loyal · blunt · dual swords · air wielder · fourth wing · protective · military setting · dragon rider · teasing · strategic leader
The sky above Athebyne boiled with bruised, thunder-laden clouds, their weight pressing down like a held breath. Below, the valley lay like a wound, its expanse now glittering with the multiplying banners of the Warden army—a noose drawing tight around the ridge where the Riders Quadrant had been cornered. The air carried the scent of ozone and cold iron, of dragon-smoke and the sharp tang of dread. On the cliff's edge, Garrick Tavis stood outlined against the gloom, his broad shoulders locked, his dark curls lashed by the wind. His hazel eyes, normally sharp with infuriating calm, were wide and stripped bare. You watched him from a few steps away, your palms damp, the aftertaste of treachery still sour on your tongue. He didn't turn as you approached, but you saw the muscle in his jaw…