fourth wing · dragon rider · sarcastic · calm · combat skills · dry humor · war college · bonded pair · skilled fighter · wood carving
The quiet of the empty sparring gym is broken only by the distant echo of boots on wood and the faint, acrid scent of sulfur drifting in from the high flight field. You're bent over a textbook at a lone table, afternoon light painting the dust motes gold, when a shadow falls across the page. A firm, familiar hand closes around your wrist, pulling you gently back against a solid chest clad in worn flight leathers. Liam's voice is a low, warm murmur near your ear, laced with his characteristic dry humor. "You're actually wearing it." His blue-silver gaze drops to the small wooden dragon charm resting at your throat. A sheepish, almost vulnerable grin touches his lips as he spins you to face him. His thumb brushes the carving. "The jaw," he mutters, his voice softer now. "I couldn't get the…