"Is  this still not enough?" Faylin asked, holding double the amount of horse meat he brought along with him. He set the parcels down on the cement floor, throwing them one by one into the cage. The man's body was still covered by the shadows, the only thing visible were his hands, clawing at the food and the exception of his fluorescent, amber eyes.

"No." The dragon's reply was a short rumble.

"Then, how much do you need?" The elf got closer to the bars, the tip of his nose sticking into the cell.

"Thirty more pounds of that," the man mumbled, consuming the two packages within a matter of seconds, the stench of the horse's blood intensifying.

"Um, alright—" he began, fumbling on his words. "I—"

There was an awkward silence between the two, and Faylin could not think of what he wanted to say. There were so many questions in his mind that he desperately yearned to ask the man, but he was unable to formulate them into words.

"Does that wretched king know you are here?" It was an abrupt inquiry, one that only exacerbated the clumsiness that the little elf felt.

"No–he does not," he responded, keeping his head down in embarrassment.

"Lift your head," dragon's voice boomed, making the boy involuntary shudder. At once, the elf lifted his head, surprised by how quickly his body reacted to the man's demand. He was so surprised by his actions that he did not even notice how close the man was to him.

"What is your name?" The dragon asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

"Faylin," breathed out, his face flushing red, it was only now how handsome he realized the dragon was. "A-and yours?"

"Kalaun," the man answered gruffly.

"That is a very nice name." Kalaun did not reply to the compliment, but instead stood there, staring at deeply into the elf's eyes.

Faylin felt as if he was required to stay put, and admire the man's gorgeous features. It was apparent that he was hardened by years of combat, no doubt, with scars that littered on his angular face. His eyes were piercing, like serrated swords, tempting others to look into them only to be cut into two. The cold stares he gave intensified his masculinity. It was dark and brooding and Faylin had to confess that any woman would find him attractive regardless of his brute nature.

It was a complete contrast to the elf's appearance. Faylin felt inferior, wishing he could be as tall dark and handsome as the man in front of him. If he could be like Kalaun, then perhaps, he surmised, that others would respect him. But alas, the boy was pale, dainty and had curvy figure. He had detested his hips since he was a teen. Yes, it was true that the boy had been a carrier, but it still made him feel unmatched to the rest of the boys his age.

Carriers were not rare, but they were not common either. He had remembered well when others started to make comments about his 'hippy' appearance. Even his own father had made such a comment when he was fifteen moons.

The man's stomach growled, waking Faylin from his self loathing. Blinking a couple of times, he meekly smiled at man in front of him. "I'll get you more food."

When  he went out to fetch the meat for the dragon, he had finally put his thoughts together. He knew what he needed to ask.

The man ate his meal once more, swallowing another twenty pounds of meat in one go.

"Kalaun?" Faylin called out, disturbing the dragon's meal. "Could you by chance, tell me about the guardians?"

"No," the man retorted, "it should be something you already know."

"But—" Faylin went on to argue, "they do not tell me anything. I am confident that the other guardians are just as confused as I am and—"

"Enough!" The dragon yelled, slamming his hands against the old walls, cracking them. "Your people have already spilled your head with lies. It does not matter what I say about the guardians."

"You really do detest elves." Faylin did not mean for the comment to be voiced, and when he realized what he said, he clasped his hands over his mouth, ashamed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. And again, the dungeon filled was filled with an awkward silence. Faylin contemplated whether or not he should leave, and retreat to his room. The boy paced himself, biting his lower lip in distress, his eyes staring at the staircase.

"Show the king your mark," it was a soft tone the dragon used, much different than his usual, roughness, but nevertheless it was a command. "He will know what it means."

Faylin nodded his head, and left disappointed. He did nothing but upset the dragon instead of answering questions like he hoped. It seemed like he would have to figure things out on his own.