Huff. There was another blast of hot air, as the dragon had moved his head closer to us, his great nostrils flaring against the starlight, just like a horse as it took in our scent. That simple gesture gave me hope.
“I’m sorry to disturb your rest,” I managed to catch my breath and say in a more even tone.
The black dragon slowly turned its head back to look out of the cave, and for a moment held the posture. I could see the light of the distant stars catching its muzzle and side, and I saw just how noble – handsome – it was. And also how hurt.
The dragon was leaning against the cave opening strangely, with one wing squashed up behind it and one front paw held up in front of its chest. It was breathing shallowly. I didn’t know much about dragons – okay, I didn’t know anything at all – but to me it looked in a worse state than before. Like it was weakened by hunger, or feverish.
“You’re still hurt,” I said, and it was only when Tamin reached up to grab my elbow did I realize that I had risen from my crouch to move towards it. How could I not?
“It’s going to be okay, Uncle,” I said to Tamin, and somehow I knew that it would be. Creeping forward, I reached out a hand towards the dragon’s side. I don’t know what I was expecting to do, but Mother always said that half the battle with illness is knowing that there is someone else there.
“Please, if we can stay here tonight, then tomorrow I’ll find a way to get you food. I promise. There are fish in the streams,” I was saying, and the dragon spun its head around to regard me with wider eyes this time. Softer eyes. They weren’t as crimson red this time either, but a rich golden-amber color.
“Fish? You like fish?” I said, and the dragon cocked its head to one side at me, like a cat. “Just one night, and I promise I’ll get you some fish,” I said, and stretched my hand towards its snout.
The mighty creature moved its head ever so slightly, and ignoring everything I’d ever been told about keeping a safe distance from dragons, for the first time in my life I touched a living, fire-breathing dragon. Its scales were warm to the touch. Very warm, in fact – and they were also softer than I was expecting, near what I guess would be the creature’s lips.
You’re hurt, but you’re not alone, I thought, and something passed through me. It was like the opposite of whatever had powered that mechanical dragon. It wasn’t a painful, uncomfortable feeling that made me think of ice – but a rush of warmth that made me remember warm evenings in front of our hut’s fire, listening to Mother singing songs as she cooked dinner.
With a sudden blast of warm air, the dragon moved and very carefully turned around to stretch itself back down the tunnel. It had to daintily step around me and Tamin as it did so, and when it settled itself down with a heavy sigh, there was its large belly right in front of us, radiating warmth. It didn’t seem bothered that we were here, and it felt as natural as breathing to beckon Tamin over and lean against it.
As I drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, my last thought was, Have I just made friends with a dragon?
Chapter 11
Of Fish and Friendships
Ow. A pain in my arm woke me up. For a moment I didn’t realize where I was – but then I remembered the events of last night. The chase. Fankin. The dragon.
There was a high-afternoon light filling the cavern, making me realize that I had slept all the way through the dawn and the morning. Beside me, Tamin was still hunched against the warm belly of the black dragon, snoring like a goat.
And there was the black dragon, who was already awake and looking at me. “Oh, hi,” I said, feeling suddenly a little self-conscious. Just like last night, all trace of crimson red had fled the dragon’s eyes, and instead they were a deep gold. He blinked slowly at me.
Ow! My left elbow throbbed in pain, but when I hesitantly stretched it out, I could see no injuries or marks, and there was no pulling or clicking from my elbow.
There was a rustling noise, and the dragon shifted in his stretched-out position, carefully extending his wing as open as he could in the tight space. In the late afternoon light, I could clearly see the rent that stretched up one of the middle ribs of his leathery wings. Its edges looked puckered and swollen, and I bet it was painful.
“That’s why you haven’t been eating, isn’t it?” I said, reaching up a hand gingerly to the wing. As soon as I touched its edge, the black dragon opened his maw and gave out a breathy sort off hiss. Not a growl or a snarl, but enough to let me know that it hurt.
“Okay, I get it.” I nodded. I tried to remember what I had been taught as a child around our ponies, goats, hunting dogs. “You need to build up your strength first,” I remembered. That was the key to fighting any ailment. “Let the body heal itself.”
“Snghr! What – huh?” Tamin’s shoulders slid from the dragon’s belly with a thump and he snorted awake. “Nari! Ah…” He looked up to see the black dragon regarding us with half-lidded eyes and froze.
“He’s hungry,” I said, before quickly adding, “not for humans, though. He wants fish.” He would have eaten Fankin if he wanted to, right? I thought. But then again, I really wouldn’t have blamed him if he couldn’t bring himself to digest that horrible man.
Tamin was still looking between me and the dragon with a certain amount of worry. He shuffled slowly away from the black, even though he had been happy to use its warmth through the night.
“He’s in pain, Uncle,” I said.
“You did make a promise to feed it,” Tamin agreed, and he was looking at me oddly, his brow heavy as he bit his lip.
Whatever. I shook my head. Tamin, as much as I loved him, had been gone from the Plains for a long time. Perhaps he had forgotten how to be around animals. “I’m going to find him and us some fish. You’re welcome to stay here with the dragon or come help me,” I said, standing up with a stretch and walking back out of the cave.
A few moments later, I heard Tamin’s footsteps following me.
Even though the sun was burning bright in the cloudless sky, it was still chilly up here on the Masaka as the winds howled and played over the rocks. As soon as we had left the ledge and scrambled up the boulder field, a sense of danger possessed us. We decided that we would travel relay-style, with me going first (as I knew these places best) as Tamin hung back, acting as lookout – and then our positions would reverse as Tamin scrambled up to join me and I would watch the slopes from my hiding place.
It was slow going, but eventually we had worked our way around the nearest ridge (I didn’t want either of us to be silhouetted against the skies up there) and down the far side to where the Masaka split into ravines. We passed by scrubby trees and woody shrubs with small, deep purple berries that, after a careful tasting, proved edible.
“They look related to Bilberries,” Tamin said. “They grow on the foothills on the other side of the mountains.” We filled our pockets with them.
This side of the Masaka was less battered by the wind and less exposed to the high glare of the sun, and it wasn’t long before we started hearing bees and seeing sprouts of rough grasses and fragile-looking mountain heathers.