I’m coming Mara. I shoulder my pack, set my walking stick on the path, and start up the slope.
“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you.”
I jump, my foot catches on a patch of gravel, and I tumble to the ground. My elbow scrapes against a rock as I land hard on my seat.
“Woah there, it’s not safe to be that kind of clumsy on a mountain.” A short woman sits on the ledge above me, kicking her heels.
Riding a dragon is the best way to travel—most of the time. “Karr, what are you doing? This is not Adron city!” I lean over as the dragon touches down on a grassy hilltop. “I’m stopping for a nap.” Karr slurs the last word into a yawn and his purple tongue curls like a cat’s.
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They call us the Misfits. They don’t give us battle armor. Just what we can collect from the bodies of fallen friends and foes.
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