As the Spatial Gate closed, Tuzel's muttered curses faded away behind him.
The sound of the waves came with a cool breeze. Refreshed and well fed, Ruger patted his belly and stretched luxuriously in front of the Wooden House, then took out the Old Recliner. A well-fed kobold was a diligent kobold. It was time to immerse himself in his thoughts on Scorching Wings. He had also asked his teacher a few questions over the meal.
Ruger settled onto the recliner with delight, instinctively glancing at the neighboring island as he sat down.
The ruins looked unchanged.
He pursed his lips and took out "Benson's Spell Fantasies and Beautiful, Tough Scales," resuming the reading he had left unfinished before the meal.
His teacher's answers had merely confirmed that he was heading in the right direction. Naturally, he had never intended to rely entirely on his teacher.
Likewise, he had never intended to rely entirely on Lord Benson's fantasies, nor could he. Everyone's circumstances were different. Receiving a little reassuring guidance and finding a few ideas to draw on was already a blessing.
He leafed through Benson's book of fantasies. Beyond the study on attaching spells to scales, which he had now read twice, he naturally hoped to find more interesting things he could draw on, things that would inspire him. As he read, part of his mind continued to ponder.
Lord Benson's research could be called a success, but it could also be called a failure. He had set his sights too high. Years of tinkering with his body and bloodlines had left him with colorful scales, in more than a dozen colors at their peak. What he wanted was not merely to modify something, but to make the scales born of different bloodlines correspond to different spells, turning them