By the time we reach the biggest hut in the center, I am heavily leaning on Black. The hut is about the size of an upper tier city home, like my adopted family's home. But this place is mud brown and, oddly, round, with a tapering roof some three stories up.

We duck through a short, round opening designed to keep the heat in and the cold out.

A large bear of a man sits behind a rustic desk, his eyes on the papers before him. Directly behind the man, a true bear stares at me with black, beady eyes on hind legs. Strangely enough, the bear behind the man is wearing a full suit of plate armor.

This is quite the grizzly scene. That inner voice comments.

The black-haired Werecat looks at me strangely when I cough, my voice choked in humor.

Don't kill me with humor.

Laughter is good for the soul.

Unless you're me. I respond.

A grizzled assassin with a weirdly self-sacrificial half?

Hush.

I nod to Flash, moving from him as my support.

The man looks up from shuffling papers around his desk. His bushy eyebrows lower, almost covering his deep silver hued eyes.

“What’s this?” He says, moving a hand to stroke his impressive beard that would make a bigfoot jealous. And let me tell you, the bigfoots are very zealous about the hair. It's a point of honor for the beasts.

“Father, this Shifter saved Essie.” The Black states without aplomb or inflection, making me raise my eyebrows at the jester who now reports with the zeal of a soldier.

Father? Interesting.

The man’s eyebrows climb his forehead, almost high enough to touch his hairline. I’m quite amazed at the range of motion those eyebrows possess. Is there a such thing as flexible foreheads? The rest of his face would sit well on a statue: strong, sure, and carved from rock.

Noting the large golden ring on his center finger, I instantly place a bland expression on my face and offer a bow fit for one of his station from one of somewhat lesser stature.

“Sir Risa Imperium.” I say. Risa is the Other equivalent of Kinsman, a once adviser to the kings of old, but who rose in power to be almost kings in their own right when the High King was supplanted by other rulers.

His eyebrows rise higher, and I get a whiff of the tacky scent of surprise. I straighten and have to grab the back of a suit of armor to keep upright.

He stays seated, but does nod. “Las Dram Shifter.” Las Drom is a term of slight acceptance for one of unknown stature.

I abhor politics and the ramifications of such things. If he knew who I am, a proper address would be Salom Imperia. Loosely, Prince Imperia. Or King To Be.

The Imperium gestures to the chairs in front of his desk with meaty fingers. “Come, come. Sit. Flash, get breakfast for the Shifter and send for Shefa Bridge.”

Before obeying, I take in the large room with walls of deep brown paneling. Fires rage in a round fireplace set into each corner, heating the room and throwing light into the dark areas where the skylights don't reach. There are many swords, shields, and even halberds and battle hammers along the walls, almost hiding the two hallways branching from this area. It's a cluttered mess of sharp items I could spend days admiring. I beleive that's even a Hirim naginata behind a suite of deep purple dragon scaled armor.

Based on the scents, there's a mixture of curiosity and slight wary concern, but nothing nefarious from either Flash or this bear of an Imperium.

There is a limp I can't help, and find it impossible to stop myself from sinking down into the wooden chair that is surprisingly comfortable. The Imperium looks at me with both appraisal and undisguised guile as he steeples his meaty fingers on the desk. I doubt much gets past this man.

He does not make me wait long until his curiosity gets the best of him.

“How did you know?” He can’t quite keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

“I was raised to know such things.” I reply.

He raises those impressive eyebrows again. “A royal, perhaps?” I nod in acquiescence, but say no more. “From what pack do you yield?” He asks after a beat of silence.

“I was cast out at an early age. I currently have no pack.”

His lips tip down, and his eyebrows rise. Again. I hope they don’t get stuck there. “A Shifter with no pack? A lone wolf.” His voice is a mix of haughtiness and disdain.

I get it. Lone wolves are dangerous. Without a pack, there is no one to hold them accountable. Most are cast out in disgrace due to extreme circumstances. Murder of a pack mate and the rape of a noble would be a few such instances I have heard of.

“Not by choice or action." I grumble, unsure if that sentence is strictly true. "Sir, I’m sorry, but I genuinely do not know what I’m doing here nor what you want of me.”

Both his questions and haughty demeanor set me on edge and grate on my already fried nerves. My ankle throbs, my ribs ache, my leg is aflame, the scratches from the Werecats itch as they heal, and I hurt from head to toe. I might be slightly irritable.

He actually chuckles, surprising me and making the large mop of brown hair on his head tremble. “Straight to the point. I like that. Zephora came earlier, explained the situation before taking Essie home to her mate. You are a brave one, lad. Seems as if you have honor somewhere in there.” He gestures to me. “As for why you are here... I wish to enlist your aid with dragons.”