It was always the same.
Tell someone not to look and they would look. Tell them not to go there and their feet would already be moving. Tell them not to talk and suddenly they had so much to say.
So what more a child who had just been told not to panic?
Especially when the dragonling who said it panicked so hard he passed out himself.
Little Liam found himself trapped in exactly that situation.
The moment he saw the great golden dragonling lying limp on the floor, his breath caught painfully in his chest.
"Lord Orien…?" he gasped, voice thin and shaking.
No response.
Panic surged.
He rushed forward, hands scrambling as he knelt beside him. He had to help. He always helped. He had picked Orien up plenty of times before and swore as his knight that he would always do it. This would be the same.
Only it wasn't.
