She had whispered the words aloud. Was the thought hers, or had she, briefly, touched minds with one of the other dragons? That question was as disturbing as the thought itself. Was Sintara acquiring more of the powers that legends associated with dragons? Were the other dragons? And if so, how would they use them? Would their keepers be blinded by glamours, to become little more than fawning slaves?

“It doesn’t work that way. It’s more like a mother loves a wayward child.” Again she spoke the words aloud. She stopped, just beneath the eaves of the forest, and shook her head wildly, making her black braids whip against her neck. The small charms and beads that adorned them snapped against her neck. “Stop it!” she hissed at whoever was invading her thoughts. “Leave me alone.”

Not a wise choice, but the choice is yours, human.

And like a gauzy mantle lifting from her head and shoulders, the presence was gone. “Who are you?” she demanded, but whoever it had been was gone. Mercor? She wondered. “I should have asked that question first,” she muttered to herself as she entered the thick shade of the forest. In the dimmer light, Greft’s trail was not as easy to follow, but he had still left plenty of signs. And she had not gone far before she no longer needed to bother with tracking him. She heard his voice, his words indistinct, and then another voice in reply to his. Jerd, she thought. They must be hunting together. She went more slowly and quietly, and then came to a complete halt.

Sintara had all but insisted she follow them. Why? She suddenly felt very awkward. How would it seem to them if she suddenly came up on them? What would Jerd think? Would Greft see it as her admitting he was a better hunter than she was? She moved up into a tree and began to traverse from branch to branch. She was curious to see if he’d made a kill yet and if so, what he’d taken down, but she had no desire for them to know she was there. Their voices came more clearly, a scattering of words. Jerd said she “didn’t understand” and there was anger in her voice. Greft’s voice was deeper and harder to follow. She heard him say, “Jess isn’t a bad man, even if he” and then his words were too soft to follow. She edged closer, thanking Sa for the black claws she dug in to the slippery bark. She changed trees again, moving from one thick branch to another, and then she was suddenly looking down on Jerd and Greft.