The smell of burning metal wafted up Loreley’s nose as she passed by the forge with a basket of oranges, cherry tomatoes, strawberries, and apples swinging in her hands. She could hear the clanking of metal on metal from inside the forge and many men’s voices. She placed her basket down on the dirt road, stopping to braid her dark hair. An animal’s shriek split the sky a few moments later. No one walking the streets jumped. It was a familiar sound that occurred every day at this hour. Darius and his blood red wyvern landed a few steps away from Loreley. The thud of the landing reverberated through her.

“I know I know, aunt Aran needs the basket at this very moment,” Loreley said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She bent down to retrieve the basket, rearranging the apples so that they didn’t tumble out. A hint of a smile showed on Darius’s face when she turned to look at him again.

“Need a lift?”

Without a word, Loreley stepped tward the wyvern, his massive head leaning down to let her stroke his face.

“Have you *still* not named him?”

“I usually just call him living Peril but Aran doesn’t find it as fun as I do,” Darius explained with a small shrug of his broad shoulders.

“Personally, I think you could shorten it to Peril but ‘living’ adds a little more flair,” Loreley nodded in approval. Darius chuckled.

Peril raised his wing as he usually did, offering her an assist to climb on. And as usual, she took it. She stepped up onto his wing, walking until Darius could reach a hand out and haul her the rest of the way.

…

“I’m back!” Loreley called out to Aran. She placed the basket down on the dining room table and took off her coat, hanging it on its rack.

“You’re going to help me with the apple pies, right?” Aran called back.

“Sure”