bell rang loudly and Jakkin jumped. He could hear the sounds of bonders waking on both sides of the house.
Hoisting the basket onto his back and adjusting the leather straps to fit his shoulders, he pushed open the heavy door and went out into the daylight.
As he left, Kkarina's voice echoed again in his thoughts: "Most men, after their first roundup..."
Most men.
Was the passage from boy to man really that easy? And was it always built upon lies?
Then, pushing the thought away, he bent his head and trudged off down the road as if he were going into town.
***
T HE DRAGON MUST have sensed his coming, for it was out of the shelter and waiting for him. It had only shreds of eggskin still clinging to its body, a strange patchwork of dull brown and yellow. Jakkin had a moment of disappointment. Dull brown. He had thought it was going to be a red. Browns were usually solid fighters, aggressive but without much imagination. Reds, on the other hand ... He beat down the thought. Perhaps, it might still change color. Hadn't he heard that "color fast does not last," meaning a dragon's true color often did not show early? He could still hope.
He shifted his pack on his back and the coins in his bag clinked together.
At the sound, the dragon lifted its oversized wings. They still had a crumpled appearance and the effort of moving them seemed to tire the little lizard. It settled down again on its stomach and waited, head on front claws, for Jakkin to come nearer.
Jakkin smiled at the dragon and thought at it,
The morning becomes thee, my wonder worm.
The dragon's muted rainbow signature
ran through Jakkin's head once more, as clear and identifying as if it were a mark on paper.
Jakkin knelt for a moment by the dragon's side and scratched it behind the ears and then down its long neck. The hatchling raised its back up, arching under his hand.
"Not yet, thou beauty," he said. He stood and walked into the shelter, where he shrugged out of the basket, unpacking the bowl and bone-handled knife. "First we must feed thee. Come on." â¢
The dragon followed confidently at his heels as he walked to the weed and wort patch. In the direct sun, the leaves were all open, as if turning every vein to catch the light. At the head of the patch, the dragon halted, digging its claws into the sand. It stood still, watching the movement of the wind through the stalks.
Jakkin was about to enter the patch but stopped himself. This was the time, he thought suddenly, for the dragon's first lesson. He turned and faced it and held his hands toward it, palms up. "Good
stand
" he said, and then thought at it as well,
STAND
still, thou mighty fighter,
STAND.
He repeated the hand
signals again and the spoken words, all the while thinking the sentence.
The dragon cocked its head to one side as if considering, but remained in the clawed-in stance.
Jakkin watched it carefully. After a minute, he could see it tiring, one leg beginning to waver.
Good
STAND,
he thought at it one more time and went over and hugged it to him, rubbing it under the chin. "Thou mighty young snatchling. Thou great worm."
The dragon's tongue wrapped around his little finger and licked.
"Now for some food," Jakkin said. He walked back into the patch, careful not to touch the red stalks, which were still hotter than was comfortable; nor to brush against the seed pods, which until they were covered with a gray film could give a bad burn. He plucked a handful of leaves and went back to the shelter, where he got out the bowl and knife.
Sitting down, feet in the stream, Jakkin cut the leaves, piercing the veins with the knife. Then he crushed the leaves with the bone handle. Before long, he had a half a bowl of juice.
"Here, eat this," he called to the snatchling, who was pouncing on shadows thrown by the kkhan reeds at the end of the pool.
The dragon looked over at his voice, but did not move.
"Come," said Jakkin, again, holding the bowl down so the dragon could see it.
The
Hoisting the basket onto his back and adjusting the leather straps to fit his shoulders, he pushed open the heavy door and went out into the daylight.
As he left, Kkarina's voice echoed again in his thoughts: "Most men, after their first roundup..."
Most men.
Was the passage from boy to man really that easy? And was it always built upon lies?
Then, pushing the thought away, he bent his head and trudged off down the road as if he were going into town.
***
T HE DRAGON MUST have sensed his coming, for it was out of the shelter and waiting for him. It had only shreds of eggskin still clinging to its body, a strange patchwork of dull brown and yellow. Jakkin had a moment of disappointment. Dull brown. He had thought it was going to be a red. Browns were usually solid fighters, aggressive but without much imagination. Reds, on the other hand ... He beat down the thought. Perhaps, it might still change color. Hadn't he heard that "color fast does not last," meaning a dragon's true color often did not show early? He could still hope.
He shifted his pack on his back and the coins in his bag clinked together.
At the sound, the dragon lifted its oversized wings. They still had a crumpled appearance and the effort of moving them seemed to tire the little lizard. It settled down again on its stomach and waited, head on front claws, for Jakkin to come nearer.
Jakkin smiled at the dragon and thought at it,
The morning becomes thee, my wonder worm.
The dragon's muted rainbow signature
ran through Jakkin's head once more, as clear and identifying as if it were a mark on paper.
Jakkin knelt for a moment by the dragon's side and scratched it behind the ears and then down its long neck. The hatchling raised its back up, arching under his hand.
"Not yet, thou beauty," he said. He stood and walked into the shelter, where he shrugged out of the basket, unpacking the bowl and bone-handled knife. "First we must feed thee. Come on." â¢
The dragon followed confidently at his heels as he walked to the weed and wort patch. In the direct sun, the leaves were all open, as if turning every vein to catch the light. At the head of the patch, the dragon halted, digging its claws into the sand. It stood still, watching the movement of the wind through the stalks.
Jakkin was about to enter the patch but stopped himself. This was the time, he thought suddenly, for the dragon's first lesson. He turned and faced it and held his hands toward it, palms up. "Good
stand
" he said, and then thought at it as well,
STAND
still, thou mighty fighter,
STAND.
He repeated the hand
signals again and the spoken words, all the while thinking the sentence.
The dragon cocked its head to one side as if considering, but remained in the clawed-in stance.
Jakkin watched it carefully. After a minute, he could see it tiring, one leg beginning to waver.
Good
STAND,
he thought at it one more time and went over and hugged it to him, rubbing it under the chin. "Thou mighty young snatchling. Thou great worm."
The dragon's tongue wrapped around his little finger and licked.
"Now for some food," Jakkin said. He walked back into the patch, careful not to touch the red stalks, which were still hotter than was comfortable; nor to brush against the seed pods, which until they were covered with a gray film could give a bad burn. He plucked a handful of leaves and went back to the shelter, where he got out the bowl and knife.
Sitting down, feet in the stream, Jakkin cut the leaves, piercing the veins with the knife. Then he crushed the leaves with the bone handle. Before long, he had a half a bowl of juice.
"Here, eat this," he called to the snatchling, who was pouncing on shadows thrown by the kkhan reeds at the end of the pool.
The dragon looked over at his voice, but did not move.
"Come," said Jakkin, again, holding the bowl down so the dragon could see it.
The
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