a lot of travel on rafts and little boats, so it’s almost like those two are here in spirit, helping me along.
I walk over to him. “It’s glorious. Let’s get started really early tomorrow morning.”
“Very early,” the dragon agrees.
I reach up and touch one finger to his injury. “Still sore?”
His eyes flash. “Still sore. Also question.”
“Not a question!” I object. “It was a statement which only sounded like a question.”
“A statement that sounds like a question is a question.”
I prod the little hole in his scales. “Sit down, and I’ll apply the paste. Did that sound like a question?”
“That last part did.”
“Damn. Yes, well. It’s only because you confuse me. And you know, we lesser beings are so easily confused.”
“So I hear.”
He sits down without more protests. I get the leaf with the paste and apply it to his scales again. “This looks better now,” I say softly. “It is healing. It hurts less for you when I do this. You are feeling much better. Notice how I am not asking questions.”
“Good,” he growls. “Keep it up.”
“You will soon be completely healed. You will not be mean to Jennifer. You will continue helping her and get her safely to her village.” It’s like one of those self-hypnosis things I briefly tried to get rid of some of my worst anxiety back when I was a teen. “Also, you will help us against the other dragons.”
“When I said ‘keep it up’, I didn’t mean the talking that sounds suspiciously like giving commands,” the dragon grunts.
I shut up.
When I’m done, Caronerax grabs the paste and smears it onto my shoulder injuries, more gently than last time. “You are also healing. These are only small wounds. No nasty fragment inside. You are feeling much better as well. Not asking questions is healthy for you. You enjoy not asking questions and interrogating your betters. You prefer simply agreeing to requests and orders without always asking. There, all done.”
His voice is gruff, but his touch is a light as that of a father tending to his kid. This dragon is being so gentle and nice and acting so counter to his nature that once more, tears threaten to break out. Again. Damn it, when did I become such a crybaby?
“Caronerax. I was not going to say this. But I am sorry that I shot you. I thought you had killed Heidi, that’s why. And you were coming towards me in the dark. I am going to ask a question now, and I will accept the penalty for it: how can you heal?”
The dragon wraps up the paste and leans back on a big, conveniently placed rock. “I have never been injured. Dragons rarely are. I need my cache, of course. But I can’t be sure that that is enough.”
“Then… you might die?”
“I don’t know.”
I start to worry. “There really is no way for you to heal? No dragon knows about that?”
He crosses his legs. “It is not a topic we take seriously. We can injure each other in combat, but fights between dragons are usually to the death. And there is no poison involved in it, of course. I suppose the only time it is mentioned is when we are hatchlings, just a silly rhyme that is plainly meant to only be entertaining.”
“Oh? Do you remember it?”
“It’s very simple. It rhymes in our own language, but probably not in yours:
A scale for a scale
A crack in the scale
Means scales must be traded
Piece of hoard must be given
Or the cracked will die
Who must pay?
The one who has erred.”
Caronerax groans. “Curse this crude language! All the nuances are gone from the words, all the depth. In my language, they imply healing and an immense cost that must be paid for it. A piece of a hoard is an absurd price that nobody will ever pay, even the injured dragon, himself. Even to avoid death.”
I scratch my chin. “What does it mean? Okay, someone’s scales get cracked. Now scales must be traded and someone gives a piece of a hoard. An impossible price. If no payment, the cracked will die. So that must happen anyway? Unless the one who has erred actually pays?”
Caronerax sighs. “Like I said, it’s not to be taken seriously. But it is the only reference to healing we have.”
“‘The one who has erred,’” I ponder. “Made a mistake, somehow. And he must pay an impossible price so the cracked won’t die.”
We sit like that for a while, with the crackling fire in front of