February 28th, 1894 — The Kiln, Keeper’s Cottage
“No one’s seen Nigel,” Howell told Sandow, referring (obviously) to the dragon so named at the reserve. His tone was gruff with concern, his movements tensed as he pulled on his boots over an extra layer of socks. “He’s the last one unaccounted for.” There was only so far the dragons could get within the confines of the reservation, and they had pinned down the whereabouts and the wellbeing of the rest – some injuries; some distressed; no fatalities, only some crushed eggs – but Howell would not feel at ease again until he knew that Nigel was alright.
So he had knocked on Sandow’s bedframe as soon as it was light enough to try their chances outside again. The snow hadn’t let up yet, but Howell hadn’t slept properly since it’d started – and wouldn’t, until they made sure Nigel was safe. (Sandow had no self-preservation – so he was a liability outside alone, particularly in weather like this – but at least, unlike some of the other layabouts, he would not protest to coming out.)
So he had knocked on Sandow’s bedframe as soon as it was light enough to try their chances outside again. The snow hadn’t let up yet, but Howell hadn’t slept properly since it’d started – and wouldn’t, until they made sure Nigel was safe. (Sandow had no self-preservation – so he was a liability outside alone, particularly in weather like this – but at least, unlike some of the other layabouts, he would not protest to coming out.)
