eaten immediately, or should have been for offering such advice, for a rajal was a coal-black feline common to the Islands of Fra’anior which stood taller than Lia at the shoulder. Rajals were not known for their delicate table manners.
The pretty female, a striking yellow topaz colour with amber detail on her wing struts, spine spikes, claws and muzzle, minced toward Flicker with what Lia took to be a coquettish air. He mock-charged her, but the female stood her ground, her fiery orbs alight with curiosity. Whatever aggression had flared between them appeared to blow over, for they rubbed muzzles, took a fluttering dance-step together, and touched wingtips, left and right.
Flicker turned to Hualiama, saying, This is Shimyal, a member of my warren. She was concerned about my lengthy absences.
Lia smiled thinly. Fiery greetings, little one.
Shimyal shook her head. These animals speak?
I’m teaching her.
Lia understood this little exchange, and was distinctly unimpressed. The female seemed equally underwhelmed, volleying a tirade of chirps at Flicker which had the unmistakable air of a reprimand. Without thinking, Lia bared her teeth at the dragonet.
Danger! Shimyal squealed. The dragonets took off in a swarm, mobbing her; Hualiama fell backward into the water, protecting her face lest any of those razor-sharp talons seek her eyes, as Flicker had attacked the windroc. The dragonets dived underwater with ease. She received sharp cuts on her head, arms and back. In moments, red clouded the pool, before the dragonets suddenly reversed course and fled. Lia broached, coughing water out of her lungs.
Flicker? Flicker, what just happened?
The dragonet chased his kin out of the cave before returning with a patently smug air. I told them you’d curse them with an unspeakably horrible Human disease.
A … what? She did not understand entirely, but it sounded unwise.
I just saved your hide!
The Human girl flinched as his flame heated the skin of her knee. Sorry, Flicker. She added, “I made a royal mess of that. Will you be alright? Your family, I mean?”
* * * *
It was as he had feared. Flicker knew that this news would be with the warren-mother within an hour. Lia’s cuts appeared to be superficial. She needed to fend for herself.
I must go, he said, firmly.
He tried not to dwell upon how clouded her eyes appeared as he winged out of the cave. Flicker beat his wings furiously, trying to catch up with his warren-brothers and sisters as they bolted skyward, fleeing as though a hundred windrocs snapped at their tails. He scented their fear. Fool! He should not have spoken so unwisely. Lia could not curse anyone or any creature. She simply did not have it in her. But what he knew, his superstitious brethren did not. They believed every word.
Three vertical miles he chased them, far to the north of the cave where he had left Hualiama, and still he could not catch them all. He overtook Seroth and Gleam and Dynoc the green dragonet, but none of the others, who were quicker flyers than he. He crossed through the layers of air that sometimes seemed to collect around the volcano, each trapping their particular fragrances, pollens and grits within a narrow horizontal band. Storms broke up those bands, but they quickly re-established themselves. Flicker passed through a patch of jiista-berry pollen so thick it caused him a sneezing-fit, before orienting rapidly on the clump of obsidian boulders which marked his warren’s territory.
No hope now.
Flicker flashed across the cliff, cutting his approach as finely as he dared, before flicking his wings to bank ninety degrees. He shot beneath the fallen giant draggor tree which concealed their warren’s entrance and barrelled straight into four guards holding up a rude net.
Shards! Flicker screeched, striking the tunnel wall hard.
Tangled in the netting, he stood little chance against four older dragonets. He was smaller but stronger than any of them, but had too much respect for his elders to do more than submit to the symbolic bite just behind his skull-spikes.
The warren-mother will see you, young Flicker, said the oldest of the four, called Windstorm. Will you come willingly?
I obey, he replied automatically. If he did not, he would be cast out, warren-less, without hope of finding a mate or a territory in which to settle.
Windstorm nodded. Remove the net. Escort him to Mother Lyrica.
The acrid odour of fear and disquiet already drifted up the tunnels. Flicker’s scales prickled with a Dragon sense. He knew the interview was not about to proceed in his favour. What lie could he