Bröder wouldn’t leave Obí alone.
And Thæon gets it, he does; Bröder is Obí’s friend too; they have missed one another, not having seen one another for years. But Thæon isn’t known for his patience and it’s a novel sight, Morak says, when he points out that he’s sending his kioea glares because he won’t stop petting Obí’s head and stroking his scales and lifting his voice in a gurgle every time that someone tries to talk.
“Jealousy looks good on you,” Dornan says, under his breath. Thæon not quite in the mood for teasing, fixing a glare on him while the others laugh and Stellan makes a show of introducing himself to the dragon: saluting, bowing, the works. Obí laughs, thunder rumbling in the back of his throat, echoing much the same when Bröder thundered his own happiness, wrapping his trunk around the dragon’s neck and tugging him closer.
He remains stuck to his hip as Stellan leads towards the cottage and to where the other three wait, hushing horse and fyra alike, Ríenn speaking to them all in a low voice to assure them they’re safe.
They continue to flick their ears and scrape their hooves against the ground, nostrils flared and snorting their disdain in a display of nervousness that any creature would in the face of such a mighty beast, but Ríenn’s words are sure and steady, and the beasts don’t bolt through the gap in the broken fence.
She lifts her head, smiling as the others approach, eyes snapping to Obí and his sharp teeth with only a touch of wariness; having grown less shy in the months that she has travelled from Angrenost but there’s a hint of her shyness now.
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