“We are not discussing the size of my … my–end of Island!”
Flicker pretended to be hurt, although the curl of fire that escaped between his fangs told Lia that he was unrepentant. We discussed how Dragons find physical size attractive, he protested. Why can we not discuss your size?
“Because it’s too personal,” said Lia, fanning her face with her hands. “I’m not a stick and I’d thank you not to notice.”
Although, she had lost weight–as might be expected after being stabbed in the belly, tossed to the windrocs, and having to survive on a diet of raw fruit and meat thereafter. Her skirt sagged on her hips. Her already toned dancer’s body had turned gaunt. Such royal comforts as she had enjoyed, now seemed to belong to another life.
It’s strange how Humans have fires, too, offered the dragonet. Hold still–another Dragon.
Lia followed the faraway red speck with her gaze, shrinking further beneath the tree. That’s the third Dragon this week. What’s going on, Flicker? Do you think the Dragons have found us?
* * * *
Flicker’s eyes leaped from the faraway Dragon to his rosy-cheeked companion.
The Human girl’s ever-busy hands had turned to the matter of fashioning another hunting sling, having broken the previous three. Securing a length of vine between her toes, she shaved it with her dagger using long, steady strokes. As the dragonet watched her working, he wondered at these strange Human customs of manners and taboos and politeness; their many-layered, complex disguises for truth. Who should care if she covered herself to her knees with a piece of cloth, or to her ankles? Only Humans. If he could observe her interacting with others of her kind, he might find a few answers.
“Another sling?” he enquired.
“I don’t have the tools to build a decent bow,” said Lia. “I’m not as good with a sling, but I can hit a moving target one in three times. I need to hunt tonight.”
“I’m ready,” said Flicker.
Her green eyes flashed a warning at him.
“Or you can practise your skills,” he amended hastily. “You’re very stubborn.”
Stubborn was his latest Human word, and it described Lia well, he felt, in the way that she focussed on problems until she solved them. She never gave up. It pleased him that they were so alike in this–well, with one exception. Ra’aba, the fungus-face who had thrown her off the Dragonship. Fear of him shrivelled her soul.
His belly-fires fulminated at this thought.
Lia glanced up. “Indigestion, Flicker?”
The dragonet bared his fangs lazily. “I expect a young, juicy lemur this time, not a tough old piece of goat sinew.”
She made a mocking half-bow. “Any further wishes, your blazingly majestic draconic highness?”
Indeed, I have a modest list–
“Shall I scribe my list on your green lizard-hide?”
“Ooh, sharpening our little fangs, are we?”
Lia giggled, “You should brush your fangs. Your breath stinks. Rotten meat.”
“I’ll just burn it out,” said Flicker, breathing a curl of fire toward her toes.
She jerked her feet away. “Islands’ sakes, that’s hot!”
Despite their shared laughter, Flicker’s thoughts were in another warren entirely. She was right. He should ask the Ancient One what they could do, for he had no desire to be chasing his Human friend down another cliff. Perhaps a hundred dragonets could carry her to another Island in a net made of vines? He brightened briefly, before realising that if a Dragon saw them leave, she was dead anyway. The dragonet’s eyes narrowed, scanning the skies.
Dragons patrolled up there. Why?
If he had still been part of the warren, the latest news would have been at his talon-tips. Could there be war between Humans and Dragons? Or a less sinister explanation?
He said, Please be careful, Lia. Don’t go far.
I won’t. Now, her eyes lit upon him with disconcerting force. Are you ready to tell me what happened in the warren, Flicker?
Quietly, he said, I am, and I thank you for protecting my mind, Lia. What Mother Lyrica intended, what you saved me from, is called ‘first impression’. He searched for the right words, knowing he still needed to simplify his language for her to understand. It is a process which wipes the mind clean, returning it to the state in which a hatchling begins their life in the warren. It is … retuned. It does not remember the past.
The tear which reached her chin, sparkling there for an instant before dropping to the ground between her legs, shocked him. Was she an empath? How else could she feel his