Dragon by Finley Aaron Page A

under my head, and hope none of the unfamiliar noises rustling in the woods are yagi.

Chapter Seven
     
    “Shh, Ilsa, wake up. Don’t say anything. Sit up slowly.” Ion’s voice is a whisper, his face so close to mine I feel his day’s growth of stubble scratching near my ear.
    Torn by his words from a troubled dream of shadows and yagi and fear, my heart is pounding so loudly I have to strain to hear his instructions.
    “Put your shoes on.” The stubble around his mouth brushes my ear again now that I’ve sat up. “We’re going to go.”
    “Go?” I whisper, too, a sound that’s hardly more than a breath.
    “Yes. You and me—back to the car. We’ll drive around via Russia. Ram is crazy but I’m not going to fight him. We’ll just sneak away while he’s asleep.”
    The moon is a sliver, and the light that penetrates the canopy of branches is meager, but I find my socks and shoes, and pull them on. My feet aren’t so swollen now, but I have no idea what time it is or how long I’ve slept.
    Even as my sleepy hands fumble with my shoelaces, I debate whether going with Ion is the right thing to do. Obviously taking the car is better than walking. Backtracking through the night is better than spending two months hiking through unfamiliar mountains with winter fast approaching. And if we leave Ozzie with Ram, she won’t have to endure the journey.
    She’ll have time to heal.
    That, more than anything, makes up my mind for me. I will leave Ram so he can take care of Ozzie instead of escorting me.
    I slip into the jacket I was using for a blanket, and start to strap my daggers to my thighs.
    “Don’t bother,” Ion shakes his head, his words mouthed as much as spoken.
    I look up at him, blink once, and finish buckling. I’m not sure about leaving Ram. But I am sure I’m not leaving my weapons behind. We might be making the rest of the trip in the safety of Ion’s Skoda, but Ram taught me how to fight for a reason.
    And I’m pretty sure this trip is the reason.
    Once I have my swords secure at my hips and across my back (under the backpack—they won’t be as easy to pull out if I need them, but otherwise they stick out too far and catch on branches) I nod to Ion.
    We step away silently. Ram’s face is nothing but hair and two lenses reflecting the crescent moon to the sky. Ozzie had shifted out from under my head in the night, and now snoozes closer to Ram. Neither of them moves as we sneak away, which rather surprises me because usually Ozzie is a light sleeper. Then again, given her injuries, I’m surprised she didn’t fall asleep on her feet during the trek.
    Initially we walk slowly, stealthily, picking our way through the woods so we don’t accidentally snap a stick and awaken Ram or Ozzie. But as we get further away from our campsite, we increase our pace.
    I also start to wake up a little more, and realize what I’m doing is not a dream. I’m leaving Ram behind. For real.
    My dad told me to trust Ram. But the two of them have been keeping secrets from me, which is so very not cool. And Ion gave me a picture of my mother. Ion wants to bring me home.
    This must be the right choice.
    I stumble on. It’s difficult in the darkness when there isn’t a clear path. I’m grateful for my jeans, which are thick enough to protect my legs from all but the thickest and pointiest branches.
    Ion is moving briskly, almost at a jog. Obviously, if we’re going to stay ahead of Ram (who’s not going to just roll over and go back to sleep if he wakes up and realizes I’m missing) we’re going to have to move fast, at least until we get to the car.
    If we can reach the car, there will be no way Ram will be able to catch us. We walked all day. If we run most of the night, it won’t take us that long to get to the car. How many days will it take to drive home through Russia? A few maybe, depending on how much we sleep. I don’t have much experience driving, but driving instruction was part of the curriculum