Even with a dragon large enough to blot out the sun lounging behind him, Leroy instinctively threw an arm in front of Lorraine, shielding her from the rustling and cracking of branches down the slope.
A silhouette scrambled upward, panting, slipping, and muttering, his voice carried by the gentle wind. "I thought I'd die of the heat… Damn… water… I need water…"
"I think it's Damian," Lorraine said brightly, peeling Leroy's arm off her like it weighed nothing.
Leroy blinked. He had completely forgotten Damian existed for a moment… which was obviously not the case for his wife. Wasn't she… a little too excited to see him?
A very ungodly part of Leroy bristled.
Damian finally hauled himself up, boots muddy, hair disheveled, eyes so wide he looked seconds away from fainting.
"By the Seven Sacred—" Damian wheezed mid-climb, then froze when his gaze snapped upward.
