To Save The Broken Heart: Dragons, Griffons and Centaurs, Oh My! (Dragons, Griffons, and Centaurs, Oh My!) by Margaret Taylor

Author:Margaret Taylor [Margaret Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-07-11T04:00:00+00:00

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Garax the Ogre crossed his arms. He should not be surprised to find his old friend sprawled in the yard, he’d heard something about a pub crawl the night before, but seeing him flattening part of the flower bed he’d spent many rotations cultivating, was a tad upsetting. He nudged the man’s knee with a toe. “Are you going to lay there all daylight smushing my petunias?”

Rygan’s naked chest heaved into the air then deflated on a long sigh. “Probably.”

Tollo, traitorous little fluffball that he was, trilled in his ear and rolled down his arm. Bouncing on the ground, his little feet popped out of his furry body and his little bug-eyes landed on their mutual friend, sparkling brightly. With a second trilling squeal that pinched Rygan’s features into a grimace, he scurried across the poor man’s stomach and plopped down again just under his chin. A wide, slobber covered tongue rolled free of the slit it had for a mouth and swiped a drool laden path up the bastard’s face from his chin to his forehead.

Rygan sat up, sending the furball flying and coughed as he wiped his face. “By the Gods you wretched little thing! Leave me be!”

He bent and scooped the Ilthe onto his palm and deposited him back on his customary perch near his neck, giving him a scratch behind the ears. “He missed you.”

Tollo purred happily in agreement.

Rygan spit out more drool and levered himself upright. “Well I did not miss him.” He glared at the creature then turned and grabbed the small sack that had been lying next to him. He swung a look around, blinking reddened eyes. “Where am I?”

Garax sighed. “Where you always end up when you have too much Bloodrum. My poor garden.”

His friend snorted and none-too-gently stomped his way through the blossoms.

He jerked the man clear and knelt next to the crushed buds. “Careful you big oaf, it took me 12 rotations to coax those into opening!”

“Big? Who you calling big?”

He harrumphed. The newly planted bed was a disaster. He’d have to start all over.

Rising, he towered over the shorter man, poking him between the eyes with a thick finger. “You will help me clean this up,” he growled. He shoved Rygan toward the back door of his home. “Just as soon as you bathe. You stink of Tecta weed and cheap Colnats.”

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