learn to carry more.

  Brute let out a theatrical groan. “Can we carry less for one day?”

  Lavender’s lips twitched. “No.”

  Brute gave her a look. “No?”

  She shrugged carefully, wincing. “Apparently I’m the chosen disaster.”

  Brute sighed. “I hate that you’re right”

  Zemmal’s gaze passed between them, and Lavender could have sworn, just for a second, that the dragon’s mouth curved faintly. Not a sneer. Not teeth. Something warmer, foreign, and oddly fragile.

  Lavender shifted her head back against the stone. Outside, the basin’s light stayed steady. No lanterns, no authority, no singing. Just the slow breath of a valley that had accepted them. For now.

  Brute settled fully, his body soothing against hers. She could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, his steady breathing.

  “You’re going to heal,” he reassured her. “Then we keep moving.”

  Lavender’s eyelids drooped. “Bossy,” she murmured.

  Brute huffed. “You like it.”

  She smiled faintly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  Zemmal’s voice came, low and certain. Rest. The threshold will not run from you.

  Lavender let the words sink in. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she believed she might make it there. Even hurt, despite being hunted. Carrying something too big for her ribs. She closed her eyes.

  And somewhere between the warmth of Brute at her side and Zemmal’s shadow at the mouth of the stone shelter, Lavender finally let herself sleep. Alive, held, and unwillingly grateful for the two creatures who had decided she was worth the trouble.

  Thank you for reading my story. I spent a long time working on it and am glad I get to share it with others. Not your speed though? Check out another cool author below to give a try!