It had been a day since the child had left with the resistance, and yet the weight of that decision still pressed heavily on their hearts. Things were quieter than Yara had ever imagined possible. The absence of the child settled heavily on the room, every small sound seemed amplified— the soft clink of metal clasps as Yara packed their bags, the whisper of fabric as she folded spare clothes, and the faint rustle of parchment as she tucked away a map.
This felt odd, she thought as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands busy packing supplies into the two bags she had laid out in front of her. She shoved a folded tunic into the dragon's bag with more force than necessary, her jaw tight. And he hadn't even spent that long! But she supposed that was just like her—to get too involved, to care too much.
