unblinking stares. “You know, falcons hate this. Being stared at, I mean. It’s a challenge; that’s one way they challenge each other. Cats, too. In cats, the first one that looks away loses, and is going to get attacked. He sees my staring at him as something else. Some kind of contact. I wonder if they have a very primitive kind of Speaking? Something that requires eye contact?” She never once dropped her gaze. “It doesn’t seem to bother him at all that I can put thoughts into his head—and what’s more, he knows that they’re mine and not his own.” She tilted her head to the side. “I thought I might have been sensing something like that from the dragonets, too.”
“Haven’t you ever felt that from any of the other adult dragons?” he asked curiously.
She shrugged. “If they do have some form of Speaking, the tala blocks it. I can’t look away right now, by the way. If I do, I’ll be saying he’s the stronger of the two of us.”
“I’d gotten that idea,” said Kiron. “Did you have something in mind by coming here?”
“I did.” She continued to stare; was the dragon beginning to look a little uneasy beneath that unrelenting gaze? “I wanted to see if these swamp fellows were just as smart as their desert cousins. I wanted to have a look into the head of one that wasn’t completely foggy with tala. I never intended to get into a staring contest, but I don’t dare back down now. It’s either predator or prey, and I must prove which one I am, for he only respects the former.”
At just that moment, the dragon gave up, dropping his eyes and his head in a gesture of submission.
Aket-ten stood up, slowly and carefully, her eyes still never leaving the dragon’s. She moved toward the pool.
As Kiron held his breath and got ready to pull her to safety, the dragon slid his way through the water toward her.
She held out her hand, fearlessly—but palm down, not up.
With infinite care, the dragon moved forward until the chain was stretched tight—and pushed the tip of his nose beneath her hand.
He closed his eyes and sighed. And waited.
What does that mean to a dragon? he wondered. The nose was the most sensitive part. You couldn’t kill a dragon by slashing at its nose, but—
But—they’re like crocodiles, he realized at that moment. He’d seen the dragonets immobilize each other briefly in play by grabbing the muzzle. You could make it impossible for him to attack you by holding his mouth closed. And if you were a dragon, and you seized your rival by the nose, and you clamped down on it and closed off the nostrils as well—your rival would be dead. You’d smother him.
So that was what it meant to a dragon! Total, complete surrender. . . .
For the moment, anyway. Like all wild things, the hierarchy within a flight of dragons was always changing. One was always challenging another. Mostly staring contests though, and perhaps Aket-ten was right, perhaps they did some shoving about, invisibly, will-to-will as well.
She rubbed the sensitive skin around the dragon’s nostrils. “Give me a brush,” she demanded, without looking away.
“What?” he asked.
“A brush,” she said patiently. “I’m getting into the pool with him to give him a scrub. It’s the equivalent of a sand rubbing. This is what they do—the one who wins grooms the one who lost.”
Kiron looked around and saw that, sure enough, there were several brushes with heavy, stiff bristles hanging on the wall. He got one and brought it to Aket-ten. She held out her hand without looking at him, and he put the brush into it. Only then did she wade into the dragon’s pool, handsome yellow sheath dress and all, hissing a little at the heat as she got in.
Had this been anyone other than Aket-ten, he never would have allowed it. In the same pool, as a dragon on a half-ration of tala, well within his grabbing distance?
But it was Aket-ten, and if there was anyone who knew what she was doing at this moment, it was Aket-ten.
She didn’t give the swamp dragon a full grooming; that would have taken all afternoon. But she did get some of the worst, and apparently itchiest, spots. The dragon moaned and sighed and leaned into her strokes until she patted him on the shoulder and climbed out, her dress streaming—and leaving nothing at all to the imagination.