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modern inventions such as a flushing toilet.”
    “Now, Tara, you don’t want to do anything to upset the man you are stuck here with. Especially since I may be the only thing standing between you and some bogeyman.” He smiled, walking off towards a promising copse of trees, whilst she bent down to dig up dandelions and inspect the other plants along the water’s edge.
    Before long, the setting sun on her back and the sound of the spring tinkling along inspired her to hum a tune, and she forgot all about the danger they were in. Until a low growl made her start and look up. There, coming through the trees, was a wolf.
    “Shit,” she whispered quietly, placing her basket on the floor and backing away. Her only hope would be to get into the trees and perhaps climb one. Like climbing trees is your strong point .
    Doomed, she was about to be eaten alive by a wolf. A fact that seemed a sure thing when the creature began to advance on her, teeth bared, its growl one continuous rumble in its chest. She wanted to cry out, to call Dòmhnall. But what if it killed them both? Surely, it was better for the wolf to kill her and eat her, and for Dòmhnall to survive.
    But she didn’t want to die. Getting to her feet, she ran for the trees, her eyes searching the ground for anything she could use as a weapon, while the wolf advanced. It was getting close, dangerously close; she needed something she could hit it with, and there it was, a big thick branch, not too heavy but capable of knocking its brains out.
    Diving for it, her hand closed around it and she lifted it to swing, just as the wolf leaped at her. She missed its head, but the branch hit his shoulder with a nice thud. It fell to the ground, and she raised the branch to strike it while it was down. Too late, she hadn’t even stunned it, and now it was on its feet once more, circling her, looking for a weakness.
    It wouldn’t have to look too hard; she felt weak all over. Her legs felt as though they would give out on her, and her arms shook under the weight of the branch. The wolf licked its lips, tasting her flesh on its tongue. Imagining what it would be like to sink his teeth into her and let her blood spurt all over its face.
    “I am not going to die here,” she said, raising her weapon once more, knowing she would have to find some source of strength from deep inside her if she wanted to survive this.
    But her strength came from elsewhere. Dòmhnall.
    Caught off guard, the wolf didn’t have time to turn and react as the dragon lord raced through the trees and struck him with his fist. Stunned, the wolf reeled backwards. But then found his feet and leaped at Dòmhnall.
    Teeth and claws slashed at Dòmhnall as he fought to overpower the wolf. The crazed animal seemed intent on a battle to the death, especially when it had the first taste of his opponent’s blood—a large cut on Dòmhnall’s forearm bled profusely, dripping on the floor. Although the dragon lord showed no pain, and it didn’t prevent him battling with the wolf until they were both rolling around on the ground. A mixture of snarls from the wolf and curses from Dòmhnall filled the air.
    Tara made herself get up. Her hand closed around the branch, and she stood by the side of the two brawling creatures, waiting for her the right moment. When it came, she raised her arms and whacked the wolf around the head. It spilled forward onto Dòmhnall, who took the chance to overpower it, ramming it onto the ground and then twisting its neck until it snapped.
    Tara sank to her knees in relief, her hand over her mouth as she sobbed, great lungfuls of air filling her chest as she fought to regain control. She missed her magic; she missed the dragon who would have killed this wolf in one flaming breath.
    Dòmhnall came to her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to his chest. His blood ran freely down his arm to drip on the floor, and all she could think of was his life force ebbing away and knew she