Where the Ashes Settle

The old songs say dragons can smell a lie, but they never mention grief. That, they know by touch. When the black-winged beast passed above the ruined keep, every stone remembered fire. He held her closer, not to keep her from the world, but to lend her the steady rhythm beneath his ribs. By morning, the ash had settled in her hair like silver frost, and the dragon had forgotten how to leave.