Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Dragon’s Favorite Strays
Chapter Twenty-Nine
DAKOTA
I freeze at her earnest words. Rabbit wants to stay. Rabbit has never told me before that she wanted to stay anywhere. She knows as much as I do that a permanent location usually isn’t in the cards. “You want to stay because of the cats?”
“Not just the cats.” I hear her shifting under the blankets, and a soft meow floats up. She chuckles, and I can hear the joy in her voice. “Sorry, I woke Kermit up. I think we should stay because Murr needs us. He needs a family. I think Aggie and Dottie need a family too, but at least they have each other. Murr doesn’t have anyone to talk to but us. We can all stay here and make our own little fort, you know? Someplace safe for all of us to be together and look after one another.”
She really is the best kid. “Let me think on it, Rabbit. I like being here too, but we don’t know Dottie and Aggie very well. Murr, either.”
“Murr is Murr,” Rabbit says, as if that answers everything. “What’s there to know? He’s a good guy and he’s lonely. And he likes you. He watches you all the time.”
He does?
Before I can ask about that, she continues. “And the ladies remind me of my grandma. Well, not Aggie. My grandma wouldn’t have said half of what she does. But Dottie reminds me of Gran. I haven’t seen her since…well, Before.”
I reach out for her hand in the darkness, wanting to comfort her. All I find is a foot under the blankets, but I give it a squeeze anyhow. Back when I first found Rabbit, she was a kid with a pink rabbit backpack and a lost expression on her face. She was completely alone, save for the curling, much-abused nametag sticker on her chest that said “HELLO MY NAME IS EVERLY.”
That sticker told me that she was loved, as had the backpack full of toys and children’s books. That someone had been looking out for her when she appeared. And because I was alone, too, I went up to her and offered my hand.
We’ve been together ever since, eight years.
It makes sense that my sweet daughter wants to take care of others. That she wants them to have people to count on. “Let me think about it, honey.”
“Of course, Mom. Love you.”
Somewhere under the blankets, Kermit lets out a muffled meow, as if agreeing.
I smile into the dark and fall silent. Rabbit goes to sleep and all is quiet. I can’t sleep, of course. I’m too aware of the strangers sleeping under our roof, and how we don’t know that much about them. Aggie and Dottie could be friends, but they might also be looking out for themselves. I wouldn’t blame them if they were, but I have to think of Rabbit first. The hours creep by in the darkness, but I’m not tired. My brain won’t calm down. Half of it is trying to replay Dottie and Aggie’s conversations, the looks they shared with each other, the dribbles of information about the bike-stealing bully they’d hired to transport them.
The other half of my brain is making plans on what to do if we have to leave. What to take, what to leave behind, how to hide our tracks, what this means for the upcoming winter. I touch my crossbow every now and then, reassuring myself that it’s close by.
I’m surprised when the door to outside quietly opens and I hear footsteps. I pull my crossbow into my lap, and stare at the distant windows. The glimpses of sky are purpling, showing that it’s near dawn.
A shadow moves near me and I feel a wall of heat right before Murr’s big body sits down next to me. I know it’s him because one of his arm horn-things scratches at my jeans as he seats himself, and Kermit immediately meows a greeting from the bed.
Rabbit keeps on sleeping, though. I can hear her light snoring even from here.
Was Murr feeling lonely, then? Is that why he’s sitting with me in the dark? I reach out and his hand brushes mine. He clasps it and settles our joined hands between us.
Lonely, then. I understand that very well.
We continue to sit in the shadows as the sun begins to rise, and it’s nice. My palm is sweating pressed against his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I glance over and I can make out his face, just a bit. He grins, showing a flash of teeth, and then gestures at the window. “Word?”
And then he makes a gesture that looks like the sun rising from behind the horizon. Or a flower blooming. Or an atom bomb exploding. But I suspect it’s the sun. “Dawn. Sunrise.”
“Dawh,” he whispers. “So rize.”
“Dawn,” I whisper back. I’ll get into the differences between nouns and verbs much, much later in his language lessons. “Murr speaks good.”
His expression shows genuine pleasure and delight at my compliment, and he studies my face, as if looking for something. Then, he says, “Murr no kith.”
I pull back in surprise. Where did that come from?
My astonishment must be evident. He continues whispering, leaning in. “Dakotah kith Murr.” Then he shakes his head, the movement exaggerated. “Dakotah good. Murr good. No kith.”
Oh.
I’ve forgotten all about my promise to kiss him. He hasn’t forgotten, obviously…but now he’s telling me it isn’t necessary. That he understands. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I don’t think I am. I’m getting to know him despite the limitations in language. “You’re very sweet, Murr. Thank you.”
And I lean in and give him a quick peck on the cheek.
