for any Dragon to slip inside, enjoying the warm breeze issuing from the depths of the mountain.
Lia wondered if she was not imagining something, but it was the strangest cave-smell. Not damp. No, nor musty. Just a hint of moisture, yet this was … she could not say. It reminded her oddly of Dragon fire billowing before an attacking Dragon, only this smell was sweet and not acrid like smoke, suggesting dizzying mysteries and hints of long-forgotten magic. She imagined the Island’s roots were steeped in wonders beyond Human comprehension.
Flicker sprang lithely down from her arms. Come, straw-head.
Within, just off the main tunnel which plunged unknowably far into the mountainside, Lia found a cosy round chamber, lit from above by daylight filtering through a clear, star-shaped crystal. Toward the back of the cave she saw two small pools, one bubbling and the other mirror-still.
A Dragon’s roost, said Flicker.
Wow!
The dragonet showed her a depression in the centre of the cave. “Eggs, here.”
Soft, warm sand greeted her toes. Lia gazed around in delight. What colour might the mother Dragon have been? Then, a frisson cased her spine in flame.
White. A hunted Dragoness, frantic, laying her eggs in the cavern while she checked the entrance a hundred times, wondering if she should block it to prevent him from finding her, brooding over her clutch of three Dragon eggs, each easily three feet in length, then knowing a searching presence, the great, many-headed Black Dragon seeking her with all the powers of his magic and cunning … concealing the eggs deep underground, summoning one to care for them, sheltering her unborn young with her own pearlescent power, and then departing the cave to submit to the Black Dragon’s chastisement …
Lia’s legs folded beneath her. Her head struck the sand. She heard Flicker’s shriek as though it came from a great distance, and when she dreamed, it was about Dragons fighting.
* * * *
Her right arm took a further three weeks to heal to the point where she could grip light objects without gritting her teeth, and raise her hand above the height of her shoulder. In that time Lia eased back into her daily exercise and dance routines, much to Flicker’s bemusement. They set up a home of sorts in the cave. Even the worst of her bruises and lesions healed up, thanks to the dragonet’s medications, and she worked diligently on learning to speak Dragonish.
Flicker taught her how to mend a rent in a dragonet’s wing. The thin, supple wing membrane was also extraordinarily sensitive, so he first had her find the right combination of herbs–numb wort, tergaroot and pungent wandering monk’s-flower–which Lia helped to prepare two ways, firstly for eating and secondly, for smearing on the wound to numb it. Then, having readied thorn needles and thread, she was equipped for the task. Fra’aniorian lace embroidery, regarded as the finest in the Island-World, was an art form of which Hualiama had only ever scratched the surface. Flicker made her demonstrate her sewing skills on leaves before he allowed her near his wing. This triggered a hissing-contest between Human and dragonet.
She drew together the ragged edges of his wing membrane and set her nimble fingers to the task, starting by gluing together two severed wing struts, which to her resembled cartilage but were clearly much stronger, and then working on the surface itself.
Lia muttered, “Your wing surface is amazing. Are these all tiny muscles along here? Get your muzzle out of the way, silly.”
Shards take it, straw-head, I’ll bite you if you make a single mistake with that needle.
“Will you pack the fangs away?”
A Dragon’s wing has three joints, Flicker began in his pompous lecturing tone, pointing at them with his tongue.
Hold still, she replied in Dragonish.
He sniffed, Listen to your teacher, you ignorant talking ape.
Shall I sew your lips together? Lia replied, with her sweetest smile.
How’s about I chew your flapping ears into an actually pretty shape? The dragonet seemed pleased by her rippling laughter. Now, the shoulder joint is also the primary wing joint, anchoring the major flight muscles to the keel bone of the chest. The secondary wing joint is akin to your elbow, but it bends forward through one hundred and ten degrees or more, and can be fixed in place by the action of the muscles. And the tertiary joint here, toward the end, is like your wrist, but much more useful, of course.
Oh, of course, Hualiama put in, biting her lip as she concentrated.