Onyx did not want to leave.
His small body was planted on Fin's chest, all four legs locked, tail wrapped around the unconscious king's forearm. This was his post and his post was non-negotiable.
Aeron reached for him. Onyx's wings flared. The flare was small because Onyx was small, but the energy behind it was colossal, carrying the full territorial fury of a bonded dragon whose person was unconscious and whose person was therefore vulnerable and whose vulnerability required a guardian and the guardian was him and the guardian was staying.
"Onyx." Aeron's voice was steady. Patient. The patience was tactical. "He is going to be fine. You cannot stay on his chest for a week."
Onyx chirped. The chirp was loud, indignant, and carried the unmistakable frequency of yes I can, watch me.
"You are going to training."
He shook his head once, eyes saying: training can go to hell.
"Onyx."
