Rhona pul ed out a burlap bag fil ed with fruit she’d picked up in town, but Vigholf took it from her. “I’l feed them.”

“You wil ?”

“I think they like me.”

“No, they don’t.”

“The stal ion lets me ride him.”

“Only because he’s keeping an eye on the mare. He couldn’t care less about you.”

“I don’t agree.” And off he went.

“You can’t be that oblivious,” she told his back, but she realized that not only could he be that oblivious . . . he was that oblivious.

Shaking her head, Rhona walked over to a nice spot and pul ed out her bedrol . She spread it out and sat down, letting out a weary sigh.

She placed the palms of her hands flat behind her, propping her up, and stretched out her legs.

But she wasn’t surprised when she heard, “Oaf!” seconds before Vigholf flipped over her legs and slammed into a nearby tree.

“I told you they don’t—”

“Quiet,” the Lightning barked at her, getting himself up and stepping over her to march right back over there.

Two seconds later, he came flying back again.

“What is wrong with you?” Vigholf demanded of the stal ion.

“He doesn’t like you and he doesn’t want you around his female,” Rhona explained.

“I don’t care.” Vigholf stepped over her legs, heading over to the stal ion again, but Rhona reached up and grabbed his arm. “You of al dragons should understand his position. Now sit.” When Vigholf only glared at the horse, Rhona insisted, “Sit down. Now!”

“Fine!” Vigholf threw the bag of fruit in the horses’ direction. “Here, you bastard!” Rhona bit the inside of her mouth to stop from laughing and was pleasantly relieved that everything seemed back to normal again.

She pul ed on his arm until he final y sat beside her. “You take things so personal y.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do, but you need to let it go. For your sake.” She released his arm and brushed the growing welt on his forehead. “Before that mean bastard cracks your skul open.”

“I thought we could bond over the fruit.”

“You’re not going to bond with that one. Just be glad they’ve stayed with us this long.”

“Bastard,” he muttered while rubbing his abused forehead. “Just a mean bastard.”

“You should be used to mean bastards.”

“Don’t talk about my kin like that.”

“Actual y,” she told him, “I was speaking of my own.”

“Oh. Then you have a point.”

Rhona took another look at Vigholf’s head. “That’s swel ing. I better get a compress for it.” She leaned over Vigholf to get a cloth from her bag.

That’s when she felt him bury his nose against her neck and take a deep breath.

Rhona froze. “Are you smel ing me?”

“No,” the Lightning replied, but the word was muffled by al the hair he had his face buried in.

“Al right then.”

She pul ed a clean cloth from her bag and, after easing away from Vigholf, went to the river, and plunged the material into the cold water.

Looking around for some snow or, even better, a bit of ice, Rhona stood and turned—only to find Vigholf standing right behind her. She took a step back, startled to find him so close and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s that look on your face?”

“What look?”

“Like you’re starving.” Rhona briefly closed her eyes, exasperated, immediately realizing this had nothing at al to do with her. This dragon was a bottomless pit! “Gods of death, you cannot be hungry again. You just ate. ”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you have your hungry face.”

“My hungry face?”

“I guess you never noticed it because you never look in a mirror, but you have this . . . hungry face. Like you’re a starving man ain’t seen a good stew in years.”

“Wel , I don’t have that look for stew.”

Rhona panicked a little and desperately whispered, “This isn’t about the horses, is it? You can’t go around eating our transportation.” Vigholf snatched the compress from her hand, inexplicably aggravated. “I have no intention of eating our transportation.” He pressed the cloth to his head. She was guessing he had a headache. His own fault real y, trying to feed the horses.

“You can’t lie to me, Vigholf. You clearly want something to eat, but you’re not getting it. Not tonight. We need to economize with our supplies.”

“I’m not hungry,” Vigholf growled.

“You need to find a way to control your appetite.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“We’re going into enemy territory,” Rhona felt the need to explain as she would to one of her cousins or siblings. “I don’t know how regularly we’l be able to get you food. So you’l real y need to—”

“I’m not hungry!” he yel ed at her.

Rhona slammed her finger into his chest. “Don’t yel at me, you Northland bastard. I’m not the one who looks like he hasn’t had a meal in years.”

“You want me to be honest with you?” Vigholf snapped. “You want me to tel you why I have my hungry face as you cal it? Because of you.