Forty-One

Jaron walked the game trails meandering through the woods. Ivy scampered around his feet. The dragon was in a much better mood than her master. Despite what he said to the sprite, he had entertained the idea of attending the masquerade, and he justified it by plotting ways to kill his uncle during the dance. When he inadvertently touched the sword’s pommel while his anger seethed, it burned his hand. “Ah!” Jaron stopped and looked at his hand, then the sword. Touching it again, he found it cool and reminded himself, “Right, no anger or impure thoughts.” Ivy looked at him, tilting her head to the side as if asking a question. “I just wish—” Jaron paused, hearing approaching hoof beats and creak of wheels, “a carriage?” Dust filtered through the trees as he turned to avoid the road. S