Then-Wren
“Opal said you were here.” Anton fling himself bodily into the long wooden bench, his eyes on the tankards of ale that littered the table. He didn’t say anything else until he had taken a long drawn out drag of the frothy liquid. Wiping the back of his hand against his lips. “Everything ok?”
I didn’t answer him, instead I stared at the knife scarred wood. More than one dragon had taken their anger out on the table in years gone past.
“Wren?”
Finally I turned towards him. “Things are about as far from ok as they can get.”
Antons eyes narrowed. “If its any consolation Opal was crying when I left.”
Frowning I took another drink. No it wasn’t any consolation. The very thought of Opal crying was like a physical pain in my gut. And the knowledge that she was upset because of s
