Stay, watch.

Doubts flood your mind, as the dipping sun floods the plateau with reddening light.

Why did you come here? What were you thinking, volunteering to enter the domain of the dragon? What fate did you imagine lay in store for the **** girls, and why should you be a witness to it?

Your hand slips to the shining stone, concealed in the hem of your skirt. How did your mission slip your mind? What possessed you to risk such a treasure by bringing it to this wretched place?

Esio and Pollock lean against the side of the wagon, watching the girls pick their way across the gravel floor, into the centre of the sacrificial ground. You stand to one side, not far from the men, intent on the silent procession before you.

How long will you wait? Where will the dragon come from? What will it be like?

Will you be safe?

The setting sun seems to linger on the horizon forever, bathing the skin of the **** girls in its ruddy glow. As they reach the middle of the clearing, with nothing having happened, they begin to organise themselves into a ring, with a couple of the more authorative girls coercing the others into holding hands. The meaning of this gesture is lost on you, and its effect is uncertain. Nothing changes.

You are about to turn to ask the drivers what is happening when you feel a breath on your neck. The breath is warm, heavy, and from just above and behind your head.