The dim planning room of the Resistance base was cluttered with maps, arcane tools, and the scent of ink and candlewax. Yara leaned over a spread of parchment on the table, her finger tracing a line westward as she spoke.
"We could walk," she began, "but it would take weeks. And that's assuming we don't run into any trouble."
Val leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. His tall, broad frame seemed out of place in the cramped room.
"Weeks of walking?" He arched a brow. "You mean weeks of listening to you complain after half a day on your feet."
Yara shot him a glare. "Oh, please. The mighty dragon doesn't want to stretch his legs? Afraid you'll be mistaken for a common traveler?"
Val smirked, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light. "No, I just have better things to do than babysit you when you trip over your own feet."
