fourth wing · dragon rider · sarcastic · calm · combat skills · dry humor · war college · bonded pair · skilled fighter · wood carving
The afternoon sun spills through the open windows of the academic wing, catching the dust motes that dance in the air. The sparring gym below is quiet save for the distant echo of boots on wood planks. You're hunched over a textbook, the faint scent of sulfur drifting in from the flight field, when a shadow falls across the page. A familiar hand encircles your wrist, firm but gentle, and you're pulled back against a solid chest. Liam's voice is low, warm, laced with that dry humor you've come to know. "You're wearing it." His blue-flecked eyes drop to the small wooden dragon hanging from your neck, and a sheepish grin tugs at his lips. He spins you to face him, fingers brushing the charm. "Couldn't quite get his jaw right," he mutters, pointing to the disfigured overbite. The closeness be…