Dragons of the Valley by Donita K. Paul Page A

put his chin against her pulse and settled down. The glow of his scales dimmed until he looked a pale blue in the moonlight.
    Tipper whispered. “He’s so tiny.”
    “How does he feel in your hand?”
    “Warm. Soft.”
    “And how do you feel?”
    She held her breath for a moment and concentrated. Then she looked at Paladin. “It’s going to work, isn’t it? He’s going to bond with me.”
    “I thought so, but one can’t be presumptuous with a dragon.” Paladin put his arm around her back, and she leaned against him. He rested his chin against her head.
    “What’s his name?” She gave a hiccup of surprise. “Oh! His name is Rayn.”
    Paladin leaned back and laughed. “Now we know for sure that this is going to work.”
    Tipper cuddled Rayn under her chin. When she lowered him to kiss the top of his head, she saw that he had again changed colors. Now he was green.
    “Green?” She looked at Paladin. “Is he offering to heal me? I’m not hurt.”
    Paladin shrugged. “I think you’ve got the cause and effect switched. He turned green because he was healing you, not because he recognized you needed healing.”
    “But I don’t. I’m perfectly fit.”
    He squeezed her shoulders, pulling her closer and laying his forehead against hers. “Sometimes healing doesn’t involve the physical. Your heart is bruised.”
    Tipper pulled away. “It’s not. I’m fine.”
    Paladin stood. “I’ll walk you to your tent.”
    She stared up at him for a moment, then rose to her feet. She chortled. “I was about to protest that I’m not tired. But I really am. And now I’m relaxed enough to sleep.” She gazed down the path to the village. “Jayrus?”
    “Yes?”
    “Do you like being the paladin?”
    He nodded and took her free hand to nestle between his larger, stronger hands. A thrill skipped down her spine. Her toes curled inside her slippers. She forced herself to breathe evenly, hoping to calm her erratic heartbeat. With trepidation, she allowed herself to gaze into his eyes. Would he see how much she cared for him? Would he mistake it for the same type of adoration the young kimens showered on him?
    “Yes, I like it very much.” Jayrus wore a smile of satisfaction on his lips.
    Her mind had wandered, and confusion covered her reasoning. Like it? Like her? Her throat closed around the question, causing a squeak. “It?”
    He grinned. “Being the paladin. Yes, I like being the paladin very much.”
    “Why?”
    He slid his fingers between hers and kept her close to his side as they walked toward the village.
    “Suppose a caterpillar spins its cocoon, then bursts out to find itself in a turtle shell, moving slowly across the forest floor.”
    She giggled. “What a disappointment.”
    “Not really.” He grinned at her. “It had always been a caterpillar, and it was used to moving slowly. It didn’t know it was supposed to be a beautiful butterfly. It was used to the forest floor.”
    She screwed up her face and shook her head, then whispered to the tiny dragon cupped in her hand near her chin. “This is an unusual tale.”
    “We’re not done. The turtle goes about doing the things that occupy a turtle. But something inside doesn’t feel right. It is compelled to wrap itself in long vines and hibernate. When it emerges sometime later, it discovers its body has metamorphosed into a large, lumbering bird, one too heavy to fly and with wings too puny to be useful.”
    “He speaks of a most unusual animal,” Tipper said to Rayn.
    “But still,” Paladin said, “the flightless bird is dissatisfied, and one day, it hunkers down in a deep nest of long shafts of prairie grass and goes to sleep. The bird is ill at ease, not because being a flightless bird is a bad thing, but somehow it is not the right thing for a caterpillar.
    “It emerges again from the long sleep, and this time it is a bird, not too big, not too small, and a dull black.”
    “Can it fly?” Tipper asked.
    “Yes, it can fly.”
    “So