The Calm

Torkos turned the knob and opened the front door to his home. He glanced at the 'Home Sweet Home' sign on the wall, tasting ashes in his maw. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around, and found no sign of his mate. 'Probably still asleep, 'he thought, stepping through his simple kitchen, to a hall bathroom where he washed his face and dragged a hand-towel over it.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered what he would look like had he not been turned into a dragon. Would he look like his father, grandfather? One thing was certain. Had he stayed human, baldness would remove all the hair at the very top of his head, considering how often he wore his old caddy hat. If that did indeed happen, he would look exactly like his grandfather, his number one role model. Torkos smiled to himself, "but that didn't happen, did it?" he asked the reflection.
"We know it didn't, "came his mate's voice from behind, her skill at reading his mind impeccable, "that was what made you move out here with me." Torkos stood up from where he leaned over the sink and turned to his mate. Ramya Pureblood was indeed, as purely beautiful as dragonesses went. She barely reached seven feet, just a tad shorter by an inch or two. Her scales were a deep blue, her underbelly cyan, but not plated like her mate. Natural cyan markings of the same color swirled from the side of her muzzle to her tail, giving her an exotic look.  She had a fuzzy bathrobe on, the very same purple as Torkos, and it blended seamlessly with her scales. "I expected you to be back tomorrow," she said, "why so early?"
"I'm back early because I was right. Something is going down, in England actually." Before he could continue, Torkos's stomach reminded him that it's been over twelve hours since he's eaten. "Look, we can talk about this later, first I need something to eat. I'm starving!" She smiled at his bluntness.
"Of course, "The smile dissappeared, "but we are going to talk about this. I want to know what interrupted our night together so thoroughly. We even had reservations." She stepped around the corner towards the bedroom to get herself ready. Torkos couldn't actually say that the reason it took her so long to get ready, like all women, was her hair and makeup because she didn't have hair, only four sloping, ivory horns, and no dragon would stoop down to makeup.
"Guess I'm stuck making breakfast, "Torkos grumbled, heading into the kitchen to grab a pan, some eggs, and ham. "I hate cooking," he muttered. Scrambling the eggs, he set out two plates, put three eggs on each, then adding a hearty portion of golden ham, making sure to mix it in with the eggs.
Setting the table, he went over what he had to do before getting a flight to England. He knew he didn't have much time. It would be a couple of days to fly to the east coast, and from there it would be another day more or less to fly over the ocean on an airplane. So he only had two days to get some things done. "I see you made breakfast."
"Hunger took priority over hate," Torkos replied, seeing his mate seat herself at the table wearing a pair of shorts and a black T-shirt with a blue dragon bursting out the front (Can that be called irony?). She spent almost all of her time at home, writing. That was her job, and while Torkos also dearly loved to write, his past experiences led him to a career where he could do more help than providing entertainment to the occasional reader. Not that he didn't want to.
They ate in uncomfortable silence. Once finished, both pushed their plates to the side, and Ramya laced her claws together on the table. "So, what's wrong?"
"Humans," came the hesitant reply, "The British got their hands on the stones that turned both of us into what we are. Zorath and I, along with most of the council, are worried about them figuring out how to make battle dragons. We're going to go over there to stop that from happening." She sighed, clearly upset.
"I'm guessing this will be dangerous?" She asked.
"What's life without a little risk," Torkos countered.
"It's illegal."
"It's for the good of both humanity and dragon kind."
"You're either coming back or you're not."
"I've been in plenty of those situations. I can handle myself."
"If you die, or get caught, then what will happen to me?" Torkos made to reply, but it simply stuck in his throat.
"I don't know," he croaked, "At best nothing, but at worse..."
"At worse they may come and kill me to make a point, or take me and I become a liability." Torkos looked down at the table and nodded. "Did you even think about the consequences of this little escapade of yours?" He shook his head, eyes still glued to the cherry tabletop. "Of course not," she scolded. Torkos felt anger burn in his belly, but clamped iron bands of will around it.
"Look, if we don't do this, the world could be thrown into another world war," he argued, "I have to go. The rest of the council's coming too." This was a lie, but a small one. Only some of the council was coming. "I gotta be there to patch them up, for who else will?"
"I don't know, doesn't Bryce have medical experience?"
"He has some rudimentary experience. He can set some broken bones and heal some scrapes. Anything worse and at best he can clean and bandage it. I'm going to be there to make sure they survive anything worse."
"If you have to, then I can't stop you," she grumbled, "but just so you know, if you don't come back, I'll haunt you in the afterlife!" She waved a digit at him to drive her point home. Torkos snickered.
"Then I best come back, huh?" She giggled. "Now, putting concerns to the side, I need to make a few errands before I go." He pushed himself up from the table, and she followed suit. "I'm guessing I'll be leaving tomorrow, late. I'll be back in a relatively short amount of time."
"Meaning, you don't know when you're going to get back."
"Pretty much," he admitted, grabbing the plates to place in the sink. His mate followed tail twitching behind her. "Now I gotta make sure I have what I need for the council. It'll take some time, but I should be back in time for dinner."
"You're leaving already?" Concern was clear in her voice, "Even after staying up the whole night?"
"It has to be done," he made for the door, "I'll be back soon, my queen," he leaned down towards her.
"And you, my lord," she stood on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss, and he was gone. She stood there for a moment as the door swung shut behind him, then padded to her study.
"Welcome back Dr. Arcflame, you have multiple messages and requests on your schedule. Would you like me to tell them you're in?" asked his secretary. He had flown to the hospital first, for his responsibilities there couldn't be ignored.
"No, have my subordinate take care of things for the next couple weeks. I have other business to attend to." 'It'll be good for him,' he rationalized. His subordinate was a doctor/surgeon in training. Most of his duties include the check ups, and minor injuries ranging from stitches to broken bones. Torkos hadn't trusted him at first because of his tendency to use his tail during stitching along with his claws. Surprisingly, nothing untoward had happened, and so Torkos saw fit to entrust him with some of the more fatal injuries.
"Of course, Dr. Arcflame." Torkos tidied up his office, went through the few messages he had, and sent others to their recipients. On the way out he grabbed his emergency medical bag next to the door that held each and all of his tools that he needed for most surgeries. The council needed it. In the whitewashed hall, a human in a medical smock walked out from a patient's room, saw Torkos, and moved to intercept him.
"Ah shit!" He told himself quietly as the human came within speaking distance of him, "Harrisson."
"Dr. Arcflame," the man said mockingly, "I didn't see you yesterday. You had two dagoes waiting for you in the lobby, and had to be dealt with by your little apprentice." Torkos tried his best not to growl at the term 'dagoe.' It wasn't deemed a particularly rude term, but it had some history with him. Harrisson didn't know, or care why it bothered him, only that it did, and used it to taunt him as often as possible.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Harrisson, but I had some important business show up that had to be dealt with." The two were by all means, rivals. While Torkos was more draconic based in his medical procedures, Harrisson was obviously more human. This led to friction as Harrisson had a personal grudge against the scalies, and did everything he could to stop Torkos from tending to human patients, even going so far as to blackmail them. Once the two had gone to court, the charges were bribery, threatening to bring harm to the victim, and (obviously) blackmail. No evidence was found, and Harrisson was cleared of charges. This subsequently created some infamy against Torkos, but with as many patients needing urgent care from a steady claw and quick tail, Torkos's reputation as 'the doctor to see' was quickly re established, and the hatred between the two grew.
"What's with the kit?" Harrisson asked catching sight of it, "Off to save someone's life in one of your famous soldier stories?" Torkos kept himself composed, but inside he was seething. Harrisson had gotten under his scales with the 'd' word far enough for Torkos's composure to slip and he had hinted to Harrisson about one of his missions as a teen. Course, Harrisson wanted to have proof of this, and Torkos couldn't reveal what had really happened, so he played it off as a story he wrote.
"Actually," Torkos began, smiling at the irony of it all, "I am. I'm going on an important mission far behind enemy lines." Harrisson chuckled, sure that this scaled bastard had inhaled too many of his own fumes.
"Can you tell me about it?"
"Sorry, Harrisson, classified," he laughed, walking by Harrisson who was so happy that every human patient was now going to be treated by him, so long as the purple freak didn't return.
Outside in the parking lot, Torkos was still laughing to himself, "Classified dumbass, classified!" Giggling, he took off and angled towards the nearest military Air Force base where he had stored something important of his that he could not go to England without.
Opening his locker, Torkos couldn't help but stare at his RSASS sniper rifle, complete with a 10x customizable scope, suppressor, extended mags, and semi-automatic setting. It brought back far too many memories and had served him well in the past. Now, it would do so again.
He was inside the Air Force base's armory, where as per protocol, his gun be stored unless he deemed to use it. Coming in, a quick flash of a secondary badge he had in his wallet brought instant respect and admiration from the human entrance guards, along with access to nearly all of the base's supplies.
From there, it was but a short trip to the hangar, where he found a very old friend of his who was only known as Falcon. Falcon had been through multiple operations, most search and destroy, or snatch and grab. These led to him becoming an aerial ace, and his aerodynamic build and snow white scales reflected that perfectly. Two operations of his had been with Torkos, and both hadn't been on the records. "It's good to see you again!" Falcon had said as they walked through the hangers, planes laid out and ready for launch to their left with their respected pilots tending to them. Outside it was nearly boiling hot, but inside the hangars it the air was cool and crisp. "Why do you need your gun this time? Are you going to take it out to the range?" Cause if you are, I'm game!"
"Ha! I'd give you a couple runs you won't soon forget, but I'm not doing it here. Couple of my friends want to head up to the hills to shoot, and I figured I might as well wipe the dust off mine. Two birds, one bullet." Torkos smiled and searched around to see if anyone was watching. Nobody was paying attention, and Torkos motioned Falcon off towards a dark corner. "C'mon!" Falcon frowned suspiciously, but followed, and soon the two were hidden from sight, voices a whisper.
"Why'd you pull me over? What secrets are you keeping this time!" Falcon asked.
"Keep your voice down," Torkos hissed, "Look, I'm not taking my gun just to head up and put a couple of rounds in a couple of targets. I'm going to England, with some friends of mine. The British found the stones, and my friends and I are worried they'll make an army of battle dragons. We're going over to stop them." Falcon stayed silent, but his frown deepened.
"You're inviting the rest of bravo, right?" Falcon seemed generally pleased with the idea of a good fight, be it legal or illegal.
"Sorry buddy, not this time. No connections can be made back to the U.S. or any other government. If they hear us as a squad, or even see us with our tactical gear, we're putting the whole world at nuclear risk. Can you imagine if the British find out that a rogue U.S. elite squad took out an all-important asset if theirs?"
"Another world war."
"Exactly." Falcon sighed, seeing the hundreds of ways this could go wrong, but also one way it could go right.
"Are you bringing Bryce?" He asked next.
"Yes, he's coming too. You could say he's part of our group."
"Good," Falcon nodded, "I'm glad you have someone covering your back that actually knows his stuff. Now, how about we wipe away the years?" Torkos grinned, and nodded, following Falcon out of the corner towards the armory.
He gripped the stock, feeling the weight and texture of it before pulling the gun free of its mountings. It was surprisingly heavy, outfitted as it was for a dragon. He held like he used to, southpaw. Falcon stood to the side, his own rifle in hand with full magazine and a chambered round. "You ready?" He asked, watching Torkos closely. Torkos pulled a clip out of his pocket, sliding it home, then pulling back on the bolt and letting it go with a satisfying *click.*
"Like I've never left home," Torkos replied, turning and following Falcon out to the ranges. There, they set up, placing their weapons on stands dug into the gravel and taking a couple shots to dial in the rifles. To Torkos, it felt good to have a gun in his hands, smell the gunpowder, and actually do something that he felt he was meant to do. Two boxes of ammunitions was quickly and easily emptied, totaling at around 4 to 5 hundred rounds each.
"You now ready for the real fun?" Torkos asked as Falcon began emptying his last clip.
"You do remember that you have an unfair advantage, right?" Falcon replied, sighting in and firing a shot, hitting the bullseye square on at 30 meters.
"Since when?" Torkos equaled Falcon shot for shot.
Falcon groaned, "Here we go again." He got up from the ground, "Get up! If you really want to then I might as well make it difficult for you." Torkos finished the last of his magazine before doing so. Walking slightly behind Falcon, Torkos couldn't help but grin at the fun he used to have back when he did this kind of exercise everyday. "Hurry up!" Falcon called over his shoulder, leading Torkos over to where a different kind of range was set up. The targets were metal instead of paper, fire-resistant metal. There was a 3 inch thick lead wall behind the targets that would stop any stray shots, and keep anything behind it from getting burned. Few used this range, for it was dragons only. Even when breathing fire, you have to aim. "You first," Falcon said, motioning towards one of the shiny targets.
Torkos took a breath, held it for a moment as he prepared himself for the feeling and taste of literal napalm being exhaled from his muzzled, then opened wide. At once, a gurgling noise could be heard from the back of his throat, and with a squirt and a hiss, the goblet of molten liquid spat across the range, striking the target and burning off the targeting paint before settling on the ground where it bubbled and fizzed. Torkos shook his head, sticking his forked tongue out at the taste. "Bleh! I'll never get used to that." He hawked and spat, another hissing puddle left on the dirt.
"Could you not do that," Falcon asked pointedly, "It's annoying and more than a little disgusting. Not to mention I don't want to be stepping in that shit." He moved to stand next to Torkos, taking aim at the nearby target.
"Don't even start, you know that if I don't get that crap out of my mouth it'll-" *foosh!* Before he could finish, Falcon unleashed a maelstrom of fire, burning the target until the metal turned black, and making it ripple in the heat. Falcon shut his mouth and the torrent stopped. He looked over at Torkos to see him watching with an annoyed look. "And you say I'm annoying."
"Hey, just saving your breath is all."
"Yeah right," he replied, turning back to the target and taking aim once more. Once again, the two equaled each other, exhale by flaming exhale. By the end of their session, the two targets they had punished the most looked ready to melt into the puddles of napalm surrounding them. Both were out of breath, and it would take a few hearty meals with plenty of meat to refill their fire-bladders.
"It's been fun," Falcon said as Torkos followed him back over the almost steaming asphalt to the entrance of the compound, rifle in its case and slung over his shoulder. "I wish I could go with you guys, but I get what you were saying about nuclear war. Just remember though, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." Torkos smiled at the familiar phrase.
"I won't forget," he said, "and besides, it'll take a whole lot to ruin one of my days. Still, being backstabbed seems to be one of my worst pet peeves." Torkos winked as he said this. Falcon gave a hearty chuckle, remembering the multiple times the both of them were backstabbed.
"Oh, and I got something for you (be glad I didn't forget)."
"Huh?" Falcon pulled out a letter. on the side it had Torkos's name, but not who sent it. "Who sent the letter?"
"An old friend of yours," Falcon said, handing over the letter. Torkos quickly cut the seal and pulled out a simple, folded up sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he read the message.
"Dear Torkos, “
“I've heard all about your little operation going down in England, and I also figured you'd need something to help you out. I've written an address at the bottom of the letter here. I'll meet you there to give you your present.
“Kenny (Mkenny1694)"
Torkos shrugged upon reading the letter, remembering Kenny all those years ago. He really loved laser tag, and wasn't afraid to show his superiority in it. It was rather ironic, since Torkos had gone all military, but Kenny had an innate sense with lasers and went to work for NASA in aircraft targeting and control data. "Looks like I'm not going to be able to make it back before dinner now."
Falcon only raised an eye ridge, "At least you're not running my kinds of errands."
"And why is that?"
"Because mine involve getting shot at! I'll switch jobs with you any day." Torkos grinned. Falcon was always a help lightening the mood, almost as good as Bryce.
"I guess I better get going before you write up a transfer."
"Ha!" They made it to the gated and guarded entrance where both pulled out their badges and exited. "You got a date," Falcon was saying, "and I've had it with this heat. I think my scales are starting to lose their luster. Need some polish..." Torkos shook his head at Falcon's poshness.
"I don't get you man. Anyway, I'll catch you later." Torkos leaped from the blacktop before Falcon could reply, anticipating his meeting with Kenny. The address led him to a inconspicuous coffee shop on the other side of town. He landed in the parking lot, and went into the crowded Starbucks. A couple of dragons huddled around a table to the left of the entrance, and to the right a mix of humans and dragons jostled to get their drinks. Torkos surveyed the room and spotted another purple dragon with golden plates instead of his dark grey. Two horns poked upwards from the back of his head, reaching towards the ceiling, made of ivory. He had webbed claws and toes, but wasn't considered a water dragon because if his heavy plates on the top of his muzzle and along his back. "Kenny,"
"Torkos," he replied as Torkos seated himself across from him.
"I got your letter," Torkos flashed it real quick before placing it back in his pocket. "So what's this 'present' you got for me? And how'd you know about the council?"
"I'm not stupid," Kenny countered rather smugly, arms folded over his chest, "I see and hear things. I picked up on your little council rather easily, and followed you guys there."
"Then how'd you get in?"
"I merely told your friend Robinton you invited me." Torkos frowned.
"Ok seriously, how'd you get in." This time, Kenny frowned.
"You're no fun, you know that." No reply. "Alright, I snuck in while everyone was listening to Zorath. It was just as he started to tell everyone about the two missing members."
"You snuck into a dragon council, listened in on it, and are now trying to give me a present. I'm starting to think you may be the traitor we're looking for." Kenny beamed at the hidden compliment.
"Now, lets get down to business," Torkos set his elbows on the tabletop, "What have you got for me?"
"Something special." Kenny pulled a box from below the table, an E.I. Label on the side. "I knew you were probably gonna lean on Bryce for help considering his mask's capabilities," Torkos raised an eye-ridge, and glanced around to make sure nobody was paying attention. "I got you a mark II. It doesn't have everything, but its the most functional and reliable version."
"You couldn't have gone to I.T.?"
"You know they don't sell the mark II. They have their own versions. Frankly, they're versions aren't very reliable. This'll do everything you need, without shorting out every other hour." Kenny pushed the box across the table. Torkos looked at it for a minute, then slid it into the seat next to him. He was glad they were sitting against the wall.
"Is that it?" he asked. Kenny clicked and clacked his claws on the table in thought. Torkos was struck by how odd it looked, and the worst part was he did it too. Old habits and ideals die hard.
Kenny nodded, "I think that covers everything. I won't be joining you guys in England. I got too much here that I'm not willing to risk losing. Give me a call though, and I'll back you up anytime." Torkos gave a crooked, fang-filled grin as he stood up and shook Kenny's hand in a warrior's grip. Wrist to wrist.
"It was nice seeing you again man!"
"Likewise." The two stood up from the table, and walked out together. They pushed past a group of dragons in line and a particularly naughty young boy who was giggling as he snuck his mother's phone out of her purse. In the parking lot, Kenny said, "I'll keep in touch, and keep me updated!" he pointed at Torkos, "I want to know how this escapade of yours ends."
"As do I," Torkos replied, and they both flew off for home.
"My queen?" Torkos called once again at his home. He glanced around, Kenny's 'present' in hand.
"The study, my lord!" came her voice. Torkos set off down a hallway to where his mate awaited him. On the way, he set down the box in his office next to the rifle and kit he had previously brought home. The personalized office was down the same hallway as his mate's study. Peeking in, he saw her facing away from him at her desk, staring out the window.
"Stumped?" he asked, smiling in the light of the falling sun. The light reflected beautifully off her scales, painting the walls and paper in front of her in an ultramarine aura. It was quite serene.
She turned and glared at him, ruining the image. "Do you always think I'm stumped when I'm not writing, or are you trying to get to me?" Her tone was sharp, like a clawed swipe across his muzzle.
"Don't be all testy," he said, used to her more brusque mannerisms when she was frustrated with her work. "I'm just wondering if you needed help was all." He stepped forward, putting a claw on her shoulder. She didn't register his touch.
"I'm fine," she said flatly, "No need to worry," she continued to stare out the window, not facing him.
"Do you want me to cook dinner? What do you want?" She sighed and swiveled her chair to face him, looking up from her seat with those icy blue eyes that had once been dark brown (I hope I'm right about that).
"Does it matter?" she asked in a monotone, "All you're gonna do is add some sort of meat to whatever I ask for." She folded her arms and turned away from him again. Torkos went on unperturbed.
"I know you love my honeyed and seasoned teriyaki chicken." It was a simple recipe, taught to Torkos by his father, and never ceased to satisfy. "I can do that, if you'd like." Suddenly, she grabbed for her pencil and began to write feverishly. She wasn't stumped anymore.
"Fine, whatever." Basically a nice way of saying, 'Get the fuck out, I'm busy!' Yeah, she's said that too before. Torkos shrugged, unmoved, and went to defrost the chicken.
Dinner was silent for Torkos, as his mate was not with him. She had taken her meal to the study. This was as common in the house as it was for others to eat dinner together, meaning nearly every night. Torkos didn't mind, he knew what it was like to write, and to be interrupted by things that didn't seem so important. As he ate, he thought of what he was going to do with his mate the next day. Maybe take her out to eat, and then the movies. 'Yeah, that'll work.'
"Tyler!" His mate shouted, running into the room with wild looks. She never called him that unless he was in some deep shit or something else was in deep shit. Torkos hoped for that latter. "Turn on the T.V. Right now!" Her tone brooked no argument and so he stopped halfway through his meal too hastily grab a remote and hit the power button.
The T.V. was already set to the new channel, as that was all the two watched when they did use the T.V. Instantly, the screen showed a scene of destruction. A human news reporter was relaying what happened to the public, live. "As you can see behind me," he said, "A storage site on the outskirts in England was attacked by two 40 or so foot long dragons." Two pictures were quickly posted upon the screen, one depicting a great black and red dragon with a unique ring of crimson horns around his neck, and the other had a blue and gold lung dragon. Both were destroying the compound behind the reporter. "There was no evidence as to why the dragons were provoked, and we have reason to believe that after they began to terrorize the compound, the guards and workers retaliated."
Torkos glanced at his mate, seeing a look of shock and horror on her muzzle. "Do you know who that is?" She asked, not turning away from the screen.
"I have a couple candidates. Two in particular, "he turned back to the T.V., "and from what I'm seeing here, my guess isn't too far off." She didn't reply as the reporter drawled on.
"Reports show that they didn't just destroy the place for the fun of it, but were looking for something. Multiple storage crates inside the compound were opened, but as so far, only a few were missing their contents." He looked behind him, and the camera followed his gaze to the fires that sparked about the demolished buildings with frantic firefighters trying to put them out. "Behind me, the fires are trying to be put out, but with difficulty. Nearly 30 dragons and humans alike were found dead. Some at their posts and others where they made a stand. Few wounded have been found, all of which have been shipped out to the hospital and we haven't been able to interview one yet."
Torkos hit the button again, effectively silencing the reporter and blotting out the image with a blank screen. He turned to look at his mate questioningly, wanting her opinion. She pointed at the screen, "You're council did that? I thought you had only a few quadruped, and none looked like that."
"I'm not sure how Zorath and Kettou managed to make themselves battle dragons, or how they're able to keep their minds afterward, if they did." Torkos scratched a chin horn, "What I really want to know is why. Why that compound specifically, and why so close to the city. It doesn't add up."
"Does this mean you're going over there? To England I mean." He shrugged.
"Gonna have to. I need to figure this out ASAP." He stood up from the table so fast that he nearly knocked over his chair with his tail. He had his mind set. "I'm going, now." He headed off for his office with his mate trailing behind.
"You're taking your gear with you." It wasn't a question. She knew all about his kit, the mask, the gun.
"Yes," he said as they entered the sparsely furnished office, with nothing more than a desk, computer, filing cabinet, and a picture with the two mates together on a mountaintop. That had been a good hike. He picked up the gun bag and kit, slinging them over either shoulder. Then, he gently lifted the mask from the box on the desk and placed it over his muzzled. At first, nothing happened. Through the lenses he could see his mate watching worriedly. As of a switch had been flicked, the mask powered up, an eerie green glow emanating from the lenses as the status, rangefinders, thermal imaging, and other military-like functions came online. He could now easily see where a man was miles away, an impressive feat even with his enhanced eyesight, and know everything about him too.
Unbeknownst to him, as he looked over to his mate, she felt afraid. Not afraid for him so much, but afraid of him. He's done things she could only half imagine, and from what she's seen of it, it wasn't good. Now, staring into those green sun's for eyes, she was wondering what he will do next.
"You alright?" She asked.
He looked around, getting a feel for the mask and it's capabilities. "Yes," he said finally, "I'm fine." He opened a GPS system integrated into the mask, and easily plotted the fastest route from where he was to England. It made him grimace to see how long of a trip it would be, both time and distance wise. Oh, how his wings would hurt.
"You don't look fine."
"Just hating the mileage."
She smiled faintly at the humor, "I guess you shouldn't idle then."
He chuckled, and stepped over to plant a kiss on her muzzle. "I'll be back before you know it."
"All I ask is for you to come back in one piece."
"Of course, my queen."
Out in the front yard, a bag slung over each shoulder, a mask plastered to his face, Torkos breathed in, long and deep. "Goodbye my lord."
"And you my queen. Till next we meet." He took to the skies, and to a long and hard road of war.