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Morgan had never wished so badly for an hour of idleness before in his entire life. And he’d done a lot of idle wishing.

The result of yesterday’s conference slash shouting match was that the entire village would make ready to leave on a moment’s notice, and that everyone of age would increase their training in weaponry and practice fighting in their sea dragon forms.

“I remember the tricks they used last time,” Brevaer said darkly to Morgan that morning as they ate the plain, tepid meal he’d managed to scrape together. He should have taken time yesterday to haul in more of the communal root crop and pound it into something edible, but, well … yesterday had gotten away from him.

“They spread nets across the water to tangle us,” Brevaer went on, either not realizing, or equally likely, not caring that Morgan’s thoughts were several miles away. “They had some sort of stinking black oil that set the sea on fire too. It burnt out quickly, but the oil stuck in the gills. You had to transform to scrape it off, and then you were more vulnerable to attacks by their harpoons.”

“But we still don’t know they’re coming for us,” Morgan pointed out. His brother scowled at him. “We don’t! Not for sure! You said yourself that the evidence you’ve found so far is inconclusive, didn’t you?”

“It’s true that much of their ship’s stores sank or were destroyed before we reached the wreckage,” Brevaer said. “But think. Their ship exploded. Why would a ship with good intentions carry something on it capable of that level of destruction?”

That … was a very good question and not one that Morgan wanted to consider. He changed the subject instead and later that morning found himself sweating alongside every other person of fighting age in the clan as they wielded staffs on the beach. The only ones who weren’t there were the women with young children, the few who were needed in the fields, and those seeing to the packing.

“Double tempo!” Brevaer called out, and the drummer picked up the pace. Morgan groaned aloud, almost getting whapped by someone else’s staff as he broke formation. “You don’t get to stop yet!” his brother snapped at him when he saw Morgan standing there, rubbing one aching arm. “Not until you do this ten more times, perfectly!”

What good will staves do us against people who can make things explode? But Morgan didn’t say that out loud, because he valued his life.

“Time the strikes to your exhales,” Garen whispered from where he was working a little ways off. “It makes it easier to move in time with the beat.”

“But that’s boring and predictable,” Morgan whined, nevertheless following along with Garen’s direction. “How is this supposed to help us fight anyone?”

“It’s not.”

Morgan almost jumped out of his skin as his brother’s hand landed on his shoulder. “These early skills are meant to help you learn to move and become accustomed to the weight of a weapon in your hands,” he said sternly. The others moved around them like a bunch of panting, breathless shadows. “Once you’re capable of that, you can learn more.”

Morgan scowled. “If this is the beginner class, then why is Garen here?”

“Morgan!” he heard his friend mutter.

“He’s here because he’s responsible for making sure you do your training.”

Oh, for the— “That’s not fair! You can’t punish him just because I’m bad at this!”

“Garen, unlike you, has enough of a care for the well-being of the entire village that he doesn’t want a little fish like you to bring the rest of the school down!” Brevaer snapped.

In the distance, Morgan heard his cousin Drenikel snicker. Son of a bit—no, I won’t dishonor Auntie like that.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt!”

“Then take responsibility for yourself for once and let these lessons sink into your thick head!” His brother turned away before Morgan could do something he knew he’d regret, like whap his brother upside his thick head with the end of his staff. Sea and wave, Brevaer thought Morgan was capable of nothing but idiocy, didn’t he? Sometimes Morgan wondered whether his brother cared for him at all, or whether Morgan was nothing but an enormous thorn in his foot.

“It isn’t fair,” Garen agreed quietly later on, once the class was over. “He’s very hard on you, but …” He shrugged. “The ones who love us the most are also the hardest on us.”

“Of course, you think that,” Morgan muttered, cramming a yam patty into his mouth and chewing desultorily. Ugh, no seaweed sauce. Bland.

Garen looked away. “I know it doesn’t mean as much coming from me, but … your brother had to learn to be not just brother but father and mother to you after what happened before. It had to be difficult.”

“I know.” And that was the only reason Morgan wasn’t fighting against this stupid edict any harder. “I just wish it wasn’t so hard for him to show any feeling other than anger.”

“Well, there’s also impatience, disdain, worry …”

Morgan made to chuck a yam patty at Garen’s head, then thought better of it and set it aside beneath the edge of his kilt. If the man were still alive, he would probably be hungry.

It had been so hard not to get lost in thoughts of his illicit human all morning—if Morgan hadn’t been on the verge of driving his brother to insanity, he wouldn’t have been able to manage it at all. As it was … “What are you doing next?” he asked casually.

“I’m in the water-tactics-and-fighting class.”

Morgan grinned at the banked pride in his friend’s voice. “You’re training to fight in both forms! That’s great!”

Garen grinned back. “Mother tried to argue against it, but Brevaer won her over in the end. I’m looking forward to it. What about you?”

“Um …” Oh shit. What was a good excuse for him to head back out to the rocky beach? “I think I’m going to go for a run,” he said slowly. “It’s basic conditioning, I know, but it gives me a chance to clear my head. Besides, I might find something for a new art project along the way.”

Garen accepted the explanation like Morgan had been sure he would. “Just don’t run too far,” he said as he got up and reclaimed his staff.

“How far is too far?”

“Around the whole island.”

“That wouldn’t even take half the day!” It was true, their home was a speck of a place. For the first time, Morgan wished it were bigger, not for the sake of more variety, but because the thought of someone stumbling upon his human when Morgan wasn’t there was horrifying.

“Well … maybe not for someone else, but for you …”

Morgan threw sand at Garen, who laughed. “Go be muscular and leave me alone!” As soon as Garen was out of sight, Morgan got to his feet. He brushed off his tunic and wrapped his kilt firmly around his upper body, then loped out of the village at an easy jog. No one called out to him; no one even seemed to notice him. Perfect. As soon as he was out of sight of the village, he picked up the pace.

Two hundred feet later, he stopped, bent over at the waist, and nearly threw up his meal. Too fast! Maybe this really would do him some good if he was so damn out of breath after such a short distance. Once he was sure he could move without wanting to vomit, Morgan set out at a very mild jog toward the beach.

The closer he got, the more chaotic his emotions became. Would the human be there? Be dead? Be missing? What if he was cold, or too hot, or sick? Morgan didn’t know the slightest thing about keeping another living being alive, much less one that wasn’t Agnarra. If he was dead … Morgan’s heart panged for no good reason. He’d just met this strange, quixotic creature yesterday—it was far too soon to be thinking fond thoughts about him. Far too soon! And yet …

He arrived at the beach out of breath but no longer caring and stumbled over the rocky ground to the overhang where he’d left his human. Please let him be all right, please let him be all right, please, please … When he saw the man still there, the relief was nearly overwhelming. But was he breathing? Was he alive?

Before Morgan could lose his mind from uncertainty, the human opened his eyes. His starlight eyes were blue in the sunshine, and his charred hair was golden red where it wasn’t blackened by fire. He was even more beautiful now than before.

Then he opened his mouth and said, “Hello.”