Across the room, the dragon paced, his broad shoulders stiff with tension. The dragon was still too proud to sit or admit that the tightness in his chest was anything more than the aftermath of the fight that had left them both angry.
The idiot, the dragon thought, stealing a glance at Yara as he paced. He had assumed she would have broken the silence by now. Women—humans—were always talkative, were they not? Always ready to chatter about feelings and grievances. But not Yara. She sat like a statue, her lips pressed into a thin line, the soft rustle of her turning pages the only sound breaking the silence between them.
