Archer-M-Smith

The week before Lefliat's arrival passed with a quickness that seemed as eager as Torin's words, and Renga had to take care to rest a little each time before entering her father's rooms, lest he discover just how ragged she felt with all the preparations. She regarded the rest as a necessity, and pushed herself all the harder once her daily visit was over and she closed the door to find the manor had not capitulated in her absence, and demanded still more struggle. She wrested the sheets from old, outdated furniture, working alongside the few servants left, and chased after the dust that still lingered in corners and obscured centuries old fa

 Renga knocked carefully on her father's door, shifting her tray of food to one hand in order to do so. The tap-ta-tap rhythm would let him know it was his daughter, not one of the servants. A faint "Come in, Renga," penetrated the thick wood, and she entered. The room was dimly lit, the shutters fastened for some time now. Renga navigated a path around the stacks of books, potted plants and discarded whittling projects with practiced ease, grateful that at home she did not need to bend to society's whims and wear skirts. She'd thrown her court clothes somewhere underneath her bed and into the most foreboding corner of her closet the moment

The griffin flattened his ears as he entered the cave. Radu was not fond of enclosed spaces; he preferred the cliffs that struck haughtily up at the sky, dripping greenery and sunlight. Preferences had nothing to do with his current task, however. Vyranan was the last option. The last dragon of Melyarn, lost to myth and the quick disinterest of humankind, but not to him. Radu had grown up knowing of Vyranan from a fledgling. His parents had taken him to these caves on his first flight, mere weeks before he himself had been taken by humans. He hissed softly as the light leather saddle on his back caught on a jut of rock, and tugged it free