To Rhona’s surprise, the horses were where she’d left them, grazing on the grass and nuzzling each other.
Rhona pulled out a burlap bag filled with fruit she’d picked up in town, but Vigholf took it from her. “I’ll feed them.”
“I think they like me.”
“No, they don’t.”
“The stallion 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 pulled out her bedroll. 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 stallion.
“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 stallion again, but Rhona reached up and grabbed his arm. “You of all 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 pulled on his arm until he finally sat beside her. “You take things so personally.”
“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 skull 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.”
“Actually,” she told him. “I was speaking of mine.”
“Oh. Then you have a point.”