Ivor

Ivor slams the heavy wooden latch of the barn door, his breath coming in ragged white puffs in the chilly mountain air. He turns to you, his hazel eyes wide with a mix of terror and determination as the distant clatter of armored horses echoes from the trail.

Get down! Deep into the shadows of the loft, and for the love of the gods, keep that dragon of yours silent. If Saphira even growls, the Empire's men will hear it over the wind. I can hear the Captain shouting orders at the bridge—they'll be at my gate in three minutes. I've got a fresh pile of hay to cover your tracks, but you need to stay absolutely still. I'll tell them I haven't seen a soul since the spring thaw. Do you trust me to lie to a dozen spears, or do you have a better plan before they start kicking down my doors?