KERK CAME OUT of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Supper is ready.” He glanced towards the door. “It’s getting rather late. Aren’t you worried…?”

“Ti won’t run away again,” Doom stated with absolute confidence. “Even if she did, Pack Leader has the entire wolflen tribe keeping an eye on her. Whether she realizes it or not.” He looked to the fire in the hearth, his expression grim. “Not that it fixes anything.” He uttered an inarticulate sound of anger and frustration. “I so wish I could rip Alimar’s arms off and beat him with them for what he did to her!”

“Things will be made right one day,” Gareth assured as he came out of another spare room, tugging a clean, loose tunic in place. He looked to Kerk. “I am deeply grateful to be allowed to share your roof, Master Kerk.”

“Bah.” Kerk waved off the honorific. “Everyone knows I am a master blacksmith, Bard. Only one in the region, so no need to be using the title when you’re under my roof.” He poured a mug of ale, offering it to the other man, handing a second to Doom before pouring for himself. “Common courtesy to offer bards shelter and I’m one of the few able to spare the room.”

“But sheltering bards who manage to piss off touchy gladiators that share the same roof?” he asked dryly. He could almost feel the glare Doom turned on him. “No insult intended. But she is touchy.”

“I am many things. Without discipline is not one of them.” All three startled as the door opened to admit Tiwaz. She shook the snow off her cloak before hanging it, not looking at the males. “If I was without discipline, there would be many dead.”

“So, you forgive me?” Gareth asked, hopeful. He sighed at her hateful expression. “Well, can’t blame a guy for hoping.” Kerk and Doom both chuckled, Tiwaz settling on the floor by Doom’s side, resting her head on his thigh and closing her eyes. “I am sorry I insulted you, Tiwaz.”

“I should not have gotten so angry,” she answered, relaxing partly when Doom lightly rested his hand on her back. “How can you understand what you cannot see?”

“That is…admirably tolerant and understanding.” Gareth grinned when she opened one eye to look at him. “Believe me, very few people admit to their own failings much less apologize for them. It makes you rather unique.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, grumpy. “Unique. I will allow unique,” she stated. Gareth smiled, pleased to have diffused her usual self-denigration. Sniffing the air, she looked at Kerk with reproach. “Why didn’t you say supper was ready?”

“Bah, not like stew can’t wait. I’m just happy to see you in better spirits, lass,” Kerk replied easily. They all got up to relocate to the kitchen. “Good thing the farmers didn’t have a bad time of things during the warmer seasons, or we’d be hurting a lot more.” He served the bowls of stew while Gareth helped by setting out the bread and butter. As they settled in to eat, the man wagged his butter knife at Tiwaz and Doom. “You are going to need to do something with that dragon skull. It got moved from the square to between the house and smithy and I know I will break my neck tripping over it one of these mornings or nights.”

“The ground is frozen,” Tiwaz stated, her eyes on her food. She looked up when the rest were silent, sensing their confusion at her comment. “It would dishonor the spirit of the dragon to smash it to burn and we cannot bury it until the ground thaws.”

Gareth blinked. “That thing is massive! You would seriously dig—? Wait. No, just ignore my question. Of course you would.” She smirked at him, going back to eating. After several minutes in companionable silence, he offered casually, “You could take it to one of the Dragonway temples. The nearest one is only about thirty minutes’ walk west from Bralden. At least, during good weather.”

“Heh.” Kerk shook his head, his tone disparaging. “Keep forgetting about them.” Gareth arched a querulous eyebrow at the smith.

Doom and Tiwaz traded bewildered, uncertain looks. “Can they be trusted?”

“Eh? Oh, yeah, they can be trusted,” Kerk replied dryly. “I have never been one to have much faith in gods. But their gods are dragons, so I’m sure they’d find some use for a dragon’s skull.” He took a bite of stew, swallowing. “Dump it on their doorstep. Let it be their problem.”

Tiwaz frowned. Gareth watched her for a time before pointing out, “As Kerk said, their gods are dragons. I can assure you they would not abide desecration of the skull. They will know how to take care of its soul properly.” The bard put his chin in his palm and regarded her in bemusement. “You know, I can just see your cat ears flattening as I speak.” He held up his hands defensively when she raised a hand as if ready to backhand him. “You do want the see the dragon’s remains are treated with respect, don’t you? What’s the matter?”

She turned red, not looking at him. “You want me to go to a temple. I do not like the idea of religion. It sounds like slavery, submitting to the whim and will of a god or the god’s priests. Being told what to do and how to think, and punished if we do not abide by their version of what is right and wrong.”

Doom put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re not going to submit to anyone or anything. We’re just going to take the dragon skull to them so it’s out of Kerk’s way and it’s given the respect in death that it is due. That is all.”

She sighed gustily, conceding. “Fine. We’ll take the skull to the dragon temple after we’ve rested. But that’s all!” She grumbled, attention on her food. “My head still hurts from being thrown against that tree.”

“Of course,” Gareth agreed, sighing inwardly in relief.