Divining a Direction

Erd’s green journal ignites with a white-hot flash, nearly burning off Felicia’s eyebrows.

“What the hell, Vera!” Rach says, having elbowed Felicia clear.

Unconcerned, Vera shoves up her blue-tinted goggles and waves a hand over the smoking ash. She hums then purses her lips. “They went north.”

I grimace and flick another flutebeetle off my sock — the noisy pests are everywhere in Beska’s Mill — before gesturing at the distant mountains. “The Dragonriders are that way.”

Rach raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“I may have borrowed something from their commander and forgot to give it back.”

“Hah. Only you, Maya.”