Ealstan understood thelesson. So could a couple of other men in the village. The first person theflickering flames showed him had had his head almost sliced from hisbody by a great chunk that still glittered beside the corpse. There and there, and over there, too.
Master,I am Ealstan son of Hestan, he said. Borsos had just proved he didn't. It didn'tflame, though, which argued it still had a flier on its back: an unrestraineddragon would have vented its fury every way it could. t the happy-go-lucky handful who in the morning refused to worry about the afternoon, let alone tomorrow.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.