“Something’s wrong.”
“It’s small. A chick?” Quester asked.
The dragon continued to fly in their direction, and as it neared, Shell saw that Quester was right. The dragon was small. It was black but with a reddish tint in the sunlight, and it appeared to be the same species as the others that had flown past, although this dragon was not half their size. Not even a quarter.
When it shrieked, Shell couldn’t tell if it was for joy, anger, or a threat. The welcome feelings that flooded his being couldn’t be denied. “Feel that?”
“I’m getting used to it. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Not the sting. The welcome. It’s glad we’re here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do think that thing’s going to land near us.”
CHAPTER NINE
Quester fell back a step, then more. After the red dragon had spotted them, it had changed direction and flew right at them, wings beating furiously to slow its descent. Quester stumbled back a few more steps, then spun and ran.
Shell remained still. He felt no fear, just a warmth of welcome and friendship. The red dragon locked eyes with him and came to rest in front of him as soft as an autumn leaf falling to the ground. Dust swirled, and Shell shielded his eyes with his forearm, but when he lowered it, the dragon faced him from a single step away.
It stood barely taller at the shoulder than Shell, although much thicker in the middle. The head, at the end of the serpentine neck, would add more to the height if it were not bent forward to peer at Shell so closely he could feel and smell its hot, stinking breath.
Fear never entered his mind, even with the serpentine head so close. However, the mental touch of the wolf reacted, and she charged from shrubbery off to his left directly at the dragon.
“No!” Shell shouted in his mind, as well as out loud.
The wolf skittered to a confused halt and then slunk off. It disappeared into the forest near where Quester stood, appearing too paralyzed with conflicting emotions to move further away from the dragon, his eyes fixed on the eyes of the dragon. The small red dragon stood within attack range, and the huge brown wolf stood a few steps away, close enough to snap off the dragon’s head in the massive mouthful of teeth if the dragon didn’t strike first.
The dragon emitted a low growl that rumbled from its chest, the sound a much larger dragon should make. The wolf responded with a menacing growl of its own. The dragon turned its attention from the wolf and back to Shell and ignored the wolf. It moved its head closer and almost touch Shell’s cheek. It sniffed.
The wolf too saw Shell was not in danger and disappeared quietly into the trees. Quester eased away from the dragon another step, then another. He paused there, as the dragon examined Shell from head to foot. Quester entered the forest while the dragon was distracted by Shell, and disappeared from Shell’s sight, close to where the wolf had gone. I wonder if Quester realizes the wolf is so close to him?
Shell used the time to examine the dragon as it examined him. He had assumed the dragon was a chick because of its diminutive size, but then decided it didn’t look young, just small. There were healed scars evident on its wings and hind legs. Sometime in the past parallel claws had raked across its chest leaving more scars. A claw was missing from a forelimb, again healed, appearing like an old wound. The small dragon had been in far too many confrontations for a young one. A careless toss of a buck’s antlers, the swipe of a bear’s claws, and a bite from a terrified goat might leave wounds the scars displayed.
While predators are the best hunters, there’s a toll that hunting takes on them. Shell had once watched an eagle snatch a lamb, a contest the eagle would almost always win. But the lamb had fought back with a savage kick of a rear leg that connected solidly with the head of the eagle, almost crushing the bird’s skull. The eagle released the lamb and stumbled weakly on the ground for a few steps before regaining enough sense to take wing and fly away, leaving a dead lamb behind.
His attention turned from the scars, the rank smell of rotted meat, the fetid breath, and the piercing eyes. Shell raised his eyes to meet those of the dragon. The design on Shell’s back stung like salt rubbed into a cut with the nearness of the dragon. He ignored it, waiting for the touch of the other’s mind, as he'd been told happens when a man and dragon bond. The hoped-for flood of information exchange never happened. He could not see through the dragon’s eyes.
The dragon leaned closer and sniffed again; then the tongue flicked out, and it briefly touched Shell on his forehead. The red eyes blinked, one at a time and the dragon backed away as if being polite before it spread its wings and took flight. More likely, it had simply wanted more space to fly, but Shell decided to tell the story he liked—the one that made him sound brave and a hero as he stood face to face with a dragon. With a little exaggeration, he might turn it into a tale others retold.
“Is it gone?” Quester asked unnecessarily from the safety of the trees.
Shell nodded. “Is the wolf still in there with you?”
Quester quickly emerged from the undergrowth, watching over his shoulder at the place where the wolf had disappeared. “I can’t believe you just stood there.”
“It was not bravery.”
“You didn’t look scared. Did you bond with it?”
“No, not like I’ve heard about, but it was odd. I didn’t feel it in my mind, but something happened.”
Quester moved closer and waited.
Shell shrugged. “Before you ask, I don’t know. It looked at me and sniffed. Did you see it touch my forehead with its tongue?”
“No.”
Oddly, Shell detected only interest, not disbelief. “It stuck out its tongue, and before I could move or react, it touched my forehead with it, and that was all. Not a threat, or taste, from what I saw. I mean, I didn’t think it wanted to see if it tasted me to see if it should eat me. It was more like a dog getting a scent.”
“Everything about the last few minutes was strange. From the wolf running into the clearing to the small size of the dragon; the way it acted with you.” Quester took a deep breath, and visibly tried to relax. “It’s like the whole world decided to combine here in a tangled mess.”
“But still fun to watch,” a voice called from the other side of the clearing where a man of perhaps forty stood, hands held palms outward in the universal display of saying he held no weapons. But a long knife hung at his waist, and a staff lay at his feet.
Both Shell and Quester reacted defensively. Quester unslung his bow and Shell raised his staff to the ‘first’ position, parallel to the ground, hands spread to absorb a blow or ready to strike with either end. The stranger smiled at their reactions, then slowly turned to face away.
He lifted the back of his shirt and displayed a dragon-shaped birthmark while smiling and saying, “My name is Trace, Dancer’s younger, better-looking brother.”
Trace allowed them time to examine his mark of the dragon before letting the shirt fall back into place, facing them again. He said nothing but waited politely.
“Uh,” Shell said, “I think he wants us to display.”
“Oh, sure.”
They turned their backs and tried to ignore the sour grin on Trace’s face. When they looked back again, Trace still smiled, and Shell hoped the red flush from his embarrassment at his poor manners had all but disappeared. My mother taught me better than that. “I’m sorry, I’ve only met a few strangers in my life.”
Trace stepped forward and stood at ease. “I took no offense.”