I stand chained between two sun-bleached pillars like a moderately affordable saint.
Wrists up. Ankles crossed. Hair artfully messy. Absolutely barefoot because authenticity matters. The stones are warm under my soles, and I am very aware that if this takes too long I am going to have pillar imprints on my thighs.
At my feet: the offering.
A cured ham—solid, respectable ham. A clay pot with silver coins. A bronze dagger arranged with almost priestly care.
Not lavish. But honest day's work.
The sanctuary is quiet. Cracked idol. Dry grass. Wind sighing like it's paid by the hour.
The Dragon is late.
As usual.
I squint toward the horizon. Nothing. No smoke. No dramatic wingbeats. Just sun and disappointment.
Something rustles in the bushes.
Ah.
Finally.
I lift my chin and arrange my face into Tragic Maiden About to Be Devoured.
The bushes part.
A badger waddles out.
Old. Fat. Suspiciously confident.
It ignores the ham. Ignores the coins.
Comes straight for my toes.
"…Don't," I warn.
It sniffs my foot.
Then licks.
I twitch. "This is a sacred scene," I hiss.
It nibbles.
Sharp.
I yelp—loud, sharp, very un-maidenly.
And that is when I hear it:
Boots. Clumsy. Urgent.
A boy bursts from the brush—seventeen, maybe, hair in his eyes, sword held like it weighs more than his entire moral code.
He freezes at the sight of me—chained, bare, glinting in the sun.
I widen my eyes dramatically.
The badger bites my toe again.
I scream, fully committed.
"Help! I am attacked by a MONSTROUS BADGER!"
The lad's face goes white.
"Unhand her, foul beast!" he cries—voice cracking heroically.
He charges.
He swings.
Misses completely.
The badger hisses like it's been personally insulted.
Then the two of them collide in a blur of limbs and fur.
They roll.
They actually roll.
Across the grass.
The sword flies one way, the pot of silver tips but does not spill—thank the gods—and the boy and the badger tumble into the bushes in a snarling, squealing, deeply undignified wrestling match.
I blink.
There is thudding. Grunting. A very offended badger noise. The boy shouting, "Hold still, fiend!" as if it understands Common.
They crash deeper into the scrub.
A moment later the boy bursts out, hair full of leaves, sword recovered, charging after the badger as it waddles away with shocking dignity.
"Return and face justice!" he yells, chasing it downhill.
Silence returns.
I hang there. Chains creaking.
A distant shout. "Come back!"
More rustling.
Then nothing.
A shadow passes over me.
Finally.
The Dragon lands with a heavy thud on the far side of the sanctuary, wings folding in slow, unimpressed arcs. Dust lifts. The cracked idol sheds another flake of its nose.
He surveys the scene.
Me. Chained.
Offering intact.
No hero.
He tilts his head.
"…What happened to the hero?"
I sigh.
"He is currently engaged in mortal combat with a particularly territorial badger."
The Dragon blinks once.
"…You were attacked by a badger."
"It was monstrous," I say stiffly. "Vicious. Toe-oriented."
He looks at my foot.
There is a small, humiliating tooth mark.
He snorts smoke.
"You lost the hero to a woodland rodent."
"I did not lose him. He chose his battlefield."
A faint shout echoes from somewhere down the hill. "Stand and fight!"
The Dragon looks toward the sound.
"Do we… wait?"
I glance at the offering. At the empty hill. At the horizon.
"No," I decide. "We pivot."
He arches a brow ridge.
"We say the hero bravely drove off the sacred guardian beast," I continue smoothly. "He will return bloodied, triumphant, and very susceptible to suggestion."
The Dragon's eyes narrow with interest.
"And if he doesn't return?"
I shrug as much as chains allow.
"Then we add 'badger tribute' to the local folklore and charge extra for rodent-based protection."
A distant yelp echoes through the valley.
The Dragon exhales, long and slow.
"…This is why I cannot take you to serious temples."
I smile sweetly.
"You are late," I remind him. "Growl. Menacingly. And this time try not to be upstaged by wildlife."
The Dragon snaps the chains like dry twigs.
One claw. Casual.
The iron falls away with a clatter.
I drop my arms and immediately start rubbing my wrists, wincing. "You could at least pretend it required effort," I mutter.
He lowers his massive head until one golden eye is level with me. "You were losing a duel to a badger."
"I was selling atmosphere."
I flex my fingers, then lift my foot to inspect the damage. There it is. A tiny crescent of tooth marks on my big toe. Slightly red. Slightly embarrassing.
I poke it.
It stings.
The Dragon leans closer, nostrils flaring. Smoke curls around my ankle.
"That badger might have rabies."
I snort. "It had opinions, not rabies."
He ignores that. "What if you begin foaming at the mouth."
"I already foam at the mouth when you criticize my business model."
"What if," he continues calmly, "you wake in the night, frothing, eyes wild, and attempt to gnaw my throat out?"
I blink at him.
"Have you seen your throat? I'd need a ladder."
He doesn't laugh.
His pupils narrow.
"You were bitten by a wild animal. In the countryside. In a ruin. After staging a fraudulent ritual."
"That is… a very biased summary."
He exhales a thin ribbon of smoke directly over my foot.
I yank it back. "Hey!"
"I will cauterise it," he says flatly. "The entire foot. Clean burn. No infection."
"You will not."
He opens his jaws just slightly. A dull orange glow builds in the back of his throat.
I stare at it.
"…You are being dramatic."
"Rabies is dramatic."
I drop my foot and fold my arms. "It's nonsense. I've licked worse."
"That sentence does not reassure me."
I glare at him.
He shifts his weight. The grass blackens slightly beneath one talon.
"You are going to the Swamp Hag," he says. "Immediately."
"In the morning," I counter. "It's nearly dusk. I am tired. I was assaulted."
"By a badger."
"Monstrous badger."
He leans closer.
"You are going right now. Or I am burning your foot."
I narrow my eyes at him. "You would not."
He inhales.
The glow brightens.
I throw up my hands. "Fine! Fine!"
The glow fades.
I bend, pick up the ham with one arm, tuck the coin pot under the other, and grab the bronze dagger. Efficient. Practical.
He watches me.
"What?" I snap.
"You are bringing the ham."
"It's good ham."
"You may be rabid."
"All the more reason to eat well."
He makes a low, irritated rumble.
I hobble slightly as we start down the hill, more for effect than necessity.
"You know," I say, glancing up at him, "if I start foaming at the mouth, you are obligated to put me down gently. No dramatic speeches."
"I would drop you in a lake."
"That is not gentle."
"It would extinguish you if you ignite."
I roll my eyes.
We walk in silence for a few steps.
Then he adds, almost thoughtfully, "If you attempt to bite me in my sleep, I will bite back."
I look at him sideways.
"You already do that."
He snorts.
The sky is darkening. Fireflies beginning to blink in the reeds. Somewhere far behind us, a faint shout echoes—probably the boy still hunting his nemesis.
I sigh.
"Fine," I mutter. "We'll see the Hag."
The Dragon nods once.
"And if she says it's nothing," I add, "you are never speaking of the badger again."
"If she says it's rabies," he replies calmly, "I am shaving your head and tying you to a tree until you stop snarling."
I glare at him.
He looks serenely ahead.
I poke my toe again.
It stings.
"…If I start foaming," I say reluctantly, "you are carrying me."
He doesn't hesitate.
"Obviously."
I pretend not to like that answer.