The Dragon’s Favorite Strays – Chapter Five
Chapter Five
MURR
The female is more intriguing than she should be. Even though she tried to injure me, her fear scent and the scent of the smaller female nearby tells me that she is a mother protecting her young. It is admirable, and it eases away the burning anger I feel.
My cat burrows against my chest, and I can see its eyes have been cleaned of some of the runny yellow liquids that crust it. Was she trying to help it, then? Why take it away from me? I scratch at the tiny head with my claws, watching the human female.
She makes the strange sounds again. Is she trying to communicate in some sort of crude fashion? With sounds instead of thoughts? Is that what they have to do in this world because their telepathy is useless? “Owmagod,” I say to her again. “Owmahgod.”
Perhaps that is her name.
The female stares at me, her expression downright incredulous. Her eyes are wide and a strange blue color, which I find intriguing. Her coloring is all-over strange. Her skin is underbelly pale, without a hint of a scale pattern. Her eyes are that impressive blue, but her mane is dark, the brows framing her eyes also that peculiar dark shade.
But aren’t all humans strange? They have no battle form. That is probably why she makes honking sounds at me.
She gibbers something, her mouth moving, and she points behind me.
I turn and look, but I see nothing. I comfort my kitten, stroking its ears. I am bleeding, I realize a moment later. Her stick is still in the fleshy part of my arm. It’s annoying, but I don’t want to show pain to a potential threat. Not that this human looks like much of a threat. I have vague, distant memories of other humans. Of them screaming and shouting up at me as I flew overhead. Of them running in fear. Of charred skin and ash. They are not good memories, and I hold my kitten tighter.
She gestures behind me again, sounds burbling out of her mouth. I don’t recognize any of them, so I try again. “Ohmahgaw.”
That makes her pause. Her face scrunches and she regards me, lowering her strange weapon to the floor. She makes more sounds, her voice softer. I continue to pet my kitten, which has relaxed now that it is tucked safe against my chest. She doesn’t seem like she wants it back, which is good. I have no intention of letting her keep my little friend. Or any of my friends.
I think my name at her to introduce myself. Too late, I remember I have no telepathy, no way to let her know my identity.
I frown, scratching at the kitten’s fur. It mews at me, and I wonder if all the creatures in this world are mouth-noise creatures. How do I communicate my name then? I open my mouth, trying to figure out to make a sound that comes close. “Muuhr,” I manage. The sound doesn’t come out quite right. My name is hard to shape my mouth around, but it gets the point across. Hopefully.
Then I point at her. “Ohmahgaw.”
The female stares at me with those strange blue eyes, and then taps her chest. “Dakota.”
Does she have more than one sound for herself? Or am I misunderstanding mouth-noises entirely?
“Da tah,” I repeat.
She pats herself again. “Dakota.” Then she gestures at me. “Muhr?”
“Muhr,” I agree, the sound coming out easier the second time. It is not all of my name, but it’s the only piece I recall. My tongue does not want to move as quickly as hers and the mouth noises are bizarre to make. It pleases her though.
She takes a step toward me. “Dakota.” Patpatpat. “Muhr.” She points at me. Then, her focus goes to the kitten. “Cat?”
And she makes a mewing noise remarkably similar to the one in my arms.
Full of wonder, I hold the kitten up near her. I want to hear the sound again. The creature in my hands mews, the sound reedy and plaintive and unhappy, but she does not mimic it again. Is she talking to it or speaking another language to me? Mouth noises are so complicated. How can anyone know who is being spoken to if everyone is simply bleating sounds into the air for anyone to hear?
“Dakota,” she tries again, patting her chest once more. “Muhr. Cat.” Again she points at me, and then the kitten.
The kitten cries, the sound it makes when it is hungry, and the female mimicks it again, watching me expectantly.
Aha. She knows I feed my cats, then. Is she making the hunger noises because she now wishes to be fed? It is a small, easy thing to provide meat for hungry mouths. If this female and her young are hungry, I can feed them too.
Wait here, I command her mentally, and then pause. I don’t know the mouth-noises for this, so I snarl at her and walk away with my kitten in my arms.
She does not follow, but as I cross the strange landscape back to my nest, I hear the sound of a door closing behind me. She is protecting her nest. I understand this. I return my kitten to its mother, pausing to scratch ears and bellies and to stroke fluffy tails. Another one of the kittens has runny eyes, and I think about how the female scrubbed at them with her clothing.
I glance down at my claws. At my bare skin. I have no soft coverings. I cannot do the same thing she did. Perhaps after I feed her, I will bring her another kitten to clean.
But first, food for all the hungry bellies.
