Enoch's Ghost by Bryan Davis

slightly more visible now.
    While Angel reached under Grackle to loosen the buckles that held the seat straps in place, Timothy slid his hands into his pockets and watched her companion slowly orbiting her head. It paused for a moment at her ear as if whispering a secret. She flashed a smile, then laughed gently.
    “What did it say, Mother?” Candle asked.
    Angel tweaked Candle’s nose. “A privacy. A funny one, but still a privacy.”
    “Why doesn’t my companion ever tell me a privacy?”
    “Because you’re too young.” She gestured toward a path in the forest. “On our way down, I saw Whetstone climbing a tree. I’m sure you can find him.”
    Candle reached for one of the straps. “I’ll help you with the seats first.”
    “No need.” She nodded at Timothy. “Our new friend will likely offer his help.”
    Timothy jerked his hands out of his pockets. “Of course. Glad to.”
    “Thank you, Mother!” Candle dashed away, followed closely by his companion.
    Timothy watched Angel guide the first seat down the dragon’s flank and copied her motions, pulling on the strap attached to the middle seat. “Do your ovulums speak to you often?”
    Angel set the front seat down and shook her hair out of her eyes. “Your words are a confusing blend to me, IchabodI mean, Timothy. You speak as one who has never known the joy of a companion, yet you continue to say their ancient name as if you knew them in the days of our genesis.”
    “I’m sorry.” He laid the seat next to hers and kept his gaze fixed on it. “I’m just trying to communicate the best I can. I don’t mean to be so ignorant.”
    “No fault of yours. Your brain is injured, but surely it will mend soon.” She combed her fingers through his hair until she found the bump. “Does it still hurt?”
    “Not much.” He wanted to finish his job, but her gentle touch gave him reason to pause. “Does the bump feel smaller?” he asked.
    She lowered her hand and smiled. “Much smaller.”
    Timothy pulled down the final seat and set it with the others. “Where do you store these?”
    “Store them?” She withdrew a bottle from her pocket and poured thick goop on a cloth. Reaching under the dragon’s belly, she massaged the spot where the buckle had rubbed against his body, smearing the goop and pushing it between the scales. Grackle responded with a deep-throated purr. “Why would we store them?” She looked up at him while continuing the dragon’s treatment. “They are not affected by the wind.”
    He spread his arms over the seats as if covering them with a tarp. “To keep them safe from rain and thieves.”
    She pushed the cloth and bottle back into her pocket. “I have heard of rain from the Prophet, but I have never seen it, and we have no thieves among our people.” She rocked one of the seats back and forth. “They will be safe here.”
    Timothy searched a nearby ridge for any sign of a cave. “Where do you keep Grackle?”
    “Keep Grackle?” She gave him a surprised look. “Do you mean as a captive?”
    The dragon snorted, spewing ice crystals that scattered across Timothy’s feet.
    He jumped back and stumbled over one of the seats, landing on his backside. Angel rushed over and hoisted him easily, her strong arms almost lifting him right off his feet. “You must be careful,” she said. “Grackle knows many words.”
    Brushing the grass from his pants, Timothy glared at the dragon. “I think I’d better keep my distance until I get to know your ways better.”
    “At least from him,” Angel said, shaking a finger at Grackle. “He enjoys humor at the expense of strangers.”
    Timothy bowed toward Grackle. “I apologize. I should have known that dragons aren’t held against their will.”
    He bowed in return and whistled a cheery sounding note.
    “Grackle is free,” Angel said, “but you can always find him close to home, unless you come during mealtime. Then he will likely be hunting in the rabbit fields just over the