Dragon's Egg by Sarah L. Thomson Page B

seemed warmer than Mella remembered it being, even just out of the fire. Could the Egg be getting hotter? And what would that mean? Could it be that it was getting closer to hatching?
    No time to worry about that now. Thank goodness her gloves were in her pocket and not in the sack that Rhil had taken from her. She slid them on and picked up the Egg, settling it carefully into the heart of their small fire, and piled coals around it until it was almost covered.
    Gwyn had observed all this in silence. Now he came to crouch beside the fire, his eyes on the Egg glowing black in a nest of coals.
    â€œNow,” he said. “Tell me how you came by this. And what you mean to do with it.”
    Roger glanced at Mella doubtfully. She was as unsure as he was. Gwyn had brought the Egg back to them—but why? Should they tell him the truth? What would happen if they did?
    But they could hardly be worse off than theywere now. Lying and silence had done them no favors and earned them no help.
    Gwyn didn’t press them but waited quietly for them to decide. In the orange gold light of the fire, something gleamed white at the collar of his tunic. A slender piece of ivory, slightly curved and longer than a man’s finger, hung from a leather cord around his neck.
    They had to try trusting him, Mella thought.
    The cave. The Egg. The dying dragon and the promise. Stumbling, backtracking, with occasional additions from Roger, Mella told the story.
    â€œFollow the river to a waterfall,” Gwyn said thoughtfully when she had finished. “That’s where you’re headed?”
    Mella and Roger both nodded.
    â€œThen be ready.” Gwyn got to his feet, giving the Egg one last look. “Before dawn, I’ll be back to take you there.”
    Â 
    On Roger’s advice, Mella slept away as much of the night as she could. Gwyn had said that it wasmoonless, too dark and too dangerous to wander about the mountainside; he would come back for them when dawn was nearer. She hoped he was telling the truth. But at any rate, the Egg must stay in the fire as long as possible. There was no point in going on if it got too cold to survive.
    It was still black as the inside of a chimney when Gwyn heaved the stone away from the door a second time and called them softly from the doorway. Hurrying, Mella plucked the Egg from the fire. She could feel the bite of its heat even through her gloves as she packed it away in the metal box.
    The stars were hidden behind clouds. Mella clutched the box tightly under one arm and with her free hand clung to Roger, fearing that if she let go, the greedy blackness would swallow him up. Roger, in turn, held onto Gwyn as he led them quickly around the backs of small houses and sheep pens and out into the stony mountain slopes that surrounded the village.
    No one attempted to speak. At first Mella wasafraid of being overheard, and later she was too busy trying to keep her footing. When they were well away from the village, Gwyn lit a small lantern, which made it easier to follow him. But it did little to help Mella see where she was walking. The ground under her feet was crafty, plotting against her. No two steps were the same. She staggered in hollows, tripped over roots and hummocks, slipped on unsteady stones. More than once Roger’s hand kept her from falling.
    The night took away all her sense of time as well. Gywn had said he’d come for them before dawn—but how much before? She couldn’t tell. Sounds were odd in the darkness as well. Her own breathing was too loud, almost as if it were coming from somewhere behind her. And sometimes there seemed to be a noise following her—a rustling or muffled thumps like someone walking on packed earth. But it stopped whenever they did, so it must be nothing more than the echo of her own footsteps. Mella put the thought ofhunting cats firmly out of her mind and kept going.
    After a while—more than minutes, less than hours—she