Chapter Twenty-One
The Call of the Wild
Barlo ran his callused thumb over the blade of his ax and found another notch. He took comfort in the sound of the dry rasp of his whetstone as he worked. Telanadil took little notice of him as the sky horse focused on eating the last of the grass Lysandir had managed to procure for him. Arinwyn was in quiet conference with Nasir as they checked their packs.
Barlo hated waiting. All this business of staying cooped up where no one could see them was starting to wear on his nerves. Lysandir’s tent was spacious, but it did little to drive away his restlessness. He would have felt better with solid stone around him. Instead, they had little more than some fabric shielding them from the prying eyes of the rest of the small camp of drake riders.
Lysand
