Kuung, the sound of knees hitting the wooden floor was loud as Aslan turned around.
There stood Tiamat.
A dignified-looking dragon-person with two horns above each eye.
The reliable archer of the traveling party, carrying a bow on their shoulder and a quiver slanted across their lower back.
But Tiamat was kneeling, slowly collapsing.
Aslan’s eyes widened at the sight, and Tiamat managed a wry smile while trying to get up. With every creaking step, they collapsed again. Kuung – the second noise was louder than the first.
Tiamat’s whole body was trembling slightly, and the always confident face of the dragon-person was slightly distorted.
Tiamat was a veteran archer.
Though not for a very long time, Tiamat had lived as a warrior.
And warriors were those who well knew their limits.
To Tiamat, this was it.
“…I guess this is as far as I go.”
The pitiful tone lacked the usual strength of Tiamat, instead trembling faintly as if on the brink of death.
The dragon-person leaned against the wall, breathing heavily while looking up at Aslan.
Aslan closed their mouth at such a look from Tiamat and turned to them, and Tiamat gave a small laugh at Aslan’s sympathetic gaze.
“Feeling… a bit tired.”
“Tiamat.”
“Just need to rest… I’ll catch up. Go ahead… first.”
The sight of the dragon-person clenching their teeth and trembling faintly left Aslan unsure of what to say.
