the two women again—“we will speak of all of it soon enough. I will tell you everything, and you will tell me your stories.”
“We cannot wait to hear,” Grenda said as she stepped back.
Sigrun, who had quietly stood aside while Leyloni was reunited with her tribe sisters, smiled and gestured for Leyloni and Arysteon to follow as she continued along. She led them across a suspended bridge to a larger, central platform, upon which stood a large hut with a tall thatch roof.
She pulled back the hide flap hanging in the doorway, allowing Leyloni and Arysteon to enter before following them inside. The flap swung closed. It took Leyloni’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the difference in lighting, but what she saw once they did was comfortingly familiar.
As in so many of the huts in her village, this one was built around the trunk of the tree, incorporating the natural wood into the space. Openings on the walls allowed natural light to shine through, creating wide beams of illumination in which motes of dust danced lazily. There were colorful woven rugs and soft furs spread on the floor, with the richest of them arranged in a circle around the center of the room, ringing a firepit with a low-burning fire. Three people sat on the rugs around the fire—two women and one man, all of them sporting the gray hair of advanced age.
“We have new visitors, I see,” one of the women said. She looked up from the basket she was weaving and started when her eyes fell upon Arysteon.
“Elders Katrien, Nelke, and Yulik,” Sigrun said, indicating the elders one at a time, as she moved to Leyloni’s side, “this is Leyloni of the Moss tribe, and the beastman is called Arysteon. He…is a dragon.”
“A dragon?” Yulik, the male, asked. “But he…”
“Appears as a beastman,” Sigrun replied with a nod.
Arysteon released a huff through his nostrils. “I would gladly give you a demonstration of my true shape, but I doubt you would appreciate this building being destroyed. I am a dragon, regardless of what you see.”
“And you…come peacefully?” Katrien asked, squinting at him.
“I do.”
“You may return to your duties, Sigrun. Thank you,” Yulik said.
Sigrun bowed her head. “Father. Elders.” Then she turned and left the hut.
Nelke set aside her unfinished basket, rose to her feet, and walked toward Arysteon, with her long, wispy gray hair flowing freely about her shoulders. Her back was slightly bent, but she seemed to move without trouble. “How did you come to be in this form?” She raised a hand, holding it over Arysteon’s shoulder. “May I?”
Arysteon’s jaw muscles bunched, and he glanced at Leyloni questioningly. His discomfort was clear, but it was also clear that he was more concerned about what she thought—he was more concerned about whether she approved of this.
“It is your choice,” Leyloni said softly.
He nodded and returned his attention to Nelke. “You may.”
The elder pressed her fingers to the hard ridges on Arysteon’s shoulder, running her fingertips along the valleys and peaks of his scales. She cackled with glee. “I have touched a dragon! May luck allow me to live another twenty years!”
Yulik groaned and ran his palm over his craggy face.
Leyloni chuckled, catching the startled but amused look in Arysteon’s eyes.
“And who is this?” Nelke asked, brushing the backs of her gnarled fingers over Serek’s cheek.
“His name his Serek, son of Atalla. He is now mine,” Leyloni declared.
Katrien’s eyes rounded. “A boy?”
“And you have come seeking refuge?” Yulik asked.
“We have,” Leyloni replied. “Our tribes have long been friends despite the great distance between us. But my people…”
“We know, my dear,” Nelke said, placing a comforting hand on Leyloni’s arm, “and we welcome you to remain with us. That you bring two males—one who is a dragon—blesses our tribe with good fortune, but we would have you regardless.”
“Your tribe sisters arrived many days ago and told us what happened,” Katrien said. “Our huntresses have remained vigilant ever since. That is why Sigrun and her party happened across you. We do not know if these Bone Wraiths will journey so far as to enter our land, but if they do, the Snow Trees will be prepared to avenge your people.”
Arysteon stepped forward, and the movement—however simple—commanded the attention of everyone in the room. “You have accepted my clan into yours, so now I may consider all of you my clanmates. You have my protection against any threats our tribe may face. Your fights are my own, and I vow