The Start of Chapter 8
On Mouses, Crows, and Dragonlings
Hi friends! If you’re new here, I’m writing a book 200 words at a time, Monday through Friday. Each Monday (and sometimes Tuesdays if I’m literally on an airplane on a given Monday!) I post the last week’s progress, raw and largely unedited, along with some reflections on the past week’s writing.
If you’re here primarily to read the story, you can find the start of the project here. And if you don’t mind tossing a coin to your Witcher, you can get a link to the updated, edited, and latest draft of the digital ARC (advanced reader copy). There, the chapters are in order, typos are fixed, and content is updated live ahead of being shared here.
(Usually, I link a “previously” to the last section of the story, but this week I’ll also link to the last chapter that was a Bria the Mouse chapter, as I myself had to go back to remember where things left off with our intrepid hero!)
Chapter 8
“Pavil? Is that you? Of course it is! Good morning, good morning, my friend!”
From her corner table, Bria peered over her hazelnut coffee as Tavi clapped a startled looking corvid on the back. They were, true to Tavi’s word, playing the chat with the merchants by ear—but with just a shred of a hint of a thing resembling a plan, per Bria’s request. Out of habit, she tugged her cloak down over her ears a bit more, and out of newly forming habit, put a hand on the basket under the table to soothe the slight rocking that had started to emanate from within.
Across the room, the crow had lit up as he recognized Tavi from the previous day, and friendly banter of “we got back sooner than expected” rolled out across the mostly empty tavern common room. Though Tavi had dropped his voice down to casual conversation levels, Bria heard every word, her ears tensed and tuned in their direction.
The plan was simple. The pair arrived downstairs before even the morning cicadas sang, camped out at the bar with an order of breakfast, and waited for members of the merchant caravan to make their way downstairs. Bria took her acorn mug and camped out at a back table, out of direct line of sight, while Tavi made himself as visible as possible. “Fewer ears, looser lips,” as Tavi liked to say. Plus, Bria could then stay with Chiara some distance back, and only approach if the reveal would play to their advantage. (When Bria questioned Tavi ordering a flagon of mead alongside a robust and hearty breakfast spread of eggs, steak, and potatoes, Tavi reassured her it was to “sell the jovial lone Scurryer act.”)
From there, Tavi would strike up a casual conversation, then “feel out how he should broach the topic of the egg.” When Bria pressed him on how he’d do that, Tavi had waved his hand and said, “something something keep it natural, something something keep it light. You know. The normal way you bring up the fact that you know an animal may have engaged in the illicit, likely illegal, certainly immoral smuggling of the live young of a legendary creature.”
Bria had bit her tongue then, because experience had taught her that despite appearances and impressions, Tavi probably had this under control.
And indeed, here he was, already having gotten Pavil to literally eat out of the palm of his hand, plying the crow with a “you just gotta try one of these potatoes, I don’t know how the barkeep does it, but they’re just the perfect balance of crispy outside and fluffy insides.” Bria found herself blushing at the intimate gesture, and feeling a twinge of—well, something else shoot down her spine.
“Oh, wow, you weren’t kidding,” Pavil managed to articulate around the chunk of tuber now in his mouth. “That’s… delicious.”
Get to the point, Tavi, Bria thought in her head, only realizing she was glaring at him when she caught herself with her jaw clenched tight.
Whether it was a reaction to her shooting daggers at his back or merely a happy coincidence of timing, Tavi did indeed change the subject. “So, listen, Pavil, my friend, I have some ah, mixed news for you about our attempts to recover your shipment.” Bria’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs, and she was grateful she wasn’t at the counter, because although Tavi’s words spoke with apology, his tone carried a light growl and sultry gravel.
“Is… is that so?” stammered the lightly flummoxed crow.
“The good news is, we’re pretty sure we found the crate.” Tavi took a long pull on his flagon of mead, just a trickle dribbling down one side of his face. Bria stared at Pavil staring at the droplet as wended its way down Tavi’s chin, carved a line along his neck, and disappeared into his tunic.
“The, the bad news?” Pavil mumbled.
“Was empty, boss,” Tavi replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh. Oh! Oh no.” Pavil seemed to snap to attention at this revelation. “Are you sure?”
“That it was empty? Nothing more sure than nothing,” Tavi replied, his full attention turned back to his breakfast platter.
“Maybe it was the wrong crate? Or maybe it rolled somewhere nearby? Oh dear, oh gee, oh no.” Pavil seemed fully distracted at this point.
“You knew what was in it then?” Tavi said, eyes locked on his food.
“Yes. No. I mean—it was—well. Something very important. and Precious. Priceless.”
“Maybe them ferals ate it.” Tavi took a big bite of potato.
Pavil looked at Tavi chewing, alarmed. “You think there were more? Than what attacked us, I mean?”
“Did you guys kill them all then?” Tavi locked eyes with Pavil, and the crow stammered under the sudden scrutiny.
“It was… self defense.”
“Of course.” Tavi stared at Pavil, taking a vicious bite of his steak.
“B-besides. What was inside wasn’t edible. Not by animals. And no one was supposed to know about it.” Pavil let loose a series of nervous clicks, his beak chattering as his forehead furrowed with thought.
“Maybe someone did know. And they got there before we could, and stole it.” Tav took another swig of mead. “I mean, whatever it was, it’s not like it could’ve just gotten up by itself and walked away.”
At those words, Pavil stiffened. He looked up at Tavi, finally meeting his unrelenting gaze.
“…you know what it is, don’t you.”
Tavi continued staring. “I believe your own words were… ‘Something very important. Precious. Priceless.’”
“It must have hatched, didn’t it?” For just a moment, Pavil was again lost in his own thoughts. “No snowfall the last three days meant lower temperatures, so maybe it finally got cold enough that…” He looked up. “Where did it go.”
“The better question is, why did you have something like that?”
“You saw it then. Saw it hatch maybe? That’s incredible. Hal would lose his mind.” Pavil seemed eminently distracted, and genuinely… excited?
“Where did you get a dragon’s egg, Pavil? And why are you and the caravan bringing it way the hells out here?” Tavi dropped his voice to a quiet rumble, a tone of insistence paired with that of a quiet confidant.
“You mean back here,” Pavil said.
“Back…?”
“That egg belongs to Hal Gunderson.” Pavil gestured broadly outside the tavern. “We were just returning it.”
Writing While Busy
As alluded to at the start of this post, this Monday I was flying back from visiting my folks! This visit was a belated holiday trip, and it was great to spend a 4 day weekend catching up with my mom, stepdad, and grandma.
As I write this post, I am positively baffled that it is somehow already 13 days into 2026, and I’m already more busy than ever and feeling absolutely slammed with a to-do list that grows longer by the end of each day, despite checking off a great many things along the way.
A friend had asked when we could hang out, and Evan said “well Yichao’s Friday nights and weekends are pretty booked out until into mid-February,” and I had to do a double take on our shared calendar because I couldn’t believe it. And yet, there it was. 2025-Me sure did agree to a litany of January obligations (many fun and exciting, to be fair). And so 2026 has come barreling along, and all my dreams of a slow ramp up are now thoroughly dashed on the altar of Projects and Productivity ✨
This is all a very long winded preamble to say—even 200 words a day for 5 days last week felt like a challenge. And I’m already sweating at trying to keep pace for this week as well, given I missed yesterday.
But that’s what’s been compelling about this particular project. The hope that “no matter how busy I am, 200 words a day is few enough that I can stick to it even if I’m utterly wiped and packed with other priorities” would play out has… largely played out.
As things get more busy, I’ve been working to ruthlessly prioritize my projects and my focus. Saying no to things I love and could do so I give myself enough space to do the things I must and truly want to do (not to mention reserving time to rest in between!) is hard! I’m grateful that as I do so, this project and effort has helped me to keep writing, and to do so in a framework that has been sustainable.
And as always, thanks for coming along for the journey. 💙