“Wish me mum could see me now,” Slat sighed, luxuriating in his perch atop Zathreigan’s back. “Wager not too many wererats get ta ride a dragon like this.”
“Mind your big head, some of these branches are pretty low.”
Zath quietly prided himself on that comeback. Not that he really minded; he found Slat’s company agreeable as he trotted through the forest. He could walk on his bad foreleg again, too. It had stopped hurting. Of course, that was because he could no longer feel or move the bad paw or digits at all, perhaps that should have worried him… But he didn’t let it ruin his pleasant morning. He’d awoken early, hunted down a buck, and made a meal of it. He hadn’t hunted since his captivity, and it felt good. The last tingles of the collar’s compulsions had faded, and it was time to see Mistress again.
Backtracking wasn’t hard. The trail of a limping dragon wasn’t exactly subtle.
He saw the cart first, still full of turnips and the enchantress’ coffer. As Zath emerged from the tree line, he was pleased to see Mythara on her feet. “Good morning, Mistress. Or do you still not want me to call you that?”
The enchantress sported a long branch in the crook of her arm like it was one of her staffs. Her face was impassive. “Surprised you came back.”
Slat leaned out from behind Zath’s neck. “Aye, same, truth be told.” 
If she was surprised at the unfamiliar rider, she hid it well. She shook her head faintly, unimpressed. “And you are?” 
“This is Slat. I happened to meet him the other day by the river. Someone else Harkham’s used and cast aside.” Zath reached over his head with a wing and shoved the wererat off his back.
“Hey!” Slat fell to the soft earth with a dramatized squeal. “Ouch!”
“Speaking of being used, you’re welcome for the ride. Use your own feet now.” Zath shook himself, and turned his attention back to Mythara.
Mythara ran a hand across her face, covering a brief cringe. Her mouth worked a moment before she managed words. “You leave for one night… and end up with a wererat, of all creatures?”
“I met him in Ballen once before.” Zath huffed. “And I’ll take a wererat over a human any day.” 
Slat chortled. “Aw don’t blame em too hard. They can’t help they weren’t born pretty like us.” 
Zath ignored him, keeping his eyes on Mistress. “You don’t seem angry anymore, at least.”
“Not at you, no.” She glanced away, jaw clenched, expression taut - like she’d just swallowed something unsavory. “I should not have blamed you earlier, regarding my wards. Harkham and his ilk clearly know more than I gave him credit for. But now that you’re back… Did that broken tooth come out yet?”
The tooth? Zath nudged it with his tongue and shook his head. “Not yet. Why…?”
“I’ve said it before. An enchantress without ingredients and tools is nothing.” 
“Mistress…” You aren’t ‘nothing’ to me. He drew the breath to say it, but she moved on before he could bring himself to speak it.
“I’ll see Harkham lives to regret crossing me. Why do you think I chose to live in this valley? This region is full of useful components!” Frustration crossed her face briefly. “Of course I don’t have an etherfont, or my indices , but… I will figure something out.”
“That sounds more like the Mistress I know!” Zath pushed himself to grin. It was good to see her active, but it was clear she was still hurt, unsettled. She’d lost much the air of grace and purpose he’d come to admire so much. It was hard to watch.
Slat sat up with an indignant huff, tufts of dead grass clinging to the mane of hair all the way down his back. “Shrikes and shackles, lady. Some o’ Harkham’s men take better care of their own. Zathy boy here’s loyal to a fault, and yer treating him like a tool.”
Mythara glared sharply at him. “Excuse me?”
“Zathy… boy?” The dragon’s head tipped.
Slat clambered to his feet, tossing hair out of his eyes so he could match the enchantress’ glower. “I can smell that leg rotting from here, and yer worried about a broken tooth?”
“He’s walking on it. That’s an improvement.”
“It stopped hurting,” Zath interjected, lifting the foreleg and shaking the limp, blackened paw. “Because it stopped feeling anything at all.”
“Damn it.” Mythara sighed, setting aside her branch and approaching Zath. “How long did you wear the gauntlet?”
“I don’t know. I blacked out.”
Her jaw was clenched as she ran her fingers along the afflicted leg. She leaned up to murmur to his collar, “Walk at my heel.”
Warmth and lightness spread from the collar, and the trees loomed overhead. Zath could feel his wings pulling into his shrinking body. He reared up to keep his balance, Mythara’s grip on his arm steadying him as he was shifted back to bipedal form. Mythara’s fingers traced along the blackened skin. It sent a cold chill down Zath’s spine, but with Mistress towering over him again… it somehow felt right.
Mythara’s expression was difficult to read at the best of times, but she was clearly conflicted. “Damn it,” she whispered under her breath. The dragon’s tail twitched anxiously as worry began to clutch him too.
“You really are an ingrate, lady,” Slat griped, off to one side. “To take such a powerful, sexy beast and turn em all… man-shaped.”
“You do not even know me,” she snapped at him. “The damage is much easier to examine and deal with at this scale. But it’s far worse than I expected. Do you feel this?”
“No.” Zath swallowed as she kept prodding soft points along his arm. “I know usually I’m… not supposed to ask about these things. But how does a gauntlet even… do this?”
“Usually?” She scoffed. “Nothing about this is usual. It’s an artifact of demon craft from ages long forgotten. It’s a source of abyssal energies. It’s a tremendous power source for those who know how to safely wield it, but exposure to abyssal energies is dangerous to most mortals. Dragons should weather it better… or so I thought.” She bit her tongue, pausing for a fuming breath. “But I was wrong. This exposure will spread like a poison, and eventually kill you.”
“What!?” He tried to jerk his arm away, but she held him firmly in place.
“Hold still! It hasn’t reached anything vital yet, I won’t let you…!” Their eyes locked. Mythara flinched, looked away, and finally released him. She rose to her full height, glaring at the sky.
“Won’t… let me die?” Zath attempted feebly, clutching his bad arm now like it was a snake about to bite him.
Fists balled, Mythara kicked a stone clear across the gully. “Damn it all! If I had my most basic supplies…!”
A loud crunch drew their attention to Slat, over by the cart, biting into a raw turnip. “These are nasty,” he said around a mouthful. “Anyway… why not just steal whatcha need?”
Her expression shifted to disdain. “After all this I’m still not as low as the likes of a wererat.” Her eyes slid to the cart and the coffer inside it. She took a deep breath. “And I’m not a bloody pauper.”

* * * * *

A family sat about a broad crackling hearth. Light had faded from the windows. The man of the house - Bell was his name - sat back with his pipe and watched his children. His girl Celise was sewing up a shirt. The mended seam looked better than new. And Cald, only a year her senior, was carving away at a wood block. A dog, maybe a horse; he hadn’t worked enough detail to tell yet. The shavings dropped into the kindling basket between Cald’s legs. Bell watched his children work and shared a knowing smile with his wife Hester.
A knock came. All four of them sat up straighter, glancing at the door and each other. Eyes wide, Hester wondered in hushed tone. “…Harkham’s men?”
The question hung in the air, along with all the things they’d heard lately. “Upstairs,” Bell waved at his daughter. “Go, Celise. Shouldn’t be any trouble,” he stressed as his eyes fell to his son. “But get granda’s axe. Just in case.”
Cald paled, but he nodded shakily and set aside his carving knife to hasten off to the back room. Bell steeled himself on his way to the front, and his wife caught up quickly with a wick for light.
There were voices outside. He couldn’t make out words, but one was high pitched, whining from the sounds of it. The talking cut off as he neared the door. He put on his best confident face and pulled the door open, thinking he was braced for anything.
In all his years, he never could have guessed what he saw.
Two lizards and a scraggly twig of a boy carrying a heavy wooden coffer. The tall, blue-scaled woman stooped, almost a bow. “I beg your pardon for intruding so late, especially to ask so much of your household. I can pay generously, but I need room and board. And perhaps some basic tools and supplies. My companion has a grave wound.”
It was a lot to take in all at once. The lizard woman’s dress showed off an awful lot of leg, but it was fine cloth, if dirty and rumpled. In stark contrast, the short red one wasn’t wearing a damn thing beyond a thin metal collar. Companion…? Looked more like a slave, judging from posture and bearing. Bell knew enough not to assume that one was female judging from the slit between their legs, though. Their jaw was clenched and they weren’t meeting Bell’s gaze. Presumably the wound in question had something to do with the blackened hand. 
Looking past them, there was a wagon parked down by the road past the chicken coup, but no horse or donkey in sight. Yet another oddity.
Bell caught his jaw hanging open, struggling to process how this bunch happened upon his door. The lizard woman shifted uncomfortably as the silence dragged on.
The man searched for his voice and cleared this throat. “Forgive my asking, but… your folk aren’t seen oft around here, we don’t ah-”
“Haven’t ya heard of the enchantress of Ballen?” Turned out the human was the whiner. He was at least wearing rags, and his hair was a long scruffy mane that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in years. “You’re lookin’ at her!”
He looked human, but he looked like a tramp raised by wolves. Given his companions, Bell wouldn’t even be surprised.
The lizard woman turned a deadly glare on the whiner. The boy hardly seemed phased.
Bell cleared his throat. “Forgive me being skeptical, ma’am. I have a family to protect n’ all.” He could hear his boy coming around the side hall. Cald was many things; quiet was not one of them. The whole situation was so strange. Hopefully they wouldn’t need the axe. “But when all I have is your word…”
“’Bout all Hakrham left her.” The whiner piped up again, barreling up next to the lizard woman. “Burned down her place not two days ago. Wager you might even’ve seen the smoke from here! Please, my friend Zath here is gonna die if we don’t take care of him, and I’d really like to put this down!” The whiner shifted the coffer to rest on his thigh.
Enemies of Harkham? Bell glanced at his wife. It certainly had a ring of truth to it. Bell had little care for politicking, but Harkham’s drive for conquest wasn’t winning him any favors.
His wife piped up, though. “By wound, you mean the red one’s arm?” 
The enchantress answered. “Snake bite. A black syvoran, largest I’ve ever seen. The venom’s gone untreated for days. As I said, I can pay generously-”
Bell waved her down. “I don’t care about your money, lady.” 
The statement shook her like she’d been slapped. Reminded Bell of the snobby rich traders he’d met at Ballen’s markets - the folk who couldn’t conceive of a motive that wasn’t money. He stepped back from the doorway, surreptitiously waving at Cald, hoping he had the sense to put up the ax before their guests saw it. 
The wife cleared her throat. “Not sure what we can do for such potent venom, though, miss. If it’s festered, not much to be done but…”
“I know,” the lizard woman nodded grimly. “I expect you have the… tools. The longer we wait, the more it festers.”
All eyes were on Bell for a prolonged moment, waiting on his final nod of confirmation. Toward his wife he muttered, “Ain’t never turned away folk in need. Won’t have it said of my house.” Then, louder, “Alright, we’ll put you up in the guest room. I ain’t welcoming a stranger into my home without names, though. Bellwight. My son Cald’s in the other room. The missus is Hester.”
The blue lizard lady bowed and introduced herself, Mythara. And the red runt was Zath, the human… if that’s what he really was… what kind of name was Slat? Bell waved them all inside and hoped he wouldn’t regret it. He found the support he needed when he met the missus’ gaze. Any trace of weariness was gone from her eyes. She was steeled for the grizzly business ahead. “I’ll get some rags boiling straightaway. We’ll need plenty of bandages.” She grabbed the front of her skirt and hustled toward the kitchen.
“Head up the stairs,” Bell directed his visitors. “I’ll get tools and be right with you. Cald! Come with me to the shed, boy.”
Cald had the sense to put up the ax, after all. He dashed to catch up with his dad; it hardly winded the lad. For a moment, Bell allowed himself to envy the youth’s energy. A somberness fell over the two of them along the way. 
“Non-humans…” Cald glanced upward. “I guess they aren’t so different from us when they need help.”
“It’s good to be open, son. But it’s also good to be wary. When the wind blows the other way, you just make sure you and your sister stay safe. No matter what.”
“I know dad. I’ll look after sis if they turn out to be dangerous.”
“Good lad.”

* * * * *

Celise gaped when she heard they were putting up the enchantress of Ballen. She barely seemed to register the companions, and visibly had to swallow her awe and glee when the grim purpose of their visit became clear. Mother had as many kettles over the fire as would fit on the spit, to disinfect bandages and tools and make a pain-numbing brew of tea. She tasked Celise with preparing the guests’ sleeping arrangements. 
Wasting no time, Celise tied her hair back and hopped to. Unfortunately, they only had one guest bed. It felt wrong, telling the enchantress she’d have to make do withextra blankets and a quiet corner of the living room. If it bothered Lady Mythara, though, Celise couldn’t tell. She couldn’t read the lizard woman’s expression at all, only receiving an acknowledging nod. With Cald’s help, she made up the guest bed for Zath, then the siblings were ushered out of the room when it was time for the deed. They reached a silent agreement to wait out this particular storm in the living room.
They sat across from each other, taking turns poking the hearth to keep it alive. Didn’t matter that they were downstairs and across the house; they could still hear Zath, even muffled with a mouthful of cloth. At points it sounded like a bestial roar, and some growling too. Brother and sister shared a look. Neither of them would be able to sleep well that night with that sound fresh on their minds.
Cald held his carving loosely, making a cut here or there, but not committing. After the scream stopped, the silence was even worse.
Celise fell back on the awe she’d buried earlier. “Can you believe it? The enchantress we keep hearing about, under our roof.”
“The one you keep hearing about.” He rolled his eyes at his sister. “The blacksmith only mentions her because you keep asking.”
She puffed her cheeks, indignant. “I just like hearing about all the cool stuff she makes! Wouldn’t you love to own something enchanted?”
“What would I do with an enchanted whatzit?” Cald sniped back. “What has she ever done for folks like us? The only ones who can afford it are so rich, enchanting their stuff is the only way to make it more expensive.”
“What about the swords she made for the garrison? I heard they could cut through anything!”
“The blacksmith made those swords and the mayor paid for all of it. Out of our taxes. Fat lot of good it did them; Harkham killed them anyway. Probably gave those swords to his men! Does she even-”
He bit his tongue at the footsteps coming downstairs. Father’s voice and the lizard lady’s traded hushed tones in the entryway. The front door creaked open and slammed shut again. Mother crossed the pool of firelight with a basket on her way towards the kitchen. She paused to give the children a weary, knowing look. “You can’t stay up all night. It’ll be hard, but try to sleep some, alright?”
“Yes mum,” Celise muttered back. She gripped the handle of the poker again, but seemed to lose the will before the tip reached the fire.
Cald scratched an eye into his carving while they waited for mother to pass out of earshot.
“I’d love a color changing dress,” Celise sighed wistfully. “One that could change it to match any outfit, or whatever color I’m in the mood for!”
Cald groaned. “It would just wear out faster if you wore it all the time.”
“Then enchant it to last forever.”
“As if you could ever afford it.”
“I’m daydreaming Cald. Let me have this!”
He dropped the argument and whittled another eye. It was lopsided and he didn’t care. Celise could daydream in silence.
She didn’t stay silent, though. “Something’s off about the other one. Zath.”
“Besides his arm?”
Celise brandished the poker at him. “No! He’s just… not a lizard. Not a normal one, anyway. Lizards don’t have horns.”
“Who made you an expert?”
“Gaela.”
Their cousin who traveled. Cald groaned, but opted not to press the issue.
Eventually, the front door creaked open and shut once more. The lizard enchantress entered their quiet sanctuary. Her eyes reflected the light of dying embers as she regarded the pair. At length, she slumped into father’s chair. She sat at an odd angle, and Celise realized it was because of her tail; she had to wrap it next to her, and it dangled listless, twitching like a dying snake alongside her crossed legs. She rested her head in a hand.
Mythara - Myth was in her very name. And it felt like a myth was sitting there, her exotic figure in blue scales and silk, the way the broad ear-like fins sank the longer she sat. Celise stoked the fire, brightening the room mostly because she wanted a better look.
Cald cleared his throat. “So you… buried the leftovers?” 
She lifted her head to regard the siblings, still cold and unreadable. “Yes. Far away, where it won’t poison your crops. Yes, it’s that dangerous. If you find it, do not disturb it.”
“Zath isn’t…” Celise began slowly. “He’s not even a normal lizardfolk, is he? He doesn’t have fins, he has horns.”
Cald grew more tense with his sister’s every word. “Give it a rest, Cel. What’s it matter?”
The lizard woman’s tail twitched again. “Men grow beards, but you never will. Does that make you different species? Do not be presumptuous.”
“That’s just it, though,” she began as if reading her brother’s thought. “Our cousin is a merchants’ guard. He’s been as far as Shash Aja, and he tells me all about the people and cultures… Lizardfolk don’t have horns. Not one. And wearing ornamental horns is forbidden.”
“Celise! Please don’t bother her.”
Mythara was incredibly still for the entire exchange. She didn’t seem especially angry. If anything, the spark in her eye was amusement. “Wearing horns is forbidden by the Aja, but that’s only one religion. Bear in mind not all conform to such rules; they are hardly absolutes. Still, as it happens, you are correct. Zath is not precisely one of my kind.”
Celise’s eyes lit up, victorious. “Then what is he…?”
“I give up,” Cald sighed. “Sorry about my sister, ma’am, she’s…”
“I’m what, dear brother?”
They both jumped when Mythara moved, but she was just sitting forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Insensitive as she may be, your sister is not bothering me.” Her head swung from sibling to sibling, her ear fins perking up just a little. “A bright young woman full of questions… reminds me of my younger days. But I’ve been places your cousin hasn’t. You’d like a few stories, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re dodging my question.” Celise’s eyes narrowed. “But I can’t say no.”
Cald sighed, “Please don’t encourage her.”
Mythara laughed. It was a weak sound, but it was there. “I can already tell she’s too stubborn for you. There’s no stopping her, I’m afraid. How about a city far to the north called.-”
“How about the place upstairs called bed?” Bell stumped wearily into the firelight, hands on his hips. “ Ol’ Hester will look after your boy. There’ll be work in the morning.”
“Yes father,” Cald said immediately, with Celise echoing him a moment later.

* * * * *

Slat paced in a moonbeam in the kitchen, idly helping himself to a bite of bread. No matter how active he was through the day, he could never sleep at this hour of the night. His nocturnal instincts rebelled, making him restless. So he wandered the house, inspecting each room downstairs, his bare rat feet silent as a shadow. Nobody was awake to complain at him for adopting his preferred form. The rat couldn’t help but note this human family had few trinkets of actual worth. He’d already found the sack of coin hidden in the larder. He hadn’t taken anything - just counted it to pass the time.
Growing bored of the common rooms, Slat climbed the stairs toward the bedrooms. There were three, and all their doors were clustered about the top of the steps. One was the guest room. Slat leaned into the next door, placing his ear to the wood. The heavy snoring was undoubtedly Bellwight. The final door, the siblings’ room, was finally quiet. They’d been up whispering for over an hour.
Slat eased the guest room latch open silently. Moonlight from the window was more than enough for his eyes. The single bed was marginally better than a cot, and a chair was pulled up next to it. Most of the blankets were spilled all over the floor with Zath’s thrashing. The rise and fall of his chest shifted. Slat neared the bedside, head tipped curiously. He whispered low, “You asleep?”
Eyes still closed, Zath shook his head and whimpered. It was a pitiful sound, and Slat found a hard lump in his throat. A dragon having to go through this - it just didn’t seem right. He sighed under his breath. “Thought the woman gave you all that tea to put you under?”
“How long was I…?” Zath’s voice cracked.
“Hardly a few hours. Guess it takes more than some wimpy tea to knock out a dragon.” Slat slid around the chair and leaned over the bed, inspecting the bandaged stub. “You still got an elbow in that mess? I can’t tell.”
“Slat, please…” Zath hissed through gritted teeth. “I really don’t want to think about it right now.”
Slat shook his head, settling back into the chair and putting his feet up on the bed. “Prob’ly best if you just accept it, ya? Me mum would have some pretty smart words, like… I dunno. You may be down by one limb, but you’re no less dragon, right?”
Their eyes met. Zath’s were clearly in pain and, despite Slat’s efforts, defeated. It was pitiful. So incredibly unbecoming of a dragon. But that face was too adorable for Slat to hold it against him. He sighed at his bedridden companion and snatched up the empty cup from the bedstand, giving it an experimental sniff. Smelled foul, but he thought he recognized the herbs from his perusal of the pantry. “Back in a bit.”
Slat wasn’t really one for tea, but he figured the concept was simple enough he could figure out another cup of it. At least, once he figured out what the basket in the teapot was for. He really wasn’t expecting it to take so long to heat up on the hearth. He brought the whole pot up when he figured it was done. Zath lay quivering, and didn’t quite seem to notice his return until Slat knelt one knee on the bed.
“Wha-”
Slat slid an arm behind Zath to eased him a little more upright and pressed the cup into Zath’s hand. “Drink up.”
Zath took a gulp and immediately gagged. “S-Slat…!”
“I wasn’t sure how many leaves to use,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d go with plenty so it’d knock you right out.”
Zath shuddered. “What the human lady gave me was bad, but this is… ten times worse.”
“Sorry.” Slat winced a little in sympathy. “Guarantee same plant stuff went into it though. Drink it anyway. One cup. Ya gotta sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll never make tea ever again.”
“Ya forget yer a dragon or something? Milksop.”
Zath grimaced, but drained the cup into his muzzle and, with visible effort, forced himself to swallow. “Ugh.” He handed off the cup and fell back against the bed with a groan. He clutched the last sheet he hadn’t thrown to himself, shivering.
Slat stooped to pick up the tossed blankets and covered Zath, who gave an appreciative nod. With that done, the wererat stepped back to lean in a corner of the room, beside the window and its ray of moonlight. Tail flicking idly, he watched over his suffering companion. Seriously, what would mum say? He couldn’t help but notice Zath curled into a fetal ball and kept trembling. 
““Yer not still cold, are ya?”
“A bit…”
That didn’t sound good. But having scoured every closet in the house, Slat was confident there wasn’t a single unused blanket left in the house. Well, there was only one thing for it. He stepped into the shaft of moonlight and started stripping out of his ragged tunic and pants. Careful not to jostle the infirmed too much, he climbed into the bed alongside him. The bed creaked, but not obnoxiously; neither of them was particularly heavy. Gently as he could manage, Slat adjusted the blankets over the pair of them and pulled Zath into a embrace, coarse fur on pallid scale.
“Slat… what’s this?” Zath murmured groggily. There was a bit of a smirk to his muzzle, though.
“Just somethin’ my mum would do,” he lied. Mum would probably have some kind of inspiring words, and then kick him back on the street and tell him to suck it up.
“Not something my mother ever…” Zath trailed off, blinking heavily. He pressed his head against Slat’s chest. “…it’s nice…”
He was still shivering, but Slat petted him as the tea set in. It did, indeed, knock Zath out cold. As much as Slat wanted to go burn some more of his restless energy, he fought his nocturnal instincts to share warmth. Admittedly, he quite enjoyed the scales on his body too, and the base of Zath’s tail against his sheath.
Come morning, Zath’s tea-breath could just about murder.
Mythara poked her head in shortly before first light. Seeing Slat in the bed instantly fouled her expression, but she couldn’t complain loudly without waking the injured. While she changed Zath’s bandages, Slat feigned slumber. He thought he was in the clear, until Myth grabbed his ear and drew him out of bed with a painful twist.
“Ssst! That hurts!”
“Put your clothes back on and change back this instant. Downstairs. Now.” She released his ear as she hissed the last word.
Slat huffed, but he shift back, fur melting away into human skin, rubbing his abused ear as it shifting into a rounder shape. “Why the fuss?” 
“You want to eat? You’re helping work the field.”
“Shrikes n’ shackles…” he grumbled, complying under the enchantress’ stern eye. “Dun recall signing on to be yer manservant…”
“Nrgh, that’s my job.” Zath groaned, drawing both parties’ attention.
As she looked over Zath, Mythara’s jaw stiffened. strong enough to break her cool? Or perhaps her unflappable facade was already worn thin.
It was a fleeting moment, and Mythara reached out to Zath’s shoulder to stop him stirring. “Be still. I’ll be back with breakfast in just a few minutes.”
Zath groaned. “Never let Slat… take my job. Or make tea. Especially not tea.”
“Bloody ingrate,” Slat murmured.
“Rest. We shouldn’t have woken you.” Mythara stressed.
She and Slat - once he was dressed - descended upon the kitchen for food. Sizzling pork and a dash of spice seasoned the air. Hester bustled and directed everyone to sit while she heaped plates high with steaming eggs. The square dining table was well suited to the family of four, but cramped with two additional stools pulled up for guests. They hadn’t laid a table setting for Zath - his food was set aside and covered to keep it warm. 
“Thank you again for your hospitality,” Mythara offered as Hester served. 
She cackled as she took her seat at last. “Cald, you could learn a thing or two from the lady’s manners. Best not dawdle, everyone. Lots of work to do, and not a lot of sleep to do it on.”
Sure enough, Celise and Cald were shoveling eggs like they were starving. Bellwight wasn’t so frantic, but his bites were massive. Slat, wedged in between Cald and the lizard, ate with a subdued air on the off chance they’d let him linger to finish.
Hester leveled her spoon at Mythara. “You ever milked a cow?”
The enchantress froze for a solid moment while the others continued eating. Slat suppressed a chortle. 
“I’m… not sure that’s a good idea. If you have an herb garden, I am much-”
Hester was already shaking her head. “I don’t let anyone touch my herbs. Don’t worry about the cows - it’s easy, it’s in the shade. Celise will show her how it’s done.”
“Zath needs-”
“…to be left in good hands, which he is. Don’t worry yourself.” 
Mythara’s fins drooped. Se looked like she’d swallowed something sour, but she wasn’t arguing the point further.

* * * * *

Zath was quietly disappointed when it was Hester, not Mistress, who showed up to bring him breakfast.
A week ago, he was the one bringing Mistress’ morning meal. He’d set it by her bed, or take it up to her laboratory. It would be ironic for Mythara to feed him now - that wasn’t lost on him. But truthfully, he just wanted her company. Hester was nice. She sat him upright in bed, made sure he was comfortable, doted. But she wasn’t Mistress.
“You know it had to happen, dear.” Hester tried to fill his quiet with encouragement. “After a black syvoran bite, you’re lucky to be alive at all. Life will go on, and so will you.”
It didn’t help that Mythara lied. Hester’s words weren’t any less true, but the fact she didn’t know the whole story made all her words ring hollow. Zath felt lost, and he yearned for Mistress’ presence, her air of confidence to keep him afloat.
On the other hand, Zath knew Mythara’s confidence was a shadow of what it used to be. Maybe even as thin as the lie they gave their generous hosts.
It’s not what you think, he wanted to tell Hester. He bit his tongue not to speak of it. And the more it festered, the more he wanted to shout about it. She lied to you, this isn’t a snake bite! It was her magic artifact! She should have told me what it was! And if she’d paid attention sooner, we might not even be here! I’d still have four paws!
That wasn’t right. He couldn’t be angry at mistress. She hadn’t told him to wear the damn gauntlet; Zath came up with that on his own. She’d lost everything, he could forgive a little oversight from her. And the story to their hosts was for their own protection.
“Come on, eat up…”
“I can feed myself.” He locked eyes with Hester. “Please. I’ll be fine.”
She gave a curt nod and saw herself out.
Zath reached for his plate with both hands, and the twinge from the remainder of his left arm set off his silent struggle once more. He had to steady it in his lap so he could eat single-handed. Set down the fork to get tea. Even when Slat didn’t ruin it, the stuff tasted turgid, but it was worth dulling the pain. It made him a little sleepy, so he tried to sleep. Chores he’d normally have to do came to mind, then he remembered the house was gone.
Without Zath cleaning it, maybe the lighting generator would tarnish and kill Harkham? Probably not, but he could daydream. 
Hester wouldn’t let him two steps from the bed, so dreaming was about all he had. Being so inactive reminded him of … back before Mistress. Boredom was a foreign concept to him; doing nothing was a luxury. But Mistress had ingrained Zath with a routine so structured, it felt wrong to do nothing.
When he mentioned to Hester the tea wasn’t strong enough to really put him to sleep, she made a stronger batch. Thankfully, unlike Slat, she added pleasant spices to balance the taste. Zath liked the cinnamon touch. The remainder of the day was a groggy haze as the dosage finally did its work.
It was dark when he came around fully again, and he could hear breathing besides his own. Slat commandeered half the bed again. There wasn’t much space to spare; Zath lay on his back and Slat was the lump under the sheet curled against his right side, under Zath’s good arm. He was unused to the feel of fur and warmth against his scales, but… it was nice. He reached down, gingerly brushing the sleeping wererat’s shoulder and digging his fingers through Slat’s course, oily fur.
Sure, Slat had touched him before and they’d played. But this was different. A kind of casual closeness like this? He’d always yearned for something like that from Mythara. The rare moments she touched him were guidance, not comfort. Coming from Slat… Well, on second thought, maybe the rat was just mooching the limited bed capacity in the house.
Either way, he needed it. Slat had proven himself a friend. He was still here, despite the obvious distaste between him and Mistress. Zath’s fingers explored and stroked along Slat’s arm and side. 
“Mm, that’s nice…” Slat stirred against him.
Zath froze. “You’re awake!?” He hissed louder than he intended.
“Barely a doze. I’m nocturnal as they come.” Slat swept the sheet off his face, yawned, and a flashed a sleepy, but contented grin. His eyes glinted in the meager moonlight from the window. “Why’d ya stop?”
Zath took a deep breath to quiet himself and resumed stroking along Slat’s back. Mooch or no, he relished even this small affection.
“Lil’ higher… mmnff, that’s the spot,” he cooed as Zath scritched at the base of his neck, sending shivers down Slat’s spine and set his tail whipping to and fro. “How’s the arm?”
“At the moment? Kinda throbbing.” He could mostly ignore it, at least. “I don’t like being cooped up in here. Things are going to be different now. I just… can’t really imagine how.” Mostly because he kept thinking of all the chores that would be impossible for him to complete, anymore. Would mistress even… have a use for him anymore? “I’ll be okay… as long as I’m not alone.” Why did that almost sound like a question? 
Maybe it was a question Zath couldn’t bring himself to say.
“Thought dragons liked being all independent and lonesome.”
For some reason, that irked Zath. “Yeah. I bet you’ve asked a lot of dragons, haven’t you?” Had he really changed so much since mistress… took him in?
“Guess not.” He drooped his head across Zath’s stomach, churring as he enjoyed the scritching and exploring fingers along his neck and back. In turn, Slat nibbled, teasing his incisors at the edges of scales. He worked where the thicker scales of Zath’s chest gave way to the smaller, softer ones, and where the color shifted from his gray underbelly to red sides. Zath shivered at the attention, a quiet croon escaping him.
“You know,” Slat muttered in a faint sing-song tone, grinning. “Maybe this suits you more than I thought.”
“What?”
“Wasn’t sure I liked this at first. Making you all human-shaped. Shame to miss out on that powerful, regal, sexy body of yours…” Slat’s hands crept up Zath’s sides. “But it brings out your cute side.” One of his hands slid south, digging under Zath’s hip and groping his backside.
“C-Cute…!” Zath scoffed, breathless. Was he really doing this now? 
“Adorable.”
The sheet fell away as Slat straddled his hips. The lighting was poor, but Zath felt the furry sheath pressing against his slit, felt it swell and tighten, mirroring his own reaction. This was different from last time Slat made advances. Zath didn’t have such a size advantage anymore. Now their footing was closer to even. Even Slat, willowy rat that he was, could could probably overpower him if he really wanted to. Zath hadn’t felt this vulnerable since Mistress first collared him…
Slat’s sly grin slid into a shaft of moonlight as he adjusted himself to roll his hips. “Am I scaring you?” His erection pressed against Zath’s nethers as it steadily unsheathed.
“You don’t… I’m not…” Zath trailed off. Maybe he was, but somehow that feeling didn’t stop the head of his penis from peeking out, stiffening alongside the rat’s own. Each of his sensitive draconic ridges everted made it better. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad feeling.
Hands on Zath’s chest, Slat lowered himself, pressed his muzzle into Zath’s neck. “Just tryin’ to take your mind off unpleasant things.” His hips rolled, gently grinding them together, coaxing out the black draconic member, one ridge at a time. His own - narrow, smooth, fleshy pink - stiffened alongside it. “Feels nice, right?”
All Zath could produce was a small moan, almost a whimper.
That was all the response the rat needed. Something narrow snaked between them and curled under Zath’s cock: the rat’s tail. It was incredibly dexterous, coiling around Slat’s own as well, holding them aligned. Slat smoothly thrust his shaft against Zath’s in a slow rhythm.
The bed frame rocked, leaning precariously with Slat’s motions. Mercifully, it didn’t creak much, but the jostling was enough to send twinges of pain up Zath’s bad arm. He squirmed, working his good arm between them to take some of the weight. “S-Stop…”
“What’s wrong?” Slat halted, nuzzling apologetically.
“T-This keeps jostling the… arm - with the bed moving. It’s making it hurt worse…” It sounded pitiful when he said it out loud. 
“Poor Zathy boy.” Slat hummed noncommittally. There was still a devious spark in his eye. “Dun worry. I’ll take care o’ ya.”
His tail unraveled from their cocks, and Slat crawled backward, kicking the sheet as he went, sliding halfway off the bed. “Don’t gotta move at all.” His head dipped, tongue trawling out as he took the tip of Zath’s maleness into his short muzzle.
Fingers wrapped around his length. Slat was acquainted with it from Zath’s feral form - now, the shape and fine details were the same, but his fingers could easily wrap fully around it. He played his tongue gently about the tip while his fingers got under this smaller dragonhood’s ridges, twisting and squeezing.
It was a struggle not to hump into those skilled fingers. Slat saw it, slowing his ministration to a delicate fondle. “Shhh, jus’ relax everything.”
A noncommittal whine was his only response. He lay his head back, focusing on breathing. His thighs were nudged wider as Slat settled in, nuzzling down Zath’s erection. His tongue slid deftly between the base of the shaft and the lips of the reptilian slit, nimbly exploring the snug space remaining when Zath was fully everted. The tongue also trawled across his tailhole, swirled around it, sending shivers of pleasure up the dragon’s spine, making his toes curl and his thighs squeeze instinctively on Slat’s head. The thumb sliding down his penile ridges, spreading slick- Wait, was he really producing that much pre!? That and the less familiar prodding at his backdoor had him quivering, moaning softly, and he was back to trying to hump. One of those moans twisted into a yelp - trying to use his bad arm for leverage, not thinking.
Slat eased off again to let him relax, just idly fondling Zath’s tip between two fingers and rubbing . “Ya sound like a girl. A virgin girl, at that…”
Zath was back to covering his heated face. “I-I- You’re the only one who’s ever… touched me.”
“No lucky dragoness got hold o’ ya? Mmm,” Slat grinned. “When you come ‘round and ready for somethin’ a little rougher, the things I wanna do to ya… If you’re up for it.”
Yes. He didn’t say it. Should he say it? He didn’t have long to worry about it; Slat opened his muzzle wide, wrapped his tongue around Zath’s length, and guided it into his mouth. The wet heat embracing his member was an entirely new experience, and the tongue inside sliding up and down and curling… all of it turned him into a shuddering, groaning mess of mounting need. 
Slat’s fingers strayed up along his scales, from sides to chest, rubbing slow and gentle. The rat was quickly learning his pleasure limits; he kept it slow, tantalizingly good, right on the edge of making Zath squirm. Focusing on other things helped him stay limp, too; the groping hands, the moonlight, the faint scent of their arousal permeating the room, the square of moonlight creeping up the wall.
Even as the pressure of desire built, he lost himself in a trance between the pleasure and savoring everything about the moment. Slat’s gentle sucking, bobbing muzzle, and the fluttering feeling in his chest. His need rose sharply, his breath quickened. Slat knew; he pulled back to just the tip and brought his fingers back to masturbate Zath’s shaft, still slow and steady strokes, the sporadic deep suck or lick - a stable slow burn of stimulation.
Zath huffed, needing more to get off. Slat’s free hand tapped his chest when he tried to thrust, but he couldn’t help wiggling; the tension made it impossible to stay still anymore. It took less and less to keep him on the edge, and Slat kept backing off. He was barely rubbing.
It finally clicked. Zath was so desperate… all he had to do was let himself go. His erection throbbed hard, and he gasped sharply. His orgasm hit with a powerful opening spurt, right against Slat’s tongue. The rat groaned and sank the whole spasming cock into his muzzle, and Zath’s thighs trapped him there. There was no stopping him from thrusting now, as he spilled cum into his friends’ mouth, splur after splur. The strength of his climax faded, but slat’s tongue encouraged him to ride it out while he sucked every last drop. Zath’s cum ran dry well before his cock was done twinging.
The bliss faded, and tension melted from Zath’s every muscle and tendon. Slat crawled up alongside him again, arms wrapping around Zath’s waist. Sleep was so very tempting… But the rat was poking him in the cheek. “Mmnff… What?”
He opened his eyes to a visage of Slat, mouth wide open, slowing off the whole load of cum still dripping off his tongue.
“T-That’s disgusting…” And yet, kinda hot?
He closed his muzzle and swallowed noisily, assuming a devilish grin. “Ya dun mind if I take care of myself here, do ya?” He ground against Zath’s hip with his still-solid erection, wrapped with his own tail, his penis slick with a ridiculous amount of pre. He’d been leaking the whole time. 
Zath couldn’t cover his face this time with Slat laying on his singular arm. “O-Oh. Yeah. I don’t m-mind. Just going to… rest…”
Slat ousted Zath’s pillow and weaseled his shoulder into its place, cupping his scaled cheek against his chest fur. The nuzzles between his horns were nice, the closeness comforting him in ways he could never have asked for, only now realizing how much he needed this. As long as he had this, the future didn’t seem so scary.
Slat’s racing heartbeat, his soft moans, and the feel off hot seed pooling onto his stomach were just as comforting, and he drifted off to sleep feeling it run down his side. 

* * * * *

Zath lost track of the days. He mostly remembered the lucid nights when he didn’t have enough tea to keep him under. The wererat lay with him nightly, but made a point to revert to human form and make himself scarce every morning before the household woke. 
Mistress and Hester eventually, after enough resistance, allowed him to get up and move about the house, as long as he spent most of his time resting. He could change his own bandage, and Hester showed him how to make the tea he’d been drinking. Zath had to stop and think how to accomplish incredibly simple tasks single-handed, but he could do it. He could finally put many of his fears for the future to rest, and once again grasped the depth of patience known only to dragonkind. To a species who persisted centuries over, mere days passed as a trivial blink of an eye. And Zath’s blinks of rest were punctuated only by the time he spent enjoying Slat’s company by moonlight, and his nightly ‘help’.
Perhaps he should have stayed fearful, because it ended far sooner than he expected.
Bell and his family sat around the fire, any sense of normalcy offset by Mythara’s presence. Cald still carved, Hester still hemmed, and Celise was reading one of the books her cousin got from a distant country. But the addition of the silent stranger made the silence uncomfortable. She kept to herself, made her own tea, and sat furthest from the fire, half in shadow, in a chair borrowed from the kitchen.
Bell missed the more intimate evenings they had together as a family , but he also felt for their guests. The boy upstairs had it bad, but the woman had a wound too - it was just buried deeper. He glimpsed it in her harrowed eyes when she thought no one was looking.
Then came pounding on the door. The family sat up straight. Mythara grasped for something beside her chair that was not there. Bell nodded to his son and daughter. Celise shuffled off toward the stairs, and Cald made for the axe in the study. Bell drew himself up to his full height and let his footsteps be heard on the way to the door. He grasped the handle, took a deep breath, and threw it wide.
The armed men bearing Harkham’s insignia he expected, though he hadn’t envisioned two dozen men on his doorstep, every fifth man or so holding a lantern against the curtain of night. The tromp of feet in lockstep told Bell there were even more men rounding the house. The one who’d knocked wasn’t much older than Cald, but a captain’s plume bobbed on his pointy helmet. “Sir. We’re looking for two lizard fugitives.”
“Sorry?” Bell tipped his head and raised his voice a little. “I don’t think there’s any fugitives here.” And it was truth, as far as Bell was concerned. Enemies of Harkham weren’t fugitives of any land of his. He had his pride, but his family was on the line, and he couldn’t see a good ending for this.
“Sir, we know they’re here. They are extremely dangerous. Please, for your own safety…”
Mythara darted silently up the stairs. Bell and the captain’s voices faded from earshot. She startled Celise, who was trying to listen at the top of the stairs. Mythara hushed the girl and barged into Zath’s room. He was awake and sitting up, and his eyes went wide as he picked up on her body language. Good, he looked alert. She slid up alongside the window overlooking the back of the house. Seven of Harkham’s men were loosely arrayed like an arrowhead, just past the garden, and the point man had a keen interest in the tool shed of all things. Something gleamed in his hand. Mythara’s eyes narrowed.
Zath slid out of bed and crept up next to her. His breath caught when he saw them.
Harkham’s goons kicked their way into the shed and stormed the tiny space. A moment later they dragged out a failing mess of fur, claws, and vulgarities.
“Slat!” Zath hissed. He looked up at her, eyes wide and pleading. “We have to help him!”
She lifted the latch on the window and swung it open, its creaky hinges thankfully not drawing attention over Slat’s protests. “I have no choice, except…” Mythara glanced down at Zath, hesitating, jaw clenched. “You will deal with Harkham’s men. You must.”
Comprehension dawned on him as he clawed at the collar with his singular hand. She grabbed him by the horn and thrust him headfirst out the window. “Fly true.”
Zath stumbled over the sill and flailed off the side of the house, transforming as he fell. He spread his still-sprouting wings, but the drop was too short to catch the air anyway; his paws slammed hard into the ground, and the jar shot straight up the stump of his missing foreleg. Zath roared, and if Harkham’s men could tell it was pain, there were no less alarmed. A few fumbled with crossbows.
Mistress’ graceful feet and hands hit Zath’s back, breaking her fall before she dropped to the ground.
The prickle under his collar, the compulsion overwhelmed the pain. Zath lunged at the group of soldiers, swatting one as he barreled over them, and sweeping half of them off their feet with a swipe of his tail. The one man still standing with a crossbow ready received a hind kick and hit the side of the house with a yelp.
Slat picked himself from between several men crawling away and tackled another soldier who had his wits about him, sinking his front teeth into the man’s shoulder. Mistress hefted an iron rake from the garden like it was one of her staves and swept it across another’s helmet. Zath whipped a tail or a wing at whoever looked like they had any fight in them still, but they were all scrambling to their feet to run at this point.
Mythara had eyes for one solder in particular: the point man. She kicked him back down as he sought his footing. A foot to his chest weighing him down, she crouched low, snaking her tail around his neck and constricting. The soldier beneath her feet thrashed, groped for purchase, and slowed to a weak squirm. Mythara reached down and plucked something from his clutched fingers that glinted in the starlight. She sneered at it a moment, then turned her attention to Zath. “More in front!”
It hurt, but he lurched around the side of the house.
They surely heard him coming, and they’d have a volley ready. Zathreigan tucked his wings to protect his membranes when he came around the corner, head low and tossing side to side so none of them could get a bead on his face; losing an eye was one of the few things a dragon truly feared of a group of crossbowmen. A few bolts found purchase in his hide, but they were nothing. The soldiers had fired their shots; some drew steel, others fumbled to draw their bows once more. But Zathreigan reared up, roaring and flaring his wings, striking terror into their eyes. When he lunged, their line broke. He snapped his teeth at a the slow ones, growling, and pounced on the largest clusters of resistance.
Stabbing swords met with a hide far too thick for them to do much meaningful damage, and any who dared were quickly met with a claw, a kick, a roaring snap of dragon’s teeth. One venturous attacker from the rear found Zathreigan’s tail curling about his feet and tossing him as far as the road. Never mind Zath’s collar, there was a thrill overriding pain now. If only he had his fire…!
Fallen lanterns rolled among the grass threatening fire of their own, though they were made with the need to be dropped in mind. A few bobbed off into the forest or up the road, groups of stragglers rallying to the few who still carried a light.
The captain held up with surprising bravado and mustered a handful of men by the coup. Zath pursued, sweeping soldiers aside with his folded wings before they could prepare themselves. To the captain, he delivered a solid head-butt, straight through the wall of the coup and flat on his back in the enclosure, surrounded by frantic hens losing their bowels in panic.
Zath dropped his good foreleg on the captain’s chest, driving the breath from the man’s lungs with his weight as he loomed overhead, growling. All the bravado drained from the man and left him whiter than the chicken droppings around him.
“Just run away, little pawn.” Zath lowered his head and blew a hot breath across the captain’s face. “You failed Harkham. Think he’ll be happy with that? Run away, and don’t cross me again. Or my Lady Mythara.”
He reeked of fear, and Zathreigan caught himself relishing it, stirring old memories. A shiver ran down his spine, ending in a tail twitch, and suddenly he tasted iron. The moment soured. He turned his face away and hobbled off the captain to let him up.
The man looked incredulous. Zath put on a glower and snapped his tail at him like a whip. “Begone!”
He scrambled to his feet and ran after the rest of his men into the night. Zath shifted onto his haunches, staring at the spot where the the captain had fallen.
He’d wrecked the chicken coup. Damn. Zath tried to aright the walls again while the hens were still cowering in their coops from the scary dragon. Why was he trembling…? Oh right, he was still losing a lot of blood. No more thrill to push the pain back. Mistress should probably turn him back before their hosts saw him like this. Good thing chickens couldn’t talk.
As Zath turned back to the house, his head swam, his vision dimmed, and he hit the ground without quite realizing it. He just wanted the world to stop spinning; it was starting to make his head pound.
Bell found all the crashing and thudding outside lent some unbidden weight to the captain’s spiel about the lizards being dangerous. When it had become apparent Harkham’s soldiers intended to force entry, Bell punched the captain squarely in the nose and slammed the door on him. For all his sense of honor and decency, Bell had to question what he’d really gotten himself and his family into.
But with that last thud, so heavy he could feel it in the soles of his feet, all was silent outside and none of Harkham’s men were breaking in the windows or making demands. Bell exchanged a look with Cald. It didn’t seem possible. 
Celise clambered down the stairs. She had a stubborn kind of look Hester so often wore, and she was carrying a whole roll of fresh bandage. “They’re gone now! Zath will need this. Come on, open the door, we can’t just sit here!“ She was shaking, but determined.
“The blazes are you on about, girl?” Bell huffed. 
“The soldiers are gone, saw it all from the bedroom windows!” She leveled her gaze at Cald, her eyes ablaze with triumph. “And Zath is a dragon!”

* * * * *

Gentle hands roused Zath from a daze. Tiny hands, dressing his wound. He was still… full size? It wasn’t Hester, it was the girl… what was her name? “Aren’t you supposed to be scared of me?” He shut his eyes again; they were awfully heavy, and he just wanted to sleep at this point.
“What, like Harkham’s bunch?” She scoffed. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly. Clearly, they don’t know you!”
Clearly, neither do you. He deigned to keep that retort to himself, though.
“Can you change back? This would be easier.”
“I can’t. Ask Mistress. Er, Mythara.”
“Oh… I see.” Her fingers strayed over toward the collar. “I see.”
Zath shivered; her soft touch on his neck was nice. Her name was the pretty one, he recalled. Celise, that was it. 
Celise worked at cleaning the abrupt end of his left foreleg. Vaguely, he was aware of others bustling about him. Sounded like someone was addressing the chicken coup, so that was good. As the breeze picked up, he caught a familiar whiff. “Hi Slat.”
“Nice an’ timely of ya, Zathy boy… Looks like it was rough.”
The girl yelped. Zath pushed his eyes open and his heart skipped a beat; Slat was still in his furred form. Apparently any semblance of hiding their true nature was just tossed to the wind, at this point. The wererat was using a twig as a toothpick, trying to dislodge a scrap of a soldiers’ tunic wedged in his teeth. He shrugged at the Celise. “Are ya really that shocked at this point?”
Hester’s disgruntled harrumph could be heard from all the way over by the house. “Well This explains the fur in my pantry. Thought it would take an army of vermin to eat that much, turns out it was just one rat.”
Slat brandished his twig in her general direction. “I can be a one-rat army when I need to, so it counts.”
Celise stifled a laugh, turning to hide her mirth from Hester. But she turned stony and serious in a heartbeat, sitting up straight. “Miss Mythara?” She called out toward a direction Zath couldn’t see without moving his head. “Are you going to change Zath back?”
Zath lifted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her.
She was shaking her head, stony. “No. Transforming with such a serious injury is a tremendous toll on the body. Once was dangerous; twice so quickly could be deadly.”
“Oh.” Celise set her jaw and got back to work.
“And you.” Mythara stepped into Zath’s peripheral view, towering over Slat.
He finally spat out the bit of cloth and tossed the twig over his shoulder. “Ya?”
She held up a small device hanging on a light chain. It looked like an obsidian finger wrapped around a glass ball with swirling black and white liquids inside. The swirls steadied as she held it still. The white wisps inside coagulated and pooled on the side closest to Slat. Mythara tipped it, rotated it; the white bead stayed trained on the wererat.
Slat tipped his head at it. “It’s like it’s watchin’ me. Kinda creepy.”
“Tell me," Mythara grasped the front of his ragged shirt with her free hand. "How did Harkham know if he followed you with a tracking enchantment, he’d find us?”
Zath fought the haze threatening to drown out the world. He knew he needed rest, but this was more important. Was Mistress really accusing his friend?
Slat didn’t seem to notice the threatening stance Mythara took. “Huh. So's like a compass what always points at me?” He shrugged up at her. “Harkham's stooge said I was free and threw me out. If he’d told me to find you and Zathy, I’d turn tail to spite 'em.”
“You’re either dumber than you look or you’re still working for that swine,” Mythara hissed.
Slat growled back, prying her hands off his tunic. “Woulda thought he'd just track you two, eh?”
Zath was vaguely aware of soft cloth being wrapped around his stump.
In an instant, Mythara reversed Slat’s hold, gripping his scrawny wrists. The pendant she still carried dug into his skin at a painful angle. “They needed your blood to make this. Or other body fluids I'm sure you were just delighted to provide.”
Watching Mistress manhandle Slat, Zath stirred, trying and failing to roll to his feet. Celise said something he ignored. "M-Mistress! Slat would never...!" He wasn't sure his voice was even strong enough to be heard.
“Harkham already had Zath’s blood!” Slat clenched his teeth. 
She laughed. "Zath may be naive enough to play with a lie like that, but I-"
"Then how did he break your wards?"
The words rang out in the night, and Slat's went from bared fangs to slack jaw. 
The world was frozen, apart from the suspicion in Mistress' eyes burning away to fury.
Gentle hands worked a crossbow bolt out of Zath’s side, but it seemed so distant he didn’t even feel it. He glanced at the other humans. The two men were turned as if to return indoors, but they were rooted to the spot, unable to pull away from the scene. Hester, hands on hips, wore a scowl. 
Finally Mistress spoke again in icy tone, "You don't know a damn thing about my wards, so the only way you know how they were broken..." She inhaled sharply and turned to Zath. “Did you meet this mongrel before the wards collapsed?” 
“W-What?" Pure circumstance, this wasn't going to condemn Slat. "Y-yes, but…”
“Did he touch you?”
Zath twitched. The markets, the horse that went berserk, being tackling across a turnip stand. Hadn't he even felt something...? Surely it had been someone else. He saw impatience in Mistress' eye, and he knew if he refused to say, if she even suspected a lie, she'd force the issue with the infernal collar. “Yes. But that doesn't prove- Mistress, stop!” 
Her hands closed around Slat’s throat. “You've been playing Zath from the moment you- ACK!”
Mythara cut off with a yelp by bony fingers clamping down her ear fins. “Now listen here!” Hester twisted and wrenched the lizard enchantress down to her level. “There’s already two dead sots in my vegetable garden. I’ll thank you kindly not to leave a giant dead rat on my porch too. I’ll not have another wit of this senseless violence my roof! Get a grip or get off my farm!” Her free hand whipped Slat across the muzzle just as he opened it to speak. "Ah-ah! That goes for you too."
"Shrikes n' shackles." Slat snorted and rubbed his face. Mythara slowly sank to her knees.
Zath found his jaw hanging open. His gut was tied up in knots watching Mistress treated like a child... but then, he couldn't bring himself to be anything but grateful. "Thank you, miss Hester."
The woman spared him a glance. "You can stay either way. Likes of you, I’m surprised I only have two sorry lads to bury."
 "Mistress, can't we just... forget about this for now?" Zath hated how it sounded like a whine. "We can figure out what happened later..."
"Nah," Slat met Zath's gaze and shook his head. "She's spot on, Zathy boy. I slipped up, more ways n’ one. About outstayed my welcome, yeah?" He put on a grin and stepped past Mythara, wiping down the front of his tunic as he starting down toward the road.
"Slat! You can't just..." leave me?
The wererat kept walking. "Me mum said nothin lasts forever, 'specially if it's good. Been fun, Zath."
Mistress was still sitting in the grass, nursing her slightly crumpled fin and hiding her face from the world. Slat reached the road and struck out away from Ballen, glancing up at the stars as he went.
Zath’s heart sank. Had he the strength to run Slat down, hold him, refuse to let him go… 
"Enough of this. We should all be in bed." Hester grumped, stumping back toward the house. She glanced back at the dragon sprawled in her yard. "Sorry, not much I can do for you like that."
Even at his current size, Zath felt… tiny and powerless. “I-I understand.”
Hester herded the men inside. Celise followed hesitantly, turning back to give Zath a curtsy. He didn't understand it, but he couldn't bring himself to care just then. He mustered his weary muscles, pushing himself to his three good feet.
Slat was out of his reach, but Mistress wasn't moving from the patch of grass she'd knelt on. Zath hobbled over to encircle her with his long body, just barely mindful to keep his fresh bandage out of the dirt when he lay down. Without the wererat, she was all he had left. Somehow that seemed so much less than it had before.
Mythara fiddled with her crumpled ear, hissing as she tried to right it without much success. At length, she sighed, "Why are you still here?"
"Because I..." Admire you? Owe you? Belong to you? Want you? They'd all seemed so true and so obvious. But he couldn't bring himself to say them anymore. He could pick one and say it, but his hesitation had already spoken volumes. But he had to say something. "You need me."
Mythara stirred and lay against his flank. Just that little move of accepting his presence was helpful, and Zath curled his neck, laying his head down next to her. He could sort out the rest of his feelings come morning. He draped a wing over Mistress and told himself tomorrow would be better. Somehow. Exhausted as he was, sleep was slow to come for him.
He couldn’t even fully savor this moment of closeness with Mythara, because Slat was gone.