Times were truly dire, evidenced by the fact that Talisa was willingly doing manual labor. Well, calling what she was doing manual labor might have been generous. The royal decree from the alpha queen of Haven was that the city was to be evacuated, handed over. Talisa didn’t necessarily agree–haughty and vain as any other dragon, she would have loved to have seen the faces of the Kossith if they had come to conquer Haven only to find its gates protected by a Pink and Steel dragon. But Fyren hadn’t suggested the idea, thus neither did she. Instead, she stood directing those who truly chipped in their hard work in emptying houses of their most precious items, of furniture, of steamer trunks, of the material objects that made up the lives lived within them in how to load carts. If she was not especially adept in organizing various sized objects and bins to maximize space, she would have been utterly useless, but as it was she had years of experience in maximizing the small space under floorboards, under beds, and in secret, small compartments to house her hordes.
When she saw Nero pulling a steamer trunk along, she trailed behind him. “You’ll want to put that on the third wagon to the right,” she instructed him. “Would you like help carrying this?” Before he could answer, she bent down to take the other handle to lighten the load and help the man. “Off we go!” she chirped, a good-natured smile on her lips. But most of the time her good nature was the result of her playing one trick or another. Using her illusory magic, the longer they carried the trunk, the further away the line of wagons appeared. "Come on now! Pick up the pace!"
