Yara stirred, the soft sounds of laughter and quiet conversation filtering through the open window. Flickering candlelight danced across the rustic wooden walls, casting shadows that swayed in rhythm with the life outside. She lay in a cocoon of blankets, her body still weak from the wounds she had sustained during their escape from the swamp.
Right, she remembered now. They were in a village—the dragon had mentioned that when she first woke up.
A dull ache pulsed through her injuries, a constant reminder of their harrowing ordeal. She tried to shift, testing her body, but a sharp pain sliced through her side, and she winced, her breath catching in her throat.
A strong, warm hand pressed her back down gently but firmly.
"Stay still," the dragon's voice, deep and gravelly, murmured, though there was an unexpected softness in his tone.
