She’d nearly reached the smokehouse when a huge man in overalls and a train cap emerged from the decrepit building. “Hi!” he barked. His smile missed half the teeth, but it wasn’t unkind. He checked the dock and hollered, “Drakonian Nick!” He stuck out his hand, but his eyes inspected her up and down.
She lowered the wheelbarrow to the ground and took his hand.
“Fred,” he told her as her hand disappeared between his massive paws. He leaned in and growled, “You didn’t marry him, did you?” before letting her go.
“Oh,” Rohi squeaked. “No,” she added in the fiercest voice she could muster. She shook her head to reinforce her point and noticed the filthy, matted mass shift like it was a hat. As soon as she had a moment, she would cut it off. “He’s teaching me loricator and drakonile hunting.
