"Look," said Vica, facing away from Constantine and kneeling nearly between the dragon's fearsome forelimbs. Though she had spoken quietly, her voice echoed around the nest chamber and made her sound louder than she was. "Constantine, please. I need you."
"If only you spoke so sweetly all the time," he hummed, but he relented and slowly made his approach, curiosity getting the better of him. The dragon didn't even spare him a glance to his great comfort - it and Vica were far too preoccupied with their present fixation. The silence from Vica seemed more distracted than stubborn: likely, she was communicating with the dragon at that very moment. Damned telepathy, he thought. He rarely dwelled on his youth, but he was gladder than ever now for his resistance against psychic intrusions. When
