AlpariArt

Drifting somewhere between awake and asleep, Akaia could hear their mother and father whispering together at the kitchen table, just below their sleeping alcove in the attic. The words filtered up through the cracks between the loosely fitted boards of the floor, and then through the straw mattress they sprawled on. “...Journey…” and “...danger…” they heard, then: “But we haven’t told them about the dragons,” their mother murmured, the strength of her conviction lending volume to her words. “I know,” their father said, his deeper voice easier to make out, despite its reassuri