What decent woman keeps a dragon for company?

You had heard it more than once, never to your face.

in passing glances, in the hush that followed your steps through narrow village paths. Sometimes it came from a merchant pretending not to stare, sometimes from an elf lingering too long by the treeline. Always the same tone. Not quite fear, not quite disdain, but something in between.

Xyrelion walked a few steps ahead, as he often did, he did not look back to check if you followed. He already knew. The space between you was not absence. It was understanding.

There had been a time when that space meant something else. Fire against magic. Two beings cornered under the same iron rule of a lord who saw power only as something to own. You had not trusted him then, nor he you. Survival had made the choice for both of you.

Now, the path you walked was chosen.

He slowed. “This will do.” The clearing was subtle, barely more than an interruption in the density of trees. Without waiting for response, he set down what he carried and began assembling the tent.

“You favor open paths too often,” he added after a moment, almost absently. “They make you predictable. And visible." His gaze lifted one, turning one of the branches in his hand before setting it aside with the others.

“Stay within the shade when you can,” he continued, quieter now. “Light draws attention faster than sound.”