Ashwing waddled after him, still smug.
Ren leaned closer to him as they walked. "Still think you're not the dragon's mom?"
"I'm more like an unwilling mentor."
Lindarion looked ahead at Lira.
Still stretching the definition of "strong" into something slightly terrifying.
'I lit him on fire or whatever. That counts for something.'
He kept walking. No speeches. No plans.
Just a group, a trail, and whatever came next.
Preferably something without claws.
The village looked smaller after killing something monstrous.
Not metaphorically. Actually smaller. Like the buildings had all collectively leaned back a few inches, pretending they'd never had problems, never called for help, never sent a kid to ask for royal backup with a monster in their backyard.
Lindarion adjusted his coat. Ashwing was doing circles around his legs again, like a sentient belt that occasionally breathed fire.
'At this point I'm ninety percent sure he's trying to trip me on purpose.'
The group passed the same crooked sign from earlier. The one that still said The Roosting Pike and still looked like it would give anyone tetanus if they leaned on it too hard. The inn hadn't changed. Neither had the snow. But the people?
Yeah. They were watching now.
Different kind of watching.
Something closer to… not awe, exactly. But the cousin of it. The kind of look you give someone who just set your worst nightmare on fire and then asked if anyone was still hungry afterward.
Lira ignored the stares.
Ren waved at a kid. The kid fell over in surprise.
Ardan said nothing, obviously. His presence alone felt like a statement about overkill.
Meren was muttering under his breath again. Something about needing stronger tea and weaker monsters.
Ashwing sneezed. Sparks. Probably to let the village know he was still cute and terrifying.
Lindarion just kept walking.
'We did a good thing. We solved a problem. I only almost died once. That's progress.'
They reached the main hall.
Raleth was already standing at the entrance, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Problem solved," Lira said simply.
Raleth blinked. "That was… fast."
Ren shrugged. "We're overqualified."
Lindarion stepped forward, hands stuffed into his sleeves because warmth was a priority and smugness didn't help circulation.
"There was a Hollowcarver near the pass," he said.
Raleth's eyebrows did a small, quiet panic. "You're sure?"
"Very sure," Ren added. "It tried to drain us. We drained it first."
Ashwing growled softly at Raleth. Possibly a flex. Possibly indigestion.
Raleth exhaled. A very measured, administrative exhale. The kind of breath you take when your day just got longer, but at least someone else did the hard part.
"And it's gone?" he asked.
Meren flopped onto a nearby bench without permission. "It's extremely gone."
Raleth looked at Lindarion.
Not at his group. Not even at Ashwing.
A long pause stretched between them.
"…You're certain you're only eleven?"
Lindarion blinked once.
Then smiled, just a little.
Raleth did not ask follow-ups. Smart man.
"Thank you," he said, bowing slightly. "All of you."
Ren looked like she wanted to ask for snacks as a reward.
Meren was already half-asleep with his arms crossed like a grumpy cat.
Ashwing was chewing on the corner of a wooden post.
'We are very professional. A true elite team of murder and manners. The best possible team ever…'
Lindarion stepped back, letting the others do their own kind of relaxing. Which, in Ren's case, meant threatening to arm-wrestle a guard. Again.
Raleth glanced toward the village center. "You'll be staying a while longer, then?"
Lira looked at Lindarion.
Then shrugged. "The storm hasn't cleared."
It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no.
Raleth accepted that.
He stepped aside, letting them pass back toward the inn.
Snow started to fall again. Gentle this time. No storms. No monsters.
Just soft, cold flakes and the tired warmth of a group that had done something right for once.
Ashwing sneezed again.
Lindarion didn't even flinch.
'I'm definitely his mother now, aren't I?'
No one said anything.
But Ren snorted like she heard the thought.
Back inside, the inn was quiet.
Inside, it smelled like roasted roots and something trying very hard to be stew. Lindarion took a breath anyway. Anything that didn't smell like monster smoke or snow was an upgrade.
Ashwing trotted in first, nose high, tail wagging with suspicious confidence. Like he expected applause. Or at least a second lunch.
'If anyone claps for him, I'm leaving.'
Ren stomped snow off her boots like she was mad at the ground for existing. Meren followed, face half-buried in his scarf and muttering something about soup being a god-given right.
Ardan just walked in like a sentient wall, which was his default setting.
Lira stepped past the threshold last, already unwinding her scarf with the kind of precision that made Lindarion feel like he'd never worn clothes correctly in his life.
The innkeeper looked up, spotted the dragon, spotted the prince, spotted the expressions of people who had just murdered a nightmare and weren't impressed by the wallpaper. She wisely gestured toward the largest table.
Lindarion dropped into the nearest seat before his legs changed their mind.
'Chair. Blessed invention. Would rate it five stars.'
Ashwing flopped under the table with a thud and curled up around Lindarion's boots like a space heater with opinions.
A moment later, bowls were brought out. Stew. Real stew this time. Chunks of meat, thick broth, something green that probably wasn't poison.
Then bread. Still warm. Slightly uneven slices, but that made it better.
Meren made a reverent noise. Ren snatched two slices before anyone else could blink. Ardan took his without comment and started eating like a machine with excellent manners.
Lira sipped her stew like it had to earn her trust.
Lindarion picked up a spoon, let the heat warm his fingers for a second.