I paused as I crested the small hill we’d been climbing, and exhaled sharply. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I looked up at the sun, which was filtering through the treetops, and nodded.

“It’s about noon, I reckon,” I said. “Let’s stop for lunch.”

Kyros groaned as he stepped up beside me. “Finally,” he said; he slipped off his pack, and set it down on the mossy ground with a huff of exertion.

I smirked. “You should really work on your stamina, Kyros,” I teased him. “You get tired way too easily.”

“Well, you try trudging through the woods for days on end without rest, then,” he retorted.

“I have been doing that, haven’t I?” I answered. “I’ve been doing more than you, rather. And we’ve been taking plenty of breaks anyway.”

Kyros grumbled. “Guess that’s true,” he said, sullenly.

I chuckled in response. “I’m going to go forage for some wild vegetables to eat with lunch,” I said. “Can you take the food out of the bags?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded; I nodded back, and waved as I wandered off into the forest.

A normal knight wouldn’t have been able to tell which grasses and berries and roots are edible from those that aren’t edible, or from those that are poisonous; but I’d been taught to do so by my father, who’d been taught by his father, who’d been a farmer before being made a knight. Owing to the extreme poverty which was rampant in the empire, peasants often need to supplement their meagre food by foraging, and that skill had been passed down to me.

As I wandered around, carefully peering at the ground and bushes for traces of anything edible, I thought about Kyros.

The dragon and I had been walking through the woods for the previous three days. It was slow going: the forest was completely pristine, untouched by human hands, so making our way through was quite difficult. We’d resorted to following animal trails whenever we found one heading in the general direction we were moving toward, and that sped things up a bit, but often we had to cut across the underbrush – sometimes literally, with me hacking and slashing with my sword to clear a path on which Kyros could follow.

Truth to be told, he wasn’t that slow, and sometimes we even switched places, with him taking the lead, following my directions. It was just that he was constantly complaining: there wasn’t a single moment when he would just shut up and be quiet, without mentioning how tired he was, or how sweaty, or how wet and miserable (the previous day, when it had rained for most of the morning).

It was almost as if he was a young boy, moping and dragging his feet; not even Edmund had been this annoying during the time we’d been together.

Well, at least I wouldn’t have to be with him for much longer. By examining the map of the Western Reach I’d brought along on the trip, and which I’d recovered from my baggage, I’d determined that we were about a week’s walk from the nearest settlement, a small village: from there I would have actual roads to follow as I made my way back to civilisation. Perhaps I could even buy a horse, or requisition one if no one was willing to sell theirs; I had Imperial authority on my side, after all. (Though I disliked the thought of having to do so, and I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.)

And it was just as well that the trip wasn’t going to take that long. Most of the provisions Edmund and I had bought in the last village we’d visited before encountering Kyros had been in Edmund’s pack: we had maybe ten days’ worth of food left. I’d been afraid they wouldn’t last, actually, since Kyros was a dragon – dragons are known for their voracious appetite after all; but, surprisingly, Kyros only ate about as much as I did. Maybe he only had to fill his (human-sized) stomach, and magic did the rest?

Speaking of which, it was time to get back to him, and eat lunch together: we’d shared meals ever since I’d first met him, and I seriously enjoyed his company.

“I’m back,” I announced, walking around a tree and sitting down on the ground next to the humanoid dragon.

“Welcome back,” Kyros replied. “Here, catch,” he said, tossing me a piece of stale bread: I was caught by surprise, and fumbled with it for a bit, but I managed to catch it before it dropped to the ground.

“Thanks,” I said, biting into the bread.

“And here’s the meat,” he added, handing me a small bundle of waxed paper. “That’s both our portions, so leave some for me.”

I nodded in approval: we’d agreed on how much we would have to eat every meal, to make our supplies last, and I was happy to see he remembered that. “Here’s the veggies,” I said, placing them onto one of our packs, so they wouldn’t touch the ground. “Take half.”

Kyros made a face. “Do I have to? They’re bitter. I don’t like them.”

“They’d taste better if they were pickled, true,” I replied. “But we don’t have anything to pickle them with.” And the pickle jars I had were smashed in the fall, I mentally added, but I didn’t say it out loud: Kyros already felt bad about what had happened, even though it hadn’t really been his fault, so I didn’t want to compound his guilt too much.

Kyros picked up a berry, gave it a tentative sniff, put it into his mouth, chewed, and grimaced. “Bitter,” he repeated. “And sour.”

“But they’re good for you,” I said. “If you eat only meat and bread, it’s going to do a number on your stomach. Eat your vegetables, Kyros.”

He looked at me for a moment, and nodded. “Yes, Dad,” he said with a cheeky smirk.

It was my turn to grimace: that word triggered something in me, which made me feel terrible. Like I’d told Robert weeks earlier, I’d chosen not to have children, because in my opinion, love has to be involved in a relationship; but still, the thought of being a father made me sick to my stomach. The word carried so much weight, so much responsibility with it, I just couldn’t bear the thought.

Would I have liked to have children some day? Sure, if I found someone I loved enough to have them with.

Did I want to be a father? Not at all.

It was a weird contradiction, one which had puzzled me for a long time, and I’d never managed to figure out the reason my brain behaved like that.

Kyros frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You seem upset. Did I do something wrong?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts, and shook my head. “No, don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…” I sighed. “What you said just now brought some bad thoughts to my mind.”

The dragon looked at me, still frowning. “Was that… Um, sorry. I don’t want to repeat it, but was that the thing about… parents?”

“Yes. Yes, it was,” I nodded.

“I get it,” he nodded along with me. “I miss my parents, too.”

Not exactly what I meant, but enough of a distraction to take my mind off what had made me upset. “Yeah. Sometimes, I wish my father was still here, to give advice on what to do. I often feel lost without him.” I paused. “Have your parents been dead long?”

Kyros gave a start of surprise. “What? No. No, they’re still alive. At least, I hope so.”

“Really?” I asked. “But the way you were talking about it…”

“You don’t know much about dragons, do you?” he said with a smile.

I smiled back. “Of course I don’t, you’re the first one I’ve met. I knew nothing about you or your kind before, except for tales and stories, which I realise are far from the truth.”

“Yeah, they are,” the dragon nodded. “You see, young dragons stay in their parents’ nest until they come of age. Then they strike out on their own, looking for a place to roost and for another dragon to mate with; they don’t return to see their parents until they’ve done both.”

I tilted my head and looked at him. “Why? There’s nothing stopping you from going back, is there?”

“There isn’t, true,” he replied. “But it’s tradition.”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them: “Tradition is just bullying from your dead ancestors.”

Kyros looked at me, startled, for a moment, but then he burst out laughing. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? But still.” He chuckled, took a bite of meat, chewed and swallowed.

“Eat your vegetables too,” I said, noticing he hadn’t touched his portion of what I’d foraged except for the very first berry.

“Yes, D– Yes, Adrian,” he replied, and complied. “But still,” he continued, after he’d swallowed his mouthful, “It’s been quite a while, but I haven’t managed to find a good place to nest. Or a mate, for that matter.”

“Well, there’s few of you around.”

Kyros nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But I only have so much time before I start to grow old. I’ve been searching for over five fourteens moonturns, too.”

Hm. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the fourteens?”

“…What?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“I mean, you said ‘five fourteens’ right now. And a few days ago, I asked you something, about the time, I think, and you replied with ‘fourteenths’ back then.”

“Oh, that,” he said. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we dragons have fourteen claws. Four on each front paw, and three on the rear ones. So counting in fourteens comes natural to us.”

“Yes, I see,” I nodded. “That makes sense.”

Kyros sighed. “But still, that’s over a fifth of my life, just wasted, searching for something that may not even be there.”

I blinked. “Wait, hold on. Did you say you’ve left your parents’ nest… How long ago?”

“How do you measure time?” he asked, looking at me.

I paused, giving the question some thought. “Well, you see. We have days, one day passes when the sun reaches the same position in the sky from where you started counting from.”

“I know what a day is,” he smiled. “Go on.”

“Just making sure,” I nodded. “Then we have months, which are… probably what you called moonturns? When the moon gets to the same phase as before. That takes about thirty days.”

He nodded. “Then a month is a moonturn, yes.”

“Then seasons, three months long each. Summer, when it’s hot, then fall, winter – the coldest season – and spring. Four seasons, or twelve months, to a year.”

“Yes, I understand,” Kyros said.

“So five fourteens months is… I’m sorry, when do dragons come of age?” I paused. “How old are you, exactly?”

Kyros looked at me, and I could see his eyes were puzzled. He looked away, deep in thought, muttering something under his breath – it looked like he was doing some calculations.

“By your reckoning, I am fourteen and seven and four… years? I think that was. Fourteen and seven and four years old,” he said, finally.

I just looked at him. I started counting on my fingers, and I unconsciously felt my eyes widen as I added up the numbers he’d said.

“You’re younger than I am?” I exclaimed.

The dragon tilted his head to the side. “Maybe? How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-six. That’s… hold on a second,” I said, doing some more calculations in my mind, aiding myself with my fingers once again. “I’m… fourteen and fourteen and seven and one years old,” I said.

“Would you look at that. You’re old,” Kyros said with a smirk.

“Hells,” I hissed out. “I honestly thought…” I shook my head. “You’re just a kid. Well, no, not a kid, really, my squire Edmund is a kid. But I seriously thought you were about my age, give or take a year.”

Kyros was still smirking. “Does it bother you that I’m so young?”

I hesitated. “...A little bit, yes,” I admitted. “I mean, even if you discount the training I did before coming of age… That’s at thirteen for us humans. Fourteen less one.” Kyros nodded, and I continued: “Even if you discount that, I’ve been practising at being a knight for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. To think I almost lost a fight to someone as young as you.”

“Almost?” Kyros asked, one of his eyebrows rising in an infuriatingly endearing manner; I glared at him.

“Yes, almost. The skirmish we had doesn’t really count,” I answered. “My horse bolted before we could really get into the thick of the melee. I’m sure that if we actually fought, I would come out on top.”

The dragon laughed. “Do you want to have another go at me, old man?”

I frowned at his words: being called an old man didn’t sit right with me – I wasn’t that old. Still I shook my head. “No. You saved my life, remember? I won’t fight you until I’ve repaid that debt.

“Okay,” he said, and shrugged. “But I’m always available if you want.”

I chuckled. “Just shut up and eat your food. And your vegetables.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, with a cheeky smirk.

“Brat,” I said, smiling back.

We didn’t speak again until we’d finished our lunch, but it was a companionable silence.

-----

“Alright,” I said, standing up and stretching my legs to drive away the kinks. “It’s about time we got started again.”

Kyros pouted. “Aw, do we have to? I’m still tired.”

“You’re always tired,” I retorted. “And we do have to. If we keep taking breaks, we’ll never make it to our destination, since our food will run out before then.”

“Okay,” he replied, sighing heavily; he stretched his arms, and cracked his shoulders. “Okay.”

I extended a hand towards him. “Come on, up and at ‘em, we’re burning sunlight here. I wanna make it at least another five miles before we stop for the night.”

The dragon nodded, and he grabbed my hand, pulling himself up to a standing position. As soon as he put weight on his left leg, though, it seemingly collapsed under him, and he stumbled forward.

“Careful!” I exclaimed, stepping forward too to meet his fall and grabbing him; he was surprisingly light, so I had no trouble in holding him upright. As I did so, I caught a whiff of his scent – both of us hadn’t washed in several days, of course, and the way he smelled… Not to mention, his skin was really warm.

“Thanks,” he said, shaking me out of my train of thought. “I don’t know what happened, I just… can’t feel my leg.” He paused. “Ow. Ow. Okay, now I feel it. It’s like… It’s as if a wild animal was biting it.”

I smiled. “Oh, I know that feeling. Your leg had fallen asleep, that’s all.”

He looked up at me, a puzzled expression on his face. “How can a limb fall asleep?”

“Well, not literally,” I answered. “It’s just that you probably sat in an awkward position. You pressed on a nerve, or a blood vessel, or something, and you lost sensation in your leg. You can still move it, though it’s not as strong as it would normally be, and you get a stinging feeling as sensation comes back.”

“Makes sense,” Kyros said, nodding. “I never really sat down as a human before, so I don’t know what position is good.”

“Depends on what you’re sitting on, really. And other things. It happens to me sometimes, too, and I know what’s happening.” I paused. “You good?”

“Wait a second,” he replied; he grabbed onto me with his arms, for stability, and shook his left leg a few times, moving it this way and that. “Yeah, I’m good. The feeling’s passed.”

“Okay,” I said; I let go of him and stepped back, watching as he carefully tested his balance, while I rubbed my arm where our skins had touched together; then I realised what I was doing, and turned away. I grabbed my backpack and swung it up and over my shoulders, fastening it to my arms and torso with the straps, and turned back to Kyros: he, too, had picked up his pack, but he was struggling to put it back on. I sighed. “Oh, you’re hopeless. When are you going to learn how to do this?” I commented, stepping towards him, and helping him fasten the straps.

“Never, probably,” he answered. “It’s not like I’m going to need the skill again, after all, so why bother? I have you to help me out, after all.”

“You never know,” I said. “Never hurts to learn how to do something.” I finished strapping the straps and tying the ties, and straightened up. “Come on, let’s go.”

Kyros nodded, and we set off.