The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

move.
    “What, Puppy?” Brevelan’s voice washed over him with love.
    His tail thumped. He knew it did and wondered why. It was as out of place as he was. Something was definitely wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was outside himself or inside. He just knew he had to move, had to seek the source of his upset.
    “Out?” Brevelan asked. She rose and shook her head. There was love in her voice. He thumped his tail again and rose to all of his feet. He needed to be higher, to view things from a different position. He jumped up and placed his front paws on the wall beside the door.
    His back stretched. He savored the tight pleasure of that stretch. Better. But still not right.
    “Oh, all right.” Her hand pulled the leather thong on the door and it swung outward. He slid through the narrow opening. His nose twitched.
    Ahead was the scent of the man’s fire. It burned hot and strange, but he sensed no danger. He smelled the rich warmth of the flusterhens, roosting for the night. The goat was there as well. He found Mica’s scent mingled with the man’s. That was fine. She would alert him to any danger.
    His head swung from side to side as he trotted around the edge of the clearing. All was in order. Everyone who should be there was in place. No one who should not be there intruded.
    Instinctively he lifted his outside leg and left his mark. The action seemed out of place as well. His scent was strong. No one threatened his territory. So why was he so restless? What was wrong?
     
    The opening of the door brought a chill to Brevelan’s shoulders. She should be used to the wolf’s comings and goings by now. He wanted out at the strangest times.
    How odd, she mused. She’d never had to housebreak him as she would a puppy or a feral animal. Darville knew not to soil her house.
    When she opened the door, she saw the glow from Jaylor’s fire. That banished her questions about the wolf and brought images of the man to mind. Images of his hands on her face, his mouth hot and seeking on her own. She should fear the man and the lust that drove him. Instead she wanted once more to experience the gentle warmth in her belly when his hands caressed her hair. She wasn’t used to gentleness. If he’d beaten her, she could have resisted him.
    She returned to her stool by the hearth with a sigh. The pot of herbs bubbling on the grate required a stir. It was something of her own invention to ease the birthing pains of the carpenter’s wife. It would also dull the pain of severe injury. Puppy might need it again. Twice now he’d been injured. Twice she’d nursed him back to health.
    He was just a wolf. What was so extraordinary about him? She heard the wind stirring her thatch. A song rose to her lips in response. With the tune she secured her home and protected her clearing.
    “Puppy!” she called the wolf from the doorway. It was time she slept. She didn’t need the animal’s restless wanderings to disturb her.
    “Awroooo . . .” he howled mournfully in the distance. “Awroooo.”
    “Puppy!” Brevelan ran toward the sound. Jaylor’s strong arm about her waist stayed her headlong plunge into the undergrowth. “Puppy, what’s wrong?” she cried, struggling against the pinioning arm.
    “Stay here.” Jaylor commanded.
    “He needs me,” she insisted.
    “Awroooo. . . .” Brevelan shuddered at the distress in the call.
    “Stay here,” Jaylor said again. He released her. “There’s magic in the air, too much magic.” He swung his staff above his head in an arc. An eerie glow filled the clearing. “I can find him by this light, but no intruder can use it to find us.”
    “Awroooo . . .” Darville was silhouetted against the dark trees. He stood facing the back path to the village, neck fur bristling, tail erect.
    “We are being watched,” Jaylor whispered. His arms re-described the arc and the light vanished. “Get inside.”
    Brevelan resisted the pressure of his hand on her back. Darville’s call was full of pain. He needed her.
    “Go! I will see to the animal.” He shoved her in the direction of the hut even as his long legs took him across the open space.
    “Puppy,” she called as Jaylor’s hand came down on the wolf’s neck.
    The wail ended abruptly. Wolf and man turned and loped back to the hut together.
    “Who is it?” she asked as Jaylor leaned heavily against the closed door. He seemed out of breath from his brief exertion.
    “Which village do you hail from?” he returned.
    She was