Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Shoq was sprawled across an outcropping of rocks that overlooked his favourite hunting ground. The mountain field was quiet, a lake of spring-green grasses. Soon, it would be filled with deer.
That prospect should have excited him, but it did not. For some strange reason, he did not feel like feeding. Or dancing. Or taking a long nap in the sun. At the same time, though, he was restless; on the edge of being bored. He knew he wanted to do something, he just could not figure out what that something might be. This did not surprise him. He had never been very good at thinking. He had always left that to Lathwi.
The Name-image which accompanied the thought triggered a wave of pleasure and longing within him. All at once, he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted his armpits tickled and his nose boxed; his eyes deceived and his pride stroked. He wanted to see The Soft One again.
His snort sent twin dust-devils whirling across the rocks. Such a craving was ridiculous. Lathwi was on her own now, far gone from the caves which had kept their fortunes in common for so long. Barring accidents, it was quite unlikely that they would meet again soon.
That fact troubled him, more so because he knew that it should not. Adult dragons were solitary creatures; once they left the nest to pursue their own fortunes, they seldom had a thought for anyone but themselves. He had not longed to see Haqqaq, Lifyre or any of his other tanglemates after they had taken their leave of Taziem’s caves. Nor had they gone out of their way to visit him. So why should it be any different with Lathwi?
Images of her cavorted through his mind, teasing him for being so foolish. Her mouth was a crescent moon filled with tiny white teeth. Her gloriously blue eyes were bright with amusement. The memories played with his senses. He could almost hear her laughing at him in the distance, almost smell the curious melange of her scent. Provoked by these too-real reminders, he came to a sudden decision: it did not matter if Lathwi was on her own now; he had to see her again.
But how was he supposed to find her? She had to be gone from that far-away meadow by now; and while he was hungry for the taste of her company, he was not particularly keen on the idea of passing an endless number of days in search of it. There had to be an easier way.
For a long moment, he considered using her Name. If he Called, she would have to come, the birth-bond between them would compel her. But that would be unwise, he decided then, guided by selfishness rather than scruples. She would not be pleased to come and find him in no obvious need. And if she was not pleased, she would not want to play.
His tail twitched with remembered delight as he recalled the games she had invented for their amusement: Hunter and Prey; Mock Challenge; Tricks on Tanglemates and Taziem. How much fun they could have if they were together again! They could play on the ground to their heart’s content, then take to the sky and play some more. Come dusk, they could kill a stag and gorge on its sweet red meat. Afterward, they could curl up back to belly and sleep.
Yes! This was what he wanted to do—not just for a day or a score of days, but for always.
The thought inspired an idea. This was startling in and of itself, for he did not generally have ideas about anything other than food, sleep or play. But this idea was even more remarkable because it was brilliant, a solution to all of his problems. He would ask Lathwi to be his chosen!
Excited now, he began to fantasize in earnest. He would not be like his sire, Bij, who lived in the south and visited Taziem only to breed. He would find Lathwi a cave close to his own, or better still, persuade her to live with him. He would defend her territory against all challengers, and guard her fortune as if it were his very own. And when she finally came into Season, he would dance for her as he’d never danced before. She would choose him, as he knew she must, and then they would go soaring across the sky.
This chain of thoughts filled his nose with her essence again. A good omen, he thought, savouring the ghostly aroma. It made him think that she was somehow encouraging him from afar.
He needed no further urging. Resolved to go in search of her, he heaved himself to his feet.
A shriek erupted in the field below him. More out of habit than any interest, he craned his long neck toward the sudden noise and isolated the figure which was now running toward the woods. He could not make out many details from this distance, but he was sure of two things: it had a long black mane, and two rapidly pumping legs.
Lathwi! No wonder her scent had been so vivid. She was playing tricks on him again! But how had she found him? Had he, in a moment of unwitting excitement, Called her? Or had she hunted him down for reasons of her own? He dismissed the questions with a shake of his wings. Now that she was here, he did not care about anything else.
With a jubilant roar, he launched himself from the cliff and went flying after her. As the gap between them narrowed, he noticed discrepancies in her appearance. She was smaller than he remembered. Scrawnier, too. And instead of scales, she was wearing a loose white skin that snapped and fluttered behind her as she ran. These differences did not bother him, though. He was always getting confused over her true size. And that new skin of hers had to be another of her tricks.
How disappointed she would be to learn that he had not been fooled!
With that thought in mind, he swooped down and tripped her with his outstretched neck. She went flying face-first into the grass, but made no effort to get up and run away. Instead, she lay where she had fallen, forcing him to land. Once aground, he prodded her with a playful claw, but all she did was begin to tremble and wail.
He cocked his head, confused and more than a little annoyed: this was not the way that the game was played. He prodded her again, a little harder this time. Her wailing increased in pitch and volume.
“Be quiet!” he told her.
She chose to ignore him.
Goaded by the noise, his annoyance soared. He cuffed her—a warning blow that tore four parallel gashes in the back of her white not-skin. An instant later, those gashes began to turn red. He felt no remorse for the blood he had raised; when playing with The Soft One, some bleeding was to be expected. Now she was supposed to get up and retaliate.
Instead, she continued to wail—a humid, high-pitched sound that hurt his ears.
“If you don’t stop that, I’ll bite your lips off,” he threatened.
Still she ignored him.
He rumbled. What was wrong with her today? Why did she seem so intent on spoiling their fun? Was she testing him? He was no good at thought-games; she ought to know that.
With an ungentle flick of a forearm, he flipped her onto her back. As their eyes met, she started to sob and gibber. He hissed, venting consternation and rage. This was not The Soft One! Lathwi’s eyes were as blue as a summer sky, not brown like shimmering mud. Nor was her face so round and ugly.
And the noise! Lathwi had never made such awful sounds!
He swatted the impostor, meaning to shut her up. By chance, he slashed her throat. She gurgled a last, liquid protest and lapsed into welcome silence.
A moment later, the hot, salted smell of red blood curled in his nostrils, inviting him to feed. He did so with his usual gusto. It did not occur to him that there might be anything wrong with this. Indeed, to his way of thinking, it would have been the very height of indecency not to eat a thing that he had just killed.
As he fed, he thought of Lathwi. It would not be easy, but he would find her.