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Summary
The boy who had once been so curious and eager to learn about dragons, was dead. His body, a weight above my own as well, pressing me into the earth, into a shallow grave. I had been so sure then, that I too would die. That the dragon knew I was alive and was just waiting for me to need to move, from the cold or the stiffness, or from starving. It didn’t really matter.
I knew it, within my very soul, that I would die here with the rest of the charred flesh and bone and sinew surrounding me. That I was destined to death at the maws of this midnight nightmare of a creature.
In a way, looking back now, I suppose I had been right. In a way.
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Killian Brannigan, nephew of General Melgren, and cockroach of the riders quadrant. The boy who just won’t die. Not even when it’s certain death. Not even when he wants to.