Rest, she said, and the Queen’s advisor simply nodded. There was much else to say about the request, and he would not question the woman’s ability to judge the needs of her body and mind. In truth, he could only be grateful that the woman would not expend their precious few resources on the strange, bubbling bog. As far as he could tell, it wasn’t running, and there was no reason to believe it would seep into their river. Even if it did – the Harthwood was cold, fast, and strong. The wolves were stationed near the headwater, and he was certain it would be able to fight off any infection.

So she moved, and the dragon moved with her in silence. It was a comfortable calm that had settled between the pair of wolves, and for that he was grateful. Kisla did not require constant prattle to fill her ears, nor did she demand the sound of her own voice to prop up self-importance. They trotted along and left the mystery behind them, the bog tucked away in the recesses of Kjors’ mind should the information ever become important again. Until that point, he would not allow it to bother Hearthwood River or its matriarch any further.

Fade.