Weaving Is An Option
Dara had a moment of foreboding, little things felt wrong. There was sudden silence among the small creatures around their campsite. Even the breeze had stopped as if the air had withdrawn into itself. Then a blast of wind rushed over her back, nearly flattening her, as a thunderous shriek split the air. A dragon had sailed over the ridge. It was probably as surprised by them as they were by it, but she was fairly certain the inconvenient bugger’s response would not be to just keep flapping along on it’s merry, leather-winged way. Nope, they probably had a good long slog ahead of them of infuriating it’s cranky self to death by lobbing spells and arrows and poking at it with pointy things while dodging it’s searing attacks. With a massive gout of flame, the dragon attacked the camp and most of the inhabitants ran to arms. At first Dara was terrified when she couldn’t spot Lace, but she looked at the crest of the hill just in time to see Scout Harding darting swiftly away between the rocks and shrubs towards a deep, rocky overhang that was likely the safest bit of nearby shelter. She wasn’t sure how she really felt about her own dear love leaving her behind without a backward glance. However, she was sure her fellow surfacer had a perfectly pragmatic explanation as to why it made excellent sense. She looked forward to hearing it. She looked forward to Lace finding several ways of persuading her to not be upset. Too bad they wouldn’t be sharing their tent tonight. It was on fire.