I tried, but it didn't help. Sleeping in the forest was very different from my bed. The ground was hard and lumpy, my skin was painfully hot - even though the sun was no longer cooking me - and those insistent bugs were back. I felt the pinch and slapped, only to do it again on my other arm or leg. When I began slapping more than sleeping, the man beside me groaned and pushed himself to his feet.

Once again, he traveled down to the fire and rummaged in the collection of things set to the side. This time, when he returned, he had a small container no bigger than his palm - which meant too large for mine. He lowered himself to the ground beside me, his tail swishing slowly from side to side without touching the leaves, and raised a brow.

I had no idea what he wanted, so I simply sat up to watch. It seemed that was a sign of approval, because he opened the container and dipped his fingers in, then reached for my arm. When I let him have it, he smoothed the grease over my skin. The smell of it was pungent, like cleaning fluid, which forced me to turn away. That made him smile again.

He didn't offer me the container. Instead, he gestured for me to face him, then he started on my other arm. I couldn't decide if I cared for the attention. It was intimate and personal, but I told myself it was how a mother treated a child and kept still. He leaned closer and wiped a finger over my brow, one across each cheek, then a mischievous grin took over his mouth, and he swiped a line down my nose.

I leaned back in shock, and he laughed. The sound was quiet but still obvious in the night air. It also let me see the gaps in his teeth. There was one on either side where his eye-teeth should be. I sucked in a breath and my eyes went wide. It didn't look like he'd lost them. It looked like the gaps were meant to be there.

His laugh faded, but the smile stayed. The Wyvern lifted his head in question, and I tapped at my teeth in the same location. Slowly, he nodded. With a shift of his jaw, he raised a finger to his mouth and opened it wide enough for me to see. His finger hooked on something and pulled it forward. Two somethings, actually. There, tucked back in his mouth, a pair of fangs had been hidden from sight. A rather large pair.

I'd seen pictures of snakes in one of my books. Most often, they were striking at something. Some were held while their fangs were pressed against a container to be milked. His were the same, but larger. A sheath of skin covered the top, but the needles peeking beneath were white like teeth should be. When I leaned in for a closer look, he laughed again, making the fangs slip back.

He said something to me, but the words were still foreign. It didn't matter; he was still amused. The Wyvern moved his tail, letting it drift over his leg, and gestured to the end. I'd seen their tails before, but unlike the one on the wall of the dining area, his was brightly-colored. The Wyvern crossed his legs, caught his own tail in his hand, and lifted the tip between us. Held before my face like a bouquet, his thumb pressed at it, and the deadly barb slid into view. Where his teeth were like needles, the barb on his tail was like a thin dagger, longer than my hand, but hollow.

Looking at his face, I reached forward, curious - but he held up a finger. Before my eyes, a drop of perfectly clear fluid formed on the tip. He pointed at me, then wagged his finger. When I shook my head in confusion, he wiped the drop from the end, shoved his finger into his mouth, then mimed choking. He pretended to poke his tail at his own hand, and repeated the choking act, then lifted an eyebrow.

When I nodded, accepting he was trying to say the fluid was bad for me, he wiped the tip clean on the flap of his loincloth, then stretched his tail towards me. I'd wanted to touch it, and he was obviously letting me - after making it clear the fluid wasn't safe. They'd said Dragon stings could kill a man, and that had to be what he'd been gesturing about. Like a snake, he was poisonous, and yet he was offering to let me examine that which was different.

Checking his face again, I dared to touch the vibrant skin of his tail. It looked like it was covered in scales, but when my fingers slid over the edge, it was soft, almost like satin. My jaw dropped open in surprise, and I stroked it again, this time with more bravery, letting my fingers move up the length. When he shifted, I quickly pulled my hand back, but he didn't look upset.

He simply looked curious. Flicking his eyes to mine, he lifted his hands to my temple and twined a loose lock of my hair around his finger. "Orin," he said softly.

I shook my head, showing I didn't understand. Once again, he smiled, then shifted back, gesturing for me to lie down again. Unconsciously, my eyes flicked to the darkness over his shoulder. He simply lifted the blade and flicked his tail, proving he would handle the defenses. Uncertain, I looked at him, not convinced I actually understood.

The Wyvern, the most feared of the Dragons, had just tried to explain he'd willingly protect me? Why? He didn't act like he planned to eat me. Did he think I'd act like some wild woman and play the part of his wife if he pretended to be a gentleman? Or maybe, just maybe, this Dragon wasn't actually a monster.

Not that it mattered. My body was exhausted and I needed to rest for a moment before I made my escape. I had to at least try. When he moved away to lean against the tree again, I lowered my head to the uncomfortable pillow. The bugs no longer harassed me. My skin didn't burn as badly. I intended to simply relax, giving my body a minute to stop moving, but before I knew it, I was asleep.

TwentyRymar

When the girl stilled, Zasen gave up his position as sentry and silently slipped down the paltry hill to join the rest of us by the fire. I looked up at him with a smile. Kanik glanced over at the girl. Drozel and Omden? They'd been waiting.

I'd tried talking them down already - something I was normally good at - but this time it wasn't working. Those two had concerns. I didn't exactly disagree with them either. Maybe my best friend had some plan running through his head, but before we went any further, I felt all of us deserved to know it.

"We should be a lot further by now," Drozel snapped as soon as Zasen sat down. "I don't know what you're doing with the Mole girl, but fuck her, kill her, or let's leave her here and get back home already."

"Mole girl," Zasen said, pointing that part out. "Drozel, she's a Mole girl."

"She's also a whiny little bitch who's all but useless," Omden said. "What's your point?"

So Zasen leaned forward, holding his hands out to the dwindling fire, even though it wasn't cold. "Think about it. That girl has been in their base. She's definitely lived underground, if the color of her skin is any indication."

"Before or after the sunburn?" Kanik asked.

Zasen canted his head, admitting Kanik had a point. "Either. I mean, that she got burned so badly while in the shade of the forest?"

"And she speaks nothing but gibberish," Drozel reminded me. "So before you start trying to convince me of some plan to pick her brain, consider that little hiccup first."

"She can learn Vestrian," I offered, trying to keep the peace.

"But will she?" Omden asked. "I mean, the three of you are making a whole lot of assumptions, and for all we know, she's going to run right back to their base and tell them everything."

"Which things?" Zasen asked. "Where town is? That we're venomous? What intelligence can the girl get without speaking our language?"

"Are you sure she doesn't?" Drozel tried next.

I groaned in frustration. "Really? First you complain because she doesn't. Then you say she might? Pick a side."

"No, because both are possible," Omden countered. "Look, Rymar, I know that as a politician, you leave the tactics to the rest of us fools, but looking at all options is the best way to stay alive."

"And," Drozel continued, "either option is possible. Who's to say that girl doesn't understand every single word we say and is taking notes to tell her superiors?"

"Her?" Zasen asked, gesturing to where the girl's form lay sprawled on the blanket. "The same girl who's too weak to walk the whole way without breaks? The girl who looks like she hasn't been fed properly in months?"

"Years," I grumbled, because I'd seen how thin she was when I'd gotten her to eat the sweet potato this morning. "I don't know what they've done to her, but clearly she's in sad shape and needs help."

"And your dick gets hard for anything with a vagina," Drozel shot back.

I flipped him off, refusing to dignify that with any other answer.

"It's not how she looks," Kanik said, breaking in. "Drozel, think about it. They neglected her. For all we know, she's some kind of prisoner they were trying to get rid of. If that's the case, imagine how thankful she'll be for a second chance. If we can convince her to trust us, maybe she'll start talking."

"In gibberish," Omden mumbled.

Zasen sighed and lifted a hand, begging us to pause. "You're all right. My point is she can't do anything. It doesn't matter if she can understand us. That will simply make it easier to get her to talk later. She certainly can't hurt any of us. I mean, you all saw her this morning."

"Slower than a newborn deer," Drozel admitted. "And twice as loud."

"Mhm," Zasen agreed. "So what's the risk? Pretty much nothing. The potential reward? If we can get information about how the Moles work, how to get in, or how to block their firearms?"

"He does kind of have a point," Omden said, looking over at his partner.

Drozel simply sighed. "I don't like it. I don't like her. I certainly don't like how the three of you are being so doting."

"Just trying to make sure she trusts us," Zasen promised. "If giving her some sweet potatoes and water can break her? Why the fuck not?"

"And," Kanik said softly, "look at how she reacted to Omden slapping her this morning."

"The bitch was hysterical!" Omden insisted. "I was trying to snap her out of it."

Kanik just shook his head. "Not that. It was the same when I was pulling the splinters from her feet. She doesn't resist. She didn't even lift an arm to block your slap."

"Because," Omden repeated, "she was freaking out and hysterical."

"I don't think so," Kanik countered. "I say that because she curled up. That girl lifted her arms over her head, put her legs in front of her stomach, and curled into a fetal position. That's a defensive posture, guys. It's what we see in our students who are abused at home."

"Fuck," I groaned. If he was right...