Chapter Eight – The Dragon’s Favorite Strays
Chapter Eight
MURR
The two human females are such curious creatures. I observe them as they move about. The older female keeps watching me with nervous flicking glances, even as she murmurs sounds to the younger female. She touches the young one frequently, caressing her head or touching the arm, more signs that this is her young and she is feeling protective.
I understand protectiveness. Have I not kept my cats safe from harm for many sleeps now? They are my new family since my world and my people are lost to me. The older female gives me another wary look and I sit down where I am, trying to make myself seem as harmless as I can. Not an easy task for a drakoni warrior, but I slouch on the hard, strange ground and pet the cats that crawl over me, and she relaxes a bit.
Humans. Such odd people. They look like the drakoni do in many ways, but they never switch to battle form. They live in their two-legged forms at all times, which seems strange to me. They do not seem to have the protective spikes on their limbs that a drakoni does, nor a tough hide. Their colors are not universal. The older human – Do-tah – has a strangely dark mane and pale eyes that remain the same color even when she is agitated. Her daughter has a dark mane and little dots on her skin instead of scales. I see no mate around them, which means they are on their own.
Like me.
It’s strange to have people nearby after avoiding others for so long. I don’t know what I was like when I was lost in myself, when I was mindless with anger and fury. All I knew then was that time was passing, and I was unable to control myself. I was a creature of instinct for a very long time. Months? Years? Longer?
Now my mind has returned to itself and I am stranded in this strange world that reeks of char and humans. My ability to connect and communicate with my people is gone. I can feel no one when I reach out with my mind. There’s no pleasant hum of the presence of others, even when I see a dragon fly past in the distance.
There’s nothing at all.
Something has happened to me. Something has broken me inside, and so I avoid others of my kind. I don’t know if they went wild like I did or if it was a personal failing. I don’t know if they can still speak to each other through mental speech and I am the one shunned. I live in exile with my cats, because I don’t know what else to do with myself with no way home and no one to speak to.
Which makes these humans far more interesting than they should be, perhaps.
I pet one of the smallest cats as it rubs against me, watching Do-tah as she burbles words at the younger one and begins to break dried sticks and sets them in a pile. She adds some dried leaves and a heavier chunk of wood underneath, making a strange little pyramid. Is she communicating with me in some way? Trying to tell me something? Does this pile of brush mean anything? I watch, trying to decipher all of this as she pulls out an oblong yellow tub and clicks it, and a tiny flame appears. She holds the flame to a twig, and then tries to add the twig to the pile. Do-tah’s face screws up in frustration when the wind blows the twig out, and she flicks the yellow thing again, making the tiny flame reappear.
Is she making fire?
This is adorable. It’s so difficult for her. I watch in fascination as she tries another stick, and makes more mouth-noises at her daughter. The younger female offers another handful of dried leaves to her mother, who adds them to the pile. The tiny flame goes out again, and both females make frustrated noises.
Do they not realize that drakoni are beings of fire? Helpfully, I pick up a large stick, blow on the end of it with my fire-breath, and hold it out to them.
They both stare at me, eyes wide.
“Owmigoh,” the older one breathes.
“Owmigoh,” I agree. I wish I knew what it meant. Does it mean fire? I shake the burning stick at her. “Owmigoh?”
Do-tah blinks and then shakes her head. She takes the stick from me when I continue to hold it out and adds it to her brush pile. The female leans in to blow on it, making the fire grow larger, and after a few long breaths, the flames catch. In fascination, I watch as they pull metal sticks out of one of their packs and make a spit for over the fire. Do-tah reaches for the meat, her wary gaze on me. They are so frightened of me. I deliberately make effort not to move so as not to scare them further, yawning and making myself as unobtrusive as possible.
The females pull chunks off the haunch of meat, spit them on the metal rod, and then sit and wait, their stomachs growling furiously.
I could fix this for them right away. I can roast the haunch for them quickly, without the need for flaming brush piles or metal contraptions, but they seem to mistrust me. It took time for my cats to trust me and several meals in their bellies, I remind myself.
Patience.
