Riagán ate another spoon of oatmeal, the smile never leaving his lips. He glanced at me, as if telling me to wait for the end of the story.
“Moments later we heard loud rumbling, and a giant rolled out from around a corner. Of course, he headed straight for the screaming thug.” Orla stared at Riagán. “Because one supposedly grateful mythborn decided to lure a giant to us, we barely made it out of there alive.”
“But you did make it out of there alive,” Riagán pointed out in an amused tone. “And you did shoot that mythborn ceannasaí, no matter how thickheaded he was.”
To my surprise, Orla laughed casually. “I guess we are even.”
areI sat in my chair motionless as the memories resurfaced: a giant closing in on me and the wounded mythborn, the overwhelming smell of blood that gave the mons
