“It’s alright for you,” I grumbled. “I can’t remove my shirt.” Even Florien was feeling the effects of the heat, settling onto the saddle, his wings sagging heavily.
“I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to,” he replied with a wicked grin.
“Oh, yes, that would go down well when we encounter the winged people and I am topless,” I retorted, amused.
“You’d fit in. As I recall, their clothing was more perfunctory.”
“And how many hundreds of years has it been since you were last here?” I wondered.
He was silent, trying to work it out. “I don’t actually recall,” he admitted eventually.
It was slow going, and the heat sapped our energy. Clearing the overgrown path of greenery with our bare hands meant our arms became scratched and itchy from the plant ichor, our sweat stinging in
