Sleeping Dragon history is a vat of honey

He is a pisspoor father that both his sons are so insolvent they have no belongings in which to collect before they leave.

He swallows the burn in the back of his throat, eyes climbing to where the goats shuffled on seemingly impossibly steep cliff faces. As Ezra smoothed out his fur and the two boys exchanged a look, Anselm let his mind briefly wander.

Where was Etienne these days?

Then we leave now. Come. Anselm announced with a sweep of his tail, taking in a deep breath and getting his bearings. Last he had seen, the wolves of Saatsine had been out afield.

Like a creature hunted, Anselm heads for thick undergrowth.