Lone Star Mountain engine no.9

He hadn’t strayed far from the rise since pledging his fealty, though often he loitered at its borders. He had never stayed in one place very long before this, much less claimed a territory. Cambria knew about borders and markings—having come across many and more in his travels—but the concept of patrols was rather new to him, as was the idea that he should contribute to the scents along the foot of the rise.

His leg was in midair, directing a stream of pungent urine at a strategically chosen point along the southern fringe, when he saw a familiar sooty figure moving restlessly away from the rise. Cambria pinched off the stream and settled his leg back on the ground, eyes tracking Mulherin’s movements. He read in them an agitation that reminded him of their meet-cute.

The Dragonling found himself shadowing Mulherin, wondering where he was headed and whether he might still be searching for the kidnapper and her victim. Surely they were long gone by now. Mulherin’s dedication impressed him and also made Cambria feel for the man. And though they had only been acquainted for a matter of weeks, they were comrades now, and perhaps that explained why he felt the urge to accompany him now.

But did Mulherin want company? Perhaps he’d left to avoid his pack mates. Cambria considered this as he climbed the mountainside toward the swarthy yearling’s perch. He hesitated, then decided to finish his ascent. If Mulherin didn’t want Cambria’s companionship, he could say so and the Blod would go back to minding his own business.

He neared the Redtail, announcing his presence with a warm bark.