>>5283715>>5283723>>5283731>>5283730>>5283743>>5283719>>5283769>>5283789“She is still easier to disguise this way than as a worm. Get her clothing, and make sure nobody looks too closely at her.”
“And if they do?” the Novice presses. “Look at her—don’t you think this will raise some questions?”
Glowie opens her new mouth, but no sound emerges. She closes it again, and looks between the two of you, as if awaiting judgement.
“You’re right,” you sigh.
“Excellent! Then what I propose is—”
“She looks just like you, and it will be difficult to explain away two of you. You'll have to wear heavy clothing and pretend to be someone else."
The Novice seethes.
Having made your decision about Glowie, you pass the next hour-and-a-half in the Novice’s bed. You are used to a stone platform with a thin mat of pressed hide and fungus—something suitable to a Reptilian warrior. This Chaplain’s Daughter, by contrast, nestles among fabrics, into which you considerable bulk sinks, even unarmoured. While your own quarters are bare an utilitarian, free of distractions and perfect for spiritual and mental betterment through direct meditation, the Novice lives surrounded by little trophies, mementos, devices and distractions. It sets your hoarding instinct abuzz…
And this is even before your proximity to the female sharing this bed activates still OTHER instincts.
“Stop MOVING so much,” she commands, as if her own tail isn’t draped across your leg, her entirely-unclad rear resting against your hip.
“It’s your own fault,” you snap back, frustrated beyond belief.
“It is hardly my fault I am bedded with a furnace.”
“It is!” you protest. “YOU demanded I stay here!”
“I meant on the floor,” she says, “with the glow-worm.”
Glowie, who is indeed comfortably swaddled amongst her stolen ‘garb’ like a nest, looks up at the mention… And begins to luminesce again, brightening the room considerably to your dark-accustomed eyes. Both you and the Novice groan.
“That’s enough of this nonsense,” you sigh, getting up and donning your armour. “I am going for a walk.”
“To the breeding pits, oh most noble and proud Dragondick?” the Novice taunts, peering blearily through one sleepy eye.
You scoff. “And irritate your father yet further?”
“Wait, what did you do to upset the Chaplain?” the Novice asks, suddenly interested again.
“Nevermind,” you say, and leave.
