They walked for a long, long while. Barclay knew these woods like the back of his hand, and he walked easily among the trees, the trunks, the branches and the moss. These woods were old - ancient, really - but they had never seen something like this. One of their own, moving about. He could hear their surprise on the wind, in the rustling of the leaves.
With every step Barclay took, his staff hit the ground with a satisfying thunk.
Alex's silence wasn't unexpected. Barclay didn't mind. There wasn't anything worthwhile Alex had to say, anyway. Little pale-haired buffoon. Don't mess with dragons. Their boyfriends are easily angered.
In the absolute heart of the forest, Barclay stopped. He nodded at the tree and, with a little less care than it ought to, it set Alex on the ground. Upside down. Barclay reached into his pouch and approached Alex, giving him a disdainful look. This time, his hand did contain powder. Without a comment, Barclay threw it in Alex's face.