Conor had never felt such an odd pain before.

It started off sharp and sudden, then it slowly became bearable, and then almost pleasant, like a gentle stream, or the way leaves swished in the wind.

He felt oddly in tune to the grass and earth beneath him, and the forest just a hundred meters or so away. They felt familiar to him, like long lost friends. Any other day, he would've just brushed it off as something along the lines of visiting this place before, and just couldn't remember it.

But that wasn't right.

Conor took deep breaths, breathing in and out slowly. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the now cold dragon that had so readily given its life for them. It was like nature itself had wormed its way into his heart, mixing with his strong feelings of leadership, wisdom, and the deep curiosity towards the world that every adventurer seemed to have. Like running water, it soothed him, tuning down all his worries.

Conor had always liked the way nature heard and understood him. Alone in the fields with a shepherd's crook and practically nothing else, he'd often been afraid. So he'd focused on identifying night sounds instead. The whirling of wind, the distant sound of crickets, the baying of a sheep that was up long past its bedtime. Later in his life, when setting up camp somewhere, he would merely lay down and listen, soothing his mind, or he would stay awake making flower crowns or bouquets for no one but the wind, which would scatter them anyways.

Nature was simultaneously so fragile and the strongest thing in Erdas, similar to how he felt. He had the strong desire to protect it all he could, for it had been there for him in his weakest moments when he felt like falling apart.

And perhaps it was his duty to the Foresterdragon who had spared his life and saved it at the cost of its life, all in one day.

"Don't tell me you're sleeping now," Dawson joked, shaking Conor.

The adventurer jolted upright, blinking rapidly. "No," he said quickly, "I'm not."

Dawson smiled at him. "Relax. Even if you had been sleeping, I honestly think I would've let you." He then reached for Conor's wrist, holding it up towards his face.

Conor blinked. He did not appear at all stunned or afraid of the vine wrapped around it.

"Normal humans don't really do that, weirdo," Dawson said, shaking Conor's hand, which flopped limply.

Conor shrugged. "Couldn't be helped," he replied shakily. Clumsily, he got to his feet, seeking Dawson's steadiness by grasping his shoulder in a semi-strong grip.

"Devin?" The question was very vague, but the smaller boy seemed to understand.

"Father practically shook him out of a trance. He's good," Dawson assured him, beginning to walk towards the large crowd.

"Did anything happen to him?" Conor didn't know why he was asking. He'd seen Devin fall.

Dawson pursed his lips. "I don't really understand dragons as well as my brother. In fact, I don't really know much about them at all. But my best guess is that it passed on its main traits to both of you. Devin received its fire. You, obviously, got its loyalty to nature."

Conor nodded, agreeing. Then, he looked pitifully at Dawson. "I wanna curl up in a nice, warm bed."

Dawson laughed. "Hang tight, old man." He patted Conor's hand affectionately.