Gareth wondered how he could underestimate Tom so many times in only a few days. Perhaps that was Tom’s strength. Others also saw him as a poor farmer or fisherman with little education. Nothing threatening about him. Gareth was beginning to see the cunning, intelligent man under the disguise. Tim. I’ll have to remember my new name. While walking slowly along the road, he fleshed out his story, in case anyone should ask. Tim would be easy to remember. Tim. Tom. Nothing is worse than forgetting your name.
“I’m t-takin’ this baby goat to m-my uncle.” Gareth talked to the goat, practicing his new stuttering dialect, perfecting the mannerisms of a slow-witted farmer who had never attended school. “Takin’ dis billy to m-my uncle.”
The goat glanced at him and looked away as if it didn’t approve.
He felt the dragon stir and pulled the flap of the bag aside. The animal paused and looked up at him with a mouthful of yellow corn and green shuck. It snorted once and lunged back at the ear of corn as if afraid Gareth was going to take it. He let the dragon have that ear while pulling another from the bag and gnawing on the sweet, raw kernels as he walked. When he looked inside the bag again, only bare cobs remained of the other three ears.
Another pair of teachers waited in a small glen beside a bend in the road where they were concealed until a passerby was only steps away. They stood together, saying nothing, and watching everything. Their eyes barely touched on the farmer-boy and goat.
Ignoring them, Gareth continued to the next field of lush wheat standing nearly waist high and allowed the goat to eat lush mouthfuls until the wagon came in sight around a bend. Tom’s eyes flicked to Gareth, and then back to the mule and the road ahead, almost as if the boy and goat were invisible. The mule never broke stride.
Tom’s telling me something.
Gareth reached for the halter and pulled the goat closer, ready to flee, if needed, or hide if possible. A flash of movement behind the wagon drew his attention. Dull green. He recognized them, despite their overall similarities. Years of interaction with teachers as he sat at their knees listening to them gave him the ability to discriminate between similar appearing teachers, a skill that others might not have. Those are the same teachers I saw a while ago. They’re following Tom. Should I stay here or start walking, again?
Gareth sat and waited as if resting, feeding his goat a handful of green wheat stalks, and keeping the leather bag containing the dragon hidden by his body. A boy from a farm would allow his goat to feed, even if it was eating another farmer’s wheat. It was normal to pause to feed farm animals when traveling, and a convenient way to avoid contact with the teachers. He half-turned his back to them.
Sitting on a stump munching on his raw ear of corn, he watched the wagon pass from the corner of his eye as if he belonged to this place, maybe even to this farm. He pulled the straw hat lower over his eyes, but not so much that the teachers might notice he was avoiding them. Tom never looked his way again.
The teachers in their slinking manner managed to move faster than the wagon and Tom pulled to one side and slowed to allow them by. He tipped his hat and smiled, but got no response. Hiding in plain sight.
Gareth waited until the wagon moved well ahead. Then he led the goat back out onto the road and started walking, faster than before. Later, when he passed the wagon, there were no teachers in sight on the road. They either had turned off or were far ahead.
Tom whispered without turning his head, “Good lad. Fast thinking back there. Act like any farmer boy. Those won’t be the only teachers on this road, I’m thinking.”
Gareth didn’t answer. He tugged the rope and pulled the reluctant goat faster.
Late in the afternoon, the remains of an old shack stood at the edge of a clearing. Gareth tied the goat to the branch of a small oak and approached the shack carefully. No path led to the door. The grass had not been trampled or flattened. The stone fireplace had fallen into a pile of rubble. Someone long ago had made a fire pit with of some of the stones. While fire-blackened, it obviously hadn’t been used in a long time. The fallen-down walls of the cabin were firewood he wouldn’t have to search for. A perfect place to spend the night.
Tom would appreciate a warm fire. Tom made a fire back at the beach near where the boats sank, so he had iron and flint on him, although Gareth had not seen it. He went back to the goat and moved it closer to the cabin, where it could rest and graze while he gathered wood and stacked it beside the pit. Using part of a still-standing wall, he leaned other boards against it and formed a small lean-to for sleeping.
As the rumble and squeak of the wagon approached, he paused and waited for Tom to pull over and compliment him. Tom ignored him, his eyes on the road ahead.
The wagon continued as if they had never met. Tom must have his reasons, and Gareth didn’t need to know what they were, but it troubled him to be ignored. A simple nod of greeting would not have hurt. So would a smile of encouragement. Gareth reluctantly admitted that he needed to act his part and allow Tom to manage the situation.
However, Gareth felt lost.
The little dragon stirred in the bag and poked his head out for the first time in a day. Looking around, it sniffed the air with eagerness. Gareth sat alone in grass as tall as his waist and waited, watching the dragon with a combination of interest and disdain. The dragon wriggled free of the bag and stretched, expanding wings beginning to look much like those of a bat, but far too small for flying, yet. It shivered, folded the wings and turned to Gareth.
“Hungry?” He unrolled the blanket and picked up a small strip of dried meat from their supplies. Gareth let the animal catch scent of it. The nose twitched.
The dragon raced up his leg, climbed his chest, and snatched the meat from his fingers.
The tiny claws scratched and dug into his clothing and skin, drawing a wince of pain. Two small tears in the shirt told of where the sharp claws penetrated. The animal needed to learn self-control. When it grew twice as big, which might be very soon the way it ate everything in sight, it would leave a track of bleeding holes in Gareth’s skin. He placed the dragon back on the ground and reached for another tidbit. The dragon stood on two hind feet and spread palm-sized wings, and shook them in either anticipation or irritation. It darted forward, mouth extended to grab the food. Gareth held up his other hand, fingers splayed wide, preventing the dragon from advancing. The tiny creature hissed, eyed the hand preventing it from eating, and waited. Gareth gently moved the strip of meat closer.
The dragon darted around his hand and grabbed it.
Better, but room for improvement.
“Okay, boy. Time you learned to be gentle.”
He held up an index finger in front of the toothy mouth and made the dragon wait. Each time the dragon tried to advance a step, he restrained it with the finger moved in its path, and Gareth tapped it on the nose soundly. He tapped it more than once to ensure it understood it couldn’t pass. The hiss changed to angry snarls and snorts. However, the lesson seemed to be working well, until the dragon tired of the process. It settled back and hissed at Gareth, shaking its wings in anger and snapping tiny teeth on empty air. The head slowly moved to and fro, searching for a way around the offending finger. The eyes peered at the campsite, examining everything. It remained still, only the red eyes shifting.
It emitted several savage snarls, and leaped into the air, wings flapping but far too immature to suspend it for even a short time. It snorted in frustration and dug claws into the soft dirt, and it made a full turn, looking at everything, again.