"-muscles seemed stiff. The walk did him good, stop yelling at him," she admonished Marent as she spread the cloak out a bit, trying to catch some of the fire''s new heat. Oskar squinted, puzzling out what Amnestria was saying with some difficulty. "Besides, we DID need wood. A lot."
Amnestria watched her friend moving stiffly around the campsite after he handed her the bag containing their cooking supplies. Thankfully, Oskar wasn''t too seriously injured and was able to pour them mugs of ale, fill the tea kettle, and place it on its hook over the fire as she began preparing breakfast. The cold that Oskar was immune to had essentially locked her in place next to the fire, so she appreciated that she didn''t need to get up just yet. She sipped at her mug, then set it aside with a shiver. It was too cold to drink right now without freezing herself from the inside out – she decided to wait for the tea. She watched Oskar down his entire mug in one go, and she shuddered. She finished peeling the potatoes, reaching for a pan and placing it into the carefully raked out patch of coals. Oskar sat gingerly next to her and took the small pot of peeled potatoes, cubing them before tossing them into a bowl between them.
"Dragon steaks," Oskar said in his slightly hollow voice. He was gazing wistfully at the corpse of the ancient silver dragon that he''d slain almost single-handedly the previous night. He looked down at the fire as he greased a fresh pan for the hot cakes. "Dragon steaks and fried eggs. Are we sure she''s diseased? Maybe it''s just some skin condition, the meat might still be - "
"Tell you what-" Amnestria started before remembering. She waved a hand at Oskar, who turned to watch her lips as she spoke, handing him the bowl of batter. "Tell you what. You go over there, carve out a section of meat, and I''ll cook it up for you. If you don''t die in a week, we''ll all enjoy a nice dragon steak breakfast."
Oskar snorted as he began scooping the batter into the pan. He stopped, and added more of the coarse oat flour to thicken it. He even added salt, for some ungodly reason, though she wasn’t about to question him. Anything Oskar cooked would be better than what she could do. “Would I be more likely to die from disease, or from the cooking- Ow!” Amnestria had forgotten about his ribs, and immediately regretted the punch. Oskar was so big and muscly that she usually didn’t need to pull a punch delivered in jest, and she had delivered a solid blow.
“anything''s salvageable? the hide''s all pocked and blotchy, the scales are more grey than silver, and they''re weaker than normal. You saw how they were bein'' knocked off left ‘n right whenever we hit?"
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Oskar raised a brow as he sharply jerked the pan, flipping the hotcake without even using a spatula. He was a much better cook than she was, so he managed without taking his eyes off of her face. Show off. "Matchin’ armor?"
"Gaudy and showy, more like," Oskar replied as he settled the pan back in the coals. "They''d all be on us at the start of every fight, the troops would have to protect us like bodyguards... You''d make us into targets, woman."
"Hmph. Well, maybe just for fancy occasions. It''s a moot point anyway if the hide''s not usable." Amnestria shook the potatoes in the pan, tossing a bit of salt over them as she did so. She could hear Oskar’s voice in her mind, gently admonishing as he’d vainly tried to improve her skills. “Season as you cook, woman. Get the flavor in the food while it’s heatin’ up.”
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“Vorum is a city. Orgumir is the Crown Prince of Vorum. In the Dwarven lands, Crown Princes rule the cities like mayors do in your human lands, and each province has a High Prince. There is no ruler in charge of all four provinces. However, all the princes – the Crown Princes and the High Princes – are still royalty, and retain more authority and power than a human mayor would. Anyway, it’s cold because she was silver. Silver dragons are cold by nature.” Amnestria shook the pan again, belatedly remembering the potatoes. Not quite burned, but definitely darker than they should be. “When a dragon dies, their nature sticks around for awhile, no longer contained inside themselves. She should stop freezing things in a day or so."
Rando looked over at the corpse of the dragon. They''d camped as far away from her as they could without leaving the clearing entirely, and when Rando had finished his shift on watch and gone to bed, the cold hadn''t yet reached them. The dragon, and the area around the corpse, was coated in a thick layer of ice. The morning fog had condensed and frozen onto the freezing flesh, entombing it in a sparkling blanket.
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