Late at night, Chinaski rode in on her wyvern, Canasta, to Pico’s tavern, hoping there wouldn’t be any prying eyes to interfere with her dirty work. After a much-needed sip from her trusty dragon-leather flask, Chinaski stood outside the building in the cool desert air. The winds wrangled her dry copper hair, and the cold had her regretting her decision to wear a short skirt, black scarf, tall lace-up boots, and a pair of gauntlets. But at least she had a moment to breathe. The day had been a hard one, and it was only going to get harder from here.