Her scales rose like hackles. There it was again, that malevolent, watchful presence. Someone was definitely following her. Or something. The dragon squinted skyward from the trail she'd beaten through the tamarack to her lair. Turning a full circle, Khisanth scanned the horizon. As before, she saw nothing to confirm her suspicion. Ever since she'd started across the Miremier to the Great Moors in search of a lair, the dragon had not been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching her. That was many lunar cycles ago, when snow had still blanketed the tamarack and ice had covered the pondsnot long after she'd eaten her human lover. Led's death was a delicious memory for Khisanth, and she used it to reckon timeone season after the devouring of Led, four lunar cycles since, and so on. She'd discovered the huge fen she now called home on a practice flight with Kadagan past the sandy desert on the western edge of the Endscape peninsula. Strong westerly winds had made flight difficult that day and pushed the heavy, pungent scent of stagnant water and rotting humus within reach of her sensitive nostrils.
