"Her fire."
I said it out loud to make sure I had heard it.
Devant crouched by the black water and rinsed his hands in it, working the grey dust out from between his fingers, taking his time about it the way he takes his time about everything.
"Drakonir burn from the inside. Even the half ones. Especially the half ones, because there is less of it, so it has to work harder." He shook the water off. "That is what keeps them warm in places like this. It is also what keeps them alive in places like this. A full one could stand in that stench for a week and come out complaining about the smell. A half one gets one hour, and hers ran out somewhere in the fourth."
"So it's out."
"It is very low." He stood. "Out is a different word and I would not use it yet."
'…Okay.'
'Okay, that's a yet. I can work with a yet.'
