Flag of Blue

His eyes lifted from his work at the tread of paws, studying the unfamiliar woman until she spoke. Briefly, his snowy tail waved in agreement. He resumed his gentle exhumation efforts of the root. “A bit late to be harvesting it, but it should transplant well enough in my little garden. How goes your morning, Lady?”

His accent lay heavy on his tongue, inflections playing with certain sounds and words, adding a faint whistle where another accent would leave none, lilting and educated. And, above all, companionably friendly.

He remembered teaching Sterling about the Iris plants, though that had been at the Lake that Aerie now claimed. She’d been eager to learn, and in hindsight, he could see that the eagerness was her own, and not due to having been scouting for Dragon.

He could only hope the girl, now a woman as aged as he was if she still lived, was alive and well. He wished he could ask her why she’d left without a word.