Chapter 7
Ren

~

“Mama, I don’t know if I can leave the Hamlet, ya, and Papa, Ike.”

“Ya stood before the clan and announced yar selection,” Tiff reminded me unnecessarily. “Kind of hard to deny Angus now.”

“I don’t deny Angus, I deny the lowlands.”

Tiff grinned. “For years ya’ve been tellin’ me ya’re tired of the winters up here. Now that yar wish is ready to be fulfilled, ya’re changin’ yar mind? Doesn’t sound like any ogre-thinkin’ to me. Sounds more wishy washy humanish. Maybe we’ve erred lettin’ ya spend so much time with Gladys, Silvia and the others.”

“Oh, don’t talk so silly,” I snapped.

Steam filled the space between us as Mama poured off the water from the boiled tomatoes to a fresh pot. I gently snagged the fruit with tongs and placed them into jars, Mama followin’ behind tightenin’ lids on them.

“Ya know Asr and Tir’lock will be able to bring ya back often to visit,” Mama said, drawin’ a stray, gray hair out of her face.

“I’ve listened to every word ya’ve ever muttered, Mama. I know once I have ogrelings crawlin’ all over the place there’ll never be time.”

“Is it those dreams?” Mama asked.

“They don’t help.”

“Ya’ve realized as long as I have,” Tiff said, lowerin’ her voice to a whisper, as though if it were heard by others, it would make it reality all the sooner. “Ike will be a wanderer. I don’t even know how long I have with him. Besides, yar preference for yar youngest bull sibling isn’t fair.”

“I almost wish the winter hunt hadn’t gone well for Ike.” I puckered up my lips and my tusks tickled my lips. I chose to ignore my mama’s remark about favoritism. Tears marked my cheeks and I dabbed them away quickly. “Out there he’s in his element, like a wild animal.”

“He was always a wild one, especially when he started his bam stage.” Tiff chuckled.

“Ya don’t suppose if he bonded with one of the two free dragons, that he’d feel free to wander and return, do ya?”

Mama turned and studied me for a moment, placin’ a fist on her wide hip. “Ya should have a cup of warm milk before ya go to bed at night. Yar dreams are gettin’ out of hand.” She turned back to fillin’ the emptied pot with fresh tomatoes.

“Ya didn’t answer my question,” I challenged.

“Well, first, the moment he and one of those dragons got together, we’d probably never see hide nor hair of either of them again.”

My eyes teared again.

“But,” Mama continued, “ya told me yarself Iza said her bull siblings are likely too old now to be impressionable enough to bond.”

“She didn’t outright say age had anything to do with bondin’,” I argued.

Mama covered the fresh tomatoes with the poured-off hot water and replaced the giant pot over the fire again. I turned and strode to the porch. Papa and my oldest bull sibling rolled their wheelbarrows toward the growin’ rock pier.

Papa has more energy than any two ogres.

I looked up at the sun and realized the dinner rush at the Inn would soon be startin’.

“Torc.”

“I know,” he called over his shoulder.

~

Guests already sat about the dinin’ hall, but they looked entertained with their knittin’, books, card decks, or checker boards. I searched out Bick as my evil plot still formed in my mind. Bick walked out of Braes’ office. The elf and human chatted. Bick had his regular grin scrawled across his face, and the elf’s brow formed its normal vee, as though he was contemplatin’ someone’s funeral.

I stepped behind the tall counter and grabbed Bick’s sleeve and gave him an ogre’s growl for attention. The human didn’t bat an eye. He had spent half a life around giants to understand our assertive wiles. I enjoy workin’ with the human exactly for that reason—I could be myself.

Bick followed me out to the veranda and along the breezeway to the storefronts until we had privacy.

“What’s bothering ya, hen?”

“I need a devious mind to help me escape a situation,” I told him.

He grinned. “If it’s devious ya want, ya should be speaking to that Lucas.”

Bick sobered under my glare.

“Whatever he knows,” I said, “Iza knows, and whatever she knows, Tir would know, and whatever he knows, my sibling would know, and no other ogre can know. It would ruin my life.”

“Those stinkin’ dragons and their empathetic mates. They’ve ruined this Hamlet, haven’t they?”

I didn’t smile. Even though it was a bit funny.

“Ya’re too young to be so sour, hen,” he mumbled.

~

Torc whispered to me, “I was at the hardware store runnin’ an errand. Saw the clan leader talkin’ with Papa.”

What was that bull doin’ in the highlands? I froze and my heart quickened. Mind flicked back to my Inn responsibilities as I snarled at the girl collectin’ an armload of plates. “Garnishes!”

The human wisp-of-a-thing jumped and nearly dropped two of the plates lined up her arm. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

Eina called across to the girl from the other side of the counter. “Relax, darlin’. Ogres only think they have to sound like they’re ready to rip off yar head. If they were actually gonna do it, ya would never hear a thing.”

The girl tried to grin. “That makes me feel ever so much better.”

Sylvia and Gladys cackled, like two fools. I didn’t understand the humor of it, nor felt up to listenin’ to their human banter. I turned and followed my bull sibling out of the kitchen. Servers flew by me, but I ignored the busy commotion. Walked out the front door and stood on the veranda, lookin’ to the west, to see if I could get a glimpse of Papa and the clan elder. No particular reason why. Fear? Curiosity?

I got more than a glimpse. The two bulls stood in the middle of the field, turned and looked my way. My face turned red hot. How long will I be able to hold them off? I pivoted, anxious to get away from the bulls’ glare, and returned inside.

Bick caught my eye and gave me a wink. I needed more than a wink to help me relax. It was takin’ too long. It was a simple plan. If I could only include one of the dragon riders, it would make it so much easier. I thought of Janding, but wondered if an orc would complicate it. And still, what Janding knew, all the other dragons knew. Stinkin’ dragon riders.

How forceful would Papa be tonight?

He leaned a little in Angus’ favor. A bull needed his hen, and all of that. I promised myself months ago. It was the fault of the method of it all. If only ogres did the marryin’ off more like humans. They have it so easy.

~

For weeks everyone about the Hamlet avoided me, since I shredded everyone who spoke a word to me. Couldn’t help my mood. I’m an ogre, after all. I have grave thoughts on my mind. And as Papa would say, I’m a stinkin’ hen. I went home every night and held Ike close, and read to him. It was what I looked forward to all day, every day, yet when I was with him, my heart still ached.

I ironically hated to be home. Felt as though my mama and papa’s eyes followed me every inch I moved. I could scream. Listened to every footstep like it would be the whole council comin’ to demand I set a date.

There was a knock and I jerked. Papa walked to the door and swung it open slowly, the homemade hinge singin’ its forlorn song.

“Sorry to interrupt so late in the evenin’, sir.”

Oh, gods. It was Angus. He was here himself to demand it.

“Would ya allow me a few minutes to have a word with yar daughter?” he asked Papa.

Papa smiled toward the blackness outside and waved the visitor, his future son-in-law, to come in—funny how easily I found myself usin’ that humanish term.

“It be a bit of a private matter, sir, if ya don’t mind.”

“Understand,” Papa said.

He turned and looked at me, one eye closed, his head tipped down oddly. Some message I couldn’t decode. I nodded to him and strode to the door, followed Angus down the walkway.

“Good to see ya, Ren,” he said.

“Marvelous to see ya, Angus. Look at that moon. Isn’t it marvelous?”

He looked up into the sky. “Marvelous.”

“Yes, marvelous,” I repeated. “Marvelous. Marvelous evenin’.”

“Yes, marvelous.” But he studied the ground now.

He reached out and took my hand, and a stingin’ sensation swept over me, a feelin’ I couldn’t describe. A little like when I get out of bed in the mornin’ and placed my hands in cold water to wash my face before makin’ it to the outhouse. But the itch didn’t just sting me in the belly. It struck through the shoulders, down to my toes.

“Ya’re shiverin’,” Angus murmured. “Nights are so cold up here in the highlands.”

We were silent way too long. I worried Papa might come out to chaperon us. Nothing could be worse, that moment. We made it to the new rock pier and stood lookin’ out across the blackness of the Lake, as though our eyes could see its beauty in the dark. Though the gleam of the near-full moon glimmered off of it sharply.

“Say it, Angus, my goodness.”

He stammered a moment, searchin’ for a way to begin. I squeezed his hand tight, which seemed to calm him.

“I know—ya—were always lookin’ forward to movin’ to the lowlands,” he said, “even though lately ya’ve been frettin’ about leavin’ yar family here in the Valley. So I wanted to tell ya about an offer I received from a peculiar young bull the other day. I doubt ya will be interested, but thought I’d tell ya.

“Ya know that fancy city-lookin’ place bein’ built on that narrow strip of property Master Coedwig’s sold off a month or so ago? The bull decided he didn’t prefer the cold up here after all, and has offered to do an even swap with our homestead. I think he’s crazy, but—”

“That horrid big place with all the glass facin’ the Lake, with the wraparound porch and a half-dozen fireplaces?”

“It would be a fair walk, but ya could continue workin’ at the Inn for as long as ya wanted,” he said. “Not much room for a garden, but enough to make do.”

“I would have to think about it. Would it make ya happy, Angus?”

“I ’magine my blood would thicken,” he said. “To this cold.”

I heard his smile in the dark, caught the moon’s glow off his tusks.

“Ya would be a ways from yar family, though,” I said.

He chuckled. “My papa gave me one bit of advice a while back. He said, ‘It’s good to get away from yar own mama, and keep yar mate close to hers, to have peace.’ I’ve learned over the years he’s a pretty bright bull, so maybe I should take the advice.”

I wrapped his neck in a hug. “I reckon ya should accept the bull’s offer then,” I whispered in his ear, before markin’ his neck with a tusk. The sting worked its way through my chest. I pulled away feelin’ a little like a harlot, but my chest was about to explode in excitement, so my guilt evaporated quickly. I started to run for the cabin and stopped.

“By the way,” I said. “What do ya say to a ceremony Saturday after next? We could do it on that enormous deck of our new place.”

“I—uh—I—think—that—that’d—probably—be marvelous.” He stood with his hand coverin’ his neck where I nicked him good. The moon glinted in his enormous eyes. “Ya ’spose it’ll be finished by then? It’s hardly framed out.”

“Oh, sure.”

“How can ya be so sure?”

“Well—ya know—Master Coedwig—ya know—he eats at the Inn a lot. He told me it would be.”

I turned and ran. I couldn’t wait to grab my mama and dance around the cabin with her, to give Ike a love-paddle on the behind, and give Torc and Asr a poke in the arm. I’d have to thank Papa for givin’ me such a fine dowry. He would say, “What else do I work for?”

~

Chapter 8
Coedwig

~

I kicked my boots against the granite base of the stairs to knock off the loose muck. Made my way up to the veranda and used the broom left there to finish the task. I continued to grumble under my breath, askin’ myself why I felt it necessary to go a visitin’. I could hot-up a cup of tea at home. A fire flicked in my hearth. I didn’t need to hear the banter of ogres and trolls, or silly human women. Though, they always have tasty cookies that put my hard, dwarf-style biscuits to shame.

The door behind me swung open and closed quickly.

“Imagine the snow coming so early this year.”

The soft voice of the elf wouldn’t have made it to me if it weren’t for the silence the chill brought. There wasn’t a hint of sound for miles. I knew if I strained, I could hear the pine needles shiverin’.

“It happens,” I groused.

“I still have a pair of guests. They’re trying to decide whether a warm spell will come and let them get through the pass a little more safely, or take off now and hope for the best.”

“Ya best kick them out before ya get stuck with ’em for the duration.” I flung the broom against the banister like it was a thing imposin’ on my time, picked my axe back up, and turned on the elf. “If ya want, I’ll pack their things up and see ’em to their wagons for ya. I don’t reckon I have anything better to do.”

“That is a might kind offer, dwarf.”

I leered at the tiny twit for a moment, tryin’ to figure out if he was makin’ fun of me. I couldn’t decide. I stood up tall. I like standin’ next to Braes. Too many dang giants and humans about the Hamlet. Like to act superior enough, without loomin’ over me like fool trees.

“Main thing I enjoy about comin’ here, elf, is playin’ checkers against someone shorter than me. Oh, and beatin’ his pants off.”

“I believe you’ve told me that before.”

“Ya callin’ me a boorish type?” I barked.

“I might be. Would it take the edge off your game?”

“Nothing takes my mind off my game,” I said.

Braes snorted. “Jear had a way of distracting you.”

“Not fair. He was a master cheat,” I snarled. “Ya gonna keep me out here in the cold all day, or invite me in?”

“Since when do you need an invitation?”

“Get out of my way then. Even the women are more interestin’ than ya.”

“The females,” Braes quipped, “mirror your demeanor better than me.”

I snorted as I pushed the enormous door inward, pullin’ it closed in my friend’s face on purpose. Seemed the thing to do. Hard to believe I consider a fool elf a friend. Go figger.

“Ah, starting to come down hard again, is it?” someone asked. I don’t know who, not that I cared. If the question was meant for me, I ignored it. I walked toward the back of the hall where the kettles lined up on the stove. I glanced over my shoulder. A sight made me stop and turn around. A smudge of solid white careened out of the sky. A whiteout.

Someone mumbled, “Glad we stayed.”

Someone else said, “Hope no one else is getting caught in that. It’ll be their undoing.”

They were right. Hope Kincere and her family across the Lake are as well stocked as the Inn—but know they are. What about those fool daemons. They hadn’t had much summer to can and smoke. I poured myself a cup of tea, grumblin’ I’d probably be expected to cart over supplies to the daemons within the week, even cut them wood. The giants aren’t much for usin’ an axe. That bull, Drazy, isn’t good for much of anything besides workin’ his mouth.

“Good day to you, Master Coedwig.”

I turned to snarl at whoever it was, until I realized it was the quiet, lovely Miss Sylvia. For a human woman, and a Northerner, she’s not too offputtin’. I looked down quickly at the toes of my boots for a moment, tryin’ to think what kind of polite words ya say to someone ya don’t want to insult. I’m not used to goin’ out of my way not to insult.

“Cat got your tongue, cutie.”

“Cutie! Who’re ya callin’ cutie?”

She bent over and gave my beard a tug. “Who else? You’re the only cutie I see here.”

I slapped at her hand, and she giggled. The woman has some reflexes. A gnome appeared from the ethereal, and Sylvia jumped, clutchin’ the front of her smock. A little squeak escaped. The majie looked nervously at the two of us and blinked away.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Sylvia said.

“I wish I never had to get used to it.”

“What’s wrong. Your face turned all sour,” she said.

“Ah, nothing. Tordelshy—nothing.”

“That the gnome’s name? Tordelshy?”

“Ya’re a nosy sort.”

She grinned and tugged down on my knit hat so it covered my eyes.

“And rude,” I snorted.

“We’re just starting to get locked in for the winter. Imagine how I’ll be rubbing you wrong in four months.”

I growled.

“Have you had breakfast, sweetie?”

“Stop calling me—”

Tordelshy blinked in again and turned a glare at Sylvia.

“He looks like he wants to talk to you in private,” she said.

“They aren’t ones for talkin’,” I grumbled. “What ya want, gnome?”

The majie looked nervously at Sylvia again, before turnin’ back to me. I reached up and pulled him out of the air so he could whisper in my ear. I listened and then explained to Sylvia, “A herd of orcs be stranded on their way here. Ten miles up Silver Spur.”

The gnome blinked out.

“Bad news. News we can’t do anything about,” I grumbled.

~

“Maybe Lucas and his queen can make it there?” Bick offered.

I was standin’ on a chair in front of the window, lookin’ out at the solid bank of fallin’ snow. I stuffed my hands under my armpits. It was cold in Braes’ office. The elf isn’t botherin’ to keep a fire goin’ in the room since he isn’t workin’ in there much with the offseason.

Yoso growled. “In this, it would even be dangerous to try to make it over to his place to pose the question. Ya could get turned around in this whiteout and end up in the Wildes.”

“I visited ’em two days ago,” Bick said. “Iza is hibernating. She’s dug ten feet into the hay in their barn. Lucas said he hadn’t felt her mind all week.”

“Those orcs—” Braes mumbled. “Picked a bad time to be traveling in the mountains.”

“It would take serious brawn to tread through that.” I shivered.

“S’pose daemons?” Braes asked, lookin’ at Eina.

“They’d need a guide,” I muttered.

I looked over at Yoso, who grimaced. The troll looked out the window. “Don’t like what ya’re suggestin’. Only ya and I know the area well enough, and would have half a chance of gettin’ there. We’re almost as old as those hills. Have no business out there in that mess.”

“Then I guess I’ll be goin’ after their frozen carcasses alone,” I said.

“Nonsense. Snow is already over yar head,” Yoso growled.

“It’ll be over yar head in those gullies. Only chance is to stay on top of it.”

Yoso used a dwarf’s common answer—a snort. “How ya plan on doin’ that?”

“I need someone else useful with their hands, and a few of ya who can do some heavy weavin’,” I said, walkin’ out of the office. My gnome-friend blipped out to the ethereal.

~

Janding and I worked five frantic hours to make the four pairs of snow shoes. I was already tired, and the weight of the shoes strapped on my shoulders made it hard to lift up my feet. I shook my head. “Will be my death,” I mumbled. “I’m smarter than this.”

I trudged directly across the frozen Lake. It’s early in the season, but I had no doubt the new ice would hold my measly weight. My worry was that Drazy would scoff at the futile idea of savin’ orcs ignernt enough to get caught in a blizzard. If the daemon had any sense, he would. I decided not to work overly hard to convince him. It wouldn’t be right. The daemon clan owed favors for the help the Hamlet folk lent in buildin’ their four enormous, long-cabins, but puttin’ one’s life at stake exceeded that debt.

~

The door opened as I clomped onto the porch. Whisked inside by a grinnin’ giant, I found maybe the true decision maker of the clan wasn’t the hen daemon after all. She muttered and paced up and down, but bulls prepped, dressin’ in their warmest clothes while she ranted about it bein’ insane. I reckon she gave her bull-folk reason enough to decline, unwillin’ herself to say no outright. She still ranted as she grabbed Drazy roughly and gave him a mean kiss goodbye, which more than embarrassed me.

Them daemons ain’t above displayin’ too openly.

Outside, I bent over to put on my snowshoes when the beefy daemon bull-leader lifted me up and put me on his shoulders. “We don’t have time to spare waitin’ on ya, no-legs.” Just rude.

The four daemons strapped on the over-sized shoes Janding and I rigged up, and we were off at a hard run. I bounced roughly, amazed at the speed they made, well into the foothills in thirty minutes, though with the downfall, I was nowhere certain I pointed Drazy in the right direction. The world was solid white. I oriented by feel—maybe it was imagination—or maybe it was direction from Tordelshy, I had no clue which. But there was no time to second guess.

Even with the lopin’ speed the giants managed, with the rate of the snow fallin’, I worried even if we found the orcs, it would be a miracle if any of them made it back alive. Between the cold and jostlin’ I took on Drazy’s shoulders, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to survive, I was so miserable, bounced about and near frozen.

I estimated we were twenty miles, not ten, up the Spur when Tordelshy appeared, and sank chin deep into the snow. If he hadn’t made a racket in his high pitched whine, the wretched group of us wouldn’t have noticed him.

The gnome kept poppin’ up in front of us until we found the cliff face the orcs hid against. Their fire was out and they were mostly-buried in snow, despite the overhang. All alive, but in bad shape. The daemons debated the benefit of findin’ wood for a fire to warm them up before we headed home. I turned and pointed up at the heavily fallin’ snow, and they all nodded. Don’t know how they expected to find wood for a fire under all the snow, anyway.

There were four young orclings. Three of the daemons stuffed one in the front of each of their coats. I held the smallest, atop Dazy’s shoulders. The six adults would have rougher rides under the arms of Drazy and his friends. With a nod, we were off again, trudgin’ through the ever-deepenin’ drifts. I said a rare prayer to several gods I hadn’t visited, maybe since the mate passed. As cold as I was, might be joinin’ her soon.

It had to be night, though there was no way to prove it. Only the natural blanket of white made it seem like there was any light at all, no darker than it had been when they left the Hamlet.

Hour after hour we struggled. I kept a steady stream of insults and curses goin’ in my mind to keep from feelin’ quite so numb. Again and again I lurched as the child I gripped slipped in my hands. Drazy tumbled several times, and the orcling and I went flyin’. The snow was deep enough our collisions were cushioned, but it did nothing for our misery. I could only imagine how the daemons fared. The logs and boulders they tripped over must be givin’ them awful gashes.

Time and again, Tordelshy appeared to point us in the right direction. I had never been so miserable in my life. My hands and feet were numb, my face burned from the slashin’ cold. The hours and miles dragged. Suddenly the ride became smoother. The daemons jogged upon a flat surface. When the meanin’ of it struck me it must have come to the daemons as well, as they all came to a hard stop.

The four stood frozen, afraid to move.

Would the ice hold them? The giants are massive.

Tordelshy hadn’t stopped us. Perhaps he knew.

After a moment, Drazy led on. I didn’t disagree with his decision, but I guessed it had more to do with the wish for the pain to be over than anything else. If we broke through the ice, the water would do us in quick enough. Perhaps the width of the snow shoes distributed their weight sufficiently. I looked into the night tryin’ to judge where on the Lake we were, but there was no tellin’. Nothing but solid white blinded me. We could have been thirty miles west of where we should be for all I could tell.

As a snow bank rose in front of us, the gnome appeared once again to direct us. It was too impossible we made it. The daemons struggled up the last, steep incline, and a pinpoint of light peeked through the white blanket before us. I heard one of the daemons shoutin’ for help and it seemed immediately there were a dozen hands graspin’ to aid us.

I closed my eyes and allowed the jostle to pull me forward. It didn’t feel like I could breathe any longer. It was time to give up. I had managed, somehow to help the foolish orcs make it to the Hamlet. Were any of them still alive? The bundled up child I held hadn’t moved in hours.

~

The skin of my cheeks tingled, burned, as did my hands. No, more ached. I opened my eyes and looked directly into a pair of enormous, brown, human eyes.

“Hey there, cutie. Glad to see you’re still with us.”

I’m in a human’s lap. A woman’s lap. How outrageous. If anyone of the clan ever learns—

I looked away. We were in the Inn’s massive kitchen, next to the bank of stoves. The heat felt marvelous. The daemons sat on the floor near the stoves workin’ at steamin’ mugs. The aroma of chicken soup swirled. Drazy looked up and caught my eye. The daemon’s eyes were blood red, but he wore a silly grin of accomplishment on his face. He gave me a wink. Hamlet residents sat about in chairs holdin’ orcs in their arms. A few sat up on their own, sippin’ at bowls of hot soup, a couple others managed their own steamin’ mugs without assistance.

“Care for some hot cocoa?” Sylvia asked me.

I struggled to rise, and hesitated. Her arm around my shoulder didn’t feel as— I couldn’t think of the right word— Perhaps, improper. I sniffed at her scent. She smelled of baked apples and cinnamon. There couldn’t be anything nicer for a female to smell like.

Eina walked up and handed Sylvia another blanket. She took away the one I had pulled up to my chin, and wrapped me in the new one, which had been hangin’ above a stove, and felt heavenly toasty. I snuggled into it. Decided I could stay where I was for a few more minutes. If Miss Sylvia didn’t mind, I didn’t.

~

Chapter 9
Tae

~

I soared behind Kyn. Instead of watchin’ the earth below, studied how the sun glimmered off my sibling’s hide. There was a beautiful bluish hue. Wasn’t as beautiful as the red and purple shimmer of our sire’s, but I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of my bull sibling. He isn’t as large as the first clutched Tir, but Kyn looks the most like our beloved sire, Mo’sale. For that reason, pretty sure, is why our queen favors Kyn over his three siblings.

Not that the queen treated any of us well. She’s more likely to take a taloned swipe at any of the bulls of the lair, though the past six months she’d mellowed for some, unexplainable reason. Since we rose from hibernation, the queen remained lethargic. Her health troubled our sire. That she agreed to move to a new home away from the heights without a battle, nearly terrified us all. Believe Iza neared a confused conniption.

Kyn veered to the right by turnin’ an edge of a wing. Delayed by my thoughts, I thrust hard to get back in formation—a prideful consideration. I realized why my sibling had turned. It wasn’t for our search.

We overflew the rock slide where our largest clutchmate and his ogre-rider likes to hide away. The two-legged one reads his poetry and our sibling suns. The black basalt boulders gather the sun’s heat. If we could find a lair near a similar formation, it would be perfect for our queen.

Kyn trumpeted down to Tir. The sleepin’, tan-colored dragon barely budged by the time we passed. It wasn’t fair Tir escapes his duties to the sedge, to laze about.

Kyn has snapped at me more than once when I’ve complained about our siblings, their lives away from the lair. Kyn and I have paid for Iza, Tir and Syl’s absence more than once—still do for the queen’s resentment of the three dragons livin’ among the two-legged lesser bein’s. Odd, that Kyn only seems happy for the three, claims he and I receive our own rewards, by our close relationship with the queen and her bull.

I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be bonded with one of the two-legged ones.

I growled, irritated Kyn took another pass so near the Hamlet. We had already searched here. Kyn turned north in response, still against the wishes I’ve voiced for days. It makes more sense to look for a new lair south, closer to our huntin’ grounds. Kyn argues our dam wishes to remain close to the young queen’s home. Iza is, after all, everything to Ash’et. Her only pride.

I hold my tongue as I follow Kyn farther and farther north, though it makes no sense. Kyn arced around the tall peak, dived toward the midlands. The forest thinned. Far ahead I could see the break, where the trees vanish at the foot of a plain. I grimace, thinkin’ how much closer we fly toward human settlements, and not those we have connections with, like the Hamlet. But the lower elevation means a much warmer climate for our aged queen.

Below us, still in the steeper foothills, we find a basalt flow. Kyn descended toward it. Waste of time. We would only find a proper, safe lair in the peaks. Yet I follow Kyn’s weavin’ path as he dives until we fly just above the tops of the occasional craggy pine and cedar. Kyn backstroks to land, for what, I couldn’t determine.

~

“It’s perfect,” Kyn bellowed.

I at first assume he jests. When I realize he isn’t, several emotions clash in my mind.

“Have ya lost yar senses? That’s no proper home for a dragon—for a queen. There’s no security here. This is stupid.”

My bull sibling growls.

We stand before a modest indention in the rock where lava eons ago flowed against an ancient hill that long ago eroded away. The cavity set no more than eighty feet into the Earth. The arched ceilin’ of the hollow is as high as our cavern lair is deep.

“It’s too shallow,” I point out the obvious.

“Nonsense. We’re ten thousand feet below the elevation of our current lair. We don’t have to crawl deep inside a mountain to get out of the elements. Heat will be more a problem than the cold, here. Look at this black sand. It will absorb the sun, but there’s plenty of shade inside. Feel the breeze makin’ its way up from the plain? We can still look upon the beauty of the valley. It’s exactly what the queen needs.”

This is so different from our environment the last decade—outrageously accessible by the two-legged races. Pent up anger floods my mind. I roar at my sibling, throw back my wings in threat. Kyn reacts with even more rancor, and we stand facin’ each other down for a ten-count, growlin’ and gnashin’ our teeth. I almost wished my sibling would attack me, give me an excuse to— But the black dragon simply mirrored my bluff.

We have to have looked incredibly stupid, so I retracted my extended neck. Kyn follows suit, and we both, slowly relax. Neither say a word for some time. I finally turn away and look far below, at the meanderin’ slope that met the plain. A dirt devil raced west, liftin’ a willowy spiral of dust.

It’s brown, dry, drastically different from the peaks, Lake, and deep forest below our current lair. In comparison, it’s ugly. As I watch, a herd of deer race from one clump of trees to another, directly to our west. Far below, a herd of antelope feed on the tall grass of the plain. At least there’s game. Worth a good snack. But security’s paramount. There is none here.

“We are at peace with the two-legged,” Kyn says, as though he read my mind, which I intentionally have closed to him.

“The queen will hate it,” I said. “She hasn’t a scintilla of trust in the lesser races. Hates them.”

“We’ll show it to Mo’sale, and see what he thinks, first.”

A rumble of discomfort emanates from my chest, unbidden. I turn back to look at my sibling.

“Stop yar snarlin’ at me. We’ll bring back Iza as well.” Kyn launched into the air.

~

Mo’sale remained quiet. Knew he had to hate it. My sire turned and waddled into the recession, dug into the deep, coarse sand for several moments. I stand watchin’ him, not understandin’ what he’s doin’. Nestin’, I finally realize. Our current lair contains a floor of solid granite. Nestlin’ into sand and gravel isn’t something we can do there.

Mo’sale squats down, squirms a bit in the sand, and a contented growl echoed within the clam-shaped, shallow cavern. Iza stepped away from the mouth of the cavity and lay across the black gravel, extendin’ her enormous wings. I stand with Kyn patiently, waitin’ for Mo’sale and Iza to share their thoughts. After a few moments I realize both snored.

“I think that’s their answer,” Kyn said softly.

I glared at him for a moment, before launchin’. Wanted to get away from them—before I said something I would regret. Location made no sense. My dam should hate it. She hates the two-legged—fear, despise them. Any, all of them, dwarf, daemon, or goblin, could stroll up to what the ignernt of my sedge consider a wonderful lair.

I press hard to climb and use the heat risin’ off the plain to soar west. Though I’m high above the foothills to my left, the air remains warm. I have to admit it’s a nice change from the cold currents above the high valley deep in the Range. There’s a beauty about the place, too. Perhaps it isn’t as dramatic, but there’s a calm allure. The plain narrowed, and a watershed formed. A deepenin’ wash ferried a narrow rush of whitewater north. I find myself over greener pastures, steeper foothills.

I spot a small herd of mindless critters like the two-legged breed in Black Lake Valley. But, I see no structures like those in the Hamlet. Sight of the game makes me consider my stomach. Could eat. Always wondered what the animals belongin’ to the two-legged taste like.

I circle, lookin’ to find if the herd is tended. My heart sinks as I see one of the two-legged. I lean, but don’t have a thermal to rise without effort. Something, I don’t know what, encourages me to continue glidin' down, to investigate the two-legged one below, so close to what Mo’sale considers a perfect home for our queen.

It looks like a young one. I watch it swingin’ something attached to a rope. At the end of an arc, an object flew away from him. Queer lookin’ task. Could see no purpose in the activity.

I bank and drop down near the thing. It has a snout, and short tusks—no ogre bull after all. An ogre hen. Three hairy beasts like the one that always remains within sight of the human, Bick, runs forward raisin’ their racket.

The ogre whistles, and the three beasts lie down, glarin’ at me, teeth still bared.

“Ya must be one of them Black Lake dragons,” the ogre hen says. “I heard an awful row of screamin’ hours ago. Was that ya?” She rolled up the contrivance she’d been usin’ and pushes it into a broad pocket of her smock.

I'm disappointed the ogre isn’t frightened of me. I stand and study her for a moment, then the dogs, and finally the goats. Swallow. The animals smell surprisingly fresh and tasty.

“I thought ya dragons could speak Standish,” the ogre hen says.

“I can speak the common language,” I answer, turnin’ back to the slight thing.

“Ya sure are lookin’ at my flock with a bit of greed in yar eye,” she says.

“I imagine they’re off limits?”

“To ya? I suspect so. Wouldn’t be too sportin’ for ya to feed on ’em. My papa would get awful mad, too. Hate to see him come after ya with a shovel. Wouldn’t be a pretty sight.”

The image she had created made me laugh. The ogre hen lurched backward, and the three dogs rose and growled.

“Didn’t mean to make ya mad,” she said in a rush.

“Ya didn’t. Sorry. That’s a dragonish laugh.”

Her shoulders lower after a moment, face loosens. “Good to know.” She whistled again, formin’ her lips in that fashion a dragon could never manage. The small beasts quieted. The hen let go one last sharp tone and waved, and the dogs ran, I assume to return to the flock, to protect them from predators. Ugly, and nasty, without a spit of personality, but perhaps they serve a purpose.

“Ya’re not gonna feed on my babies, are ya?”

Babies? I look out over the flock, then back at the ogreling. “I promise,” I say more than a little reluctantly. My mind wanders—would my queen ever learn, if I cheated?

“I’ve always hoped to meet one of yar kind.”

The thing walks up to me and starts to chatter away, the stories comin’ like a gate opened. As that silly ogre bull Ike would say, oh my gods. I lay in the grass and listened to the thing. What she said wasn’t terribly interestin’, but her words seemed lullin’, like my dam’s hum years ago when the sun was settin’, and she wanted me and my siblings to quiet down and sleep.

In a short while I hear all about the ogre hen’s near and extended family, how long they had lived on the plain, her preference of foods, her dislike of ogreling-bulls, and much more than I thought necessary for the creature to share.

Within the first few minutes she had boldly begun touchin’ my wing, explainin’ my hide looks cottony. I have no idea what cottony looks like, but I nod in the fashion I understand the two-legged accept as tacit understandin’ or concurrence. The hen continus to rub me. It felt good. My eyes whirl, and before I know it, my head sways. I didn’t care. The little creature’s touch felt marvelous.

~

I lazily looked up at the sun, shocked to see it touched the tops of the far off trees. Was incredulous the day slipped by so quickly. I lower my head as Aedwin, that’s the ogre hen’s name, climbs from one shoulder to the other. Her feet proddin’ into my muscle in magnificent massage. So that’s what Tir, Iza and Syl get from their relationships with their two-legged riders.

“Aedwin! What are ya doin’?”

I raise my head, strugglin’ to open my eyelids. An older ogreling-hen approaches. She wears a sour-lookin’ scowl. The three dogs run to her and roll submissively before her. She leans down and rubs each of their tummies, before they run off again.

She shouts at Aedwin. “Ya should be bringin’ the flock in. Papa will be furious.”

But Aedwin ignores her sister’s warnin’. She’s busy tellin’ about her new friend, the dragon. I feel my eyes whirlin’ again. Couldn’t remember tellin’ the ogre hen so much over the last several hours. With as much as the little creature talks, it’s hard to believe she slowed down long enough to even hear anything I had to say to her questions. Had I really, complained, so much about Tir?

Aedwin apologizes that she has to get back to the flock. I groan at the lovely sensation of the creature slidin' down my shoulder.

“Gotta go now,” Aedwin says with a last pat on my chest, “but will ya come back tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I answer without thought, as though the ogre used majic to beckon the words.

“I’ll be a bit east of here,” the ogreling-hen continues. “Can’t over-pasture.”

The little creature throws her arms around my neck. I don’t know why the things grasp tightens my chest so. Felt my head swayin’ left and right. It didn’t embarrass me at all, though. Shoulda. But didn’t.

I watch the two ogres and three dogs work the herd expertly. In minutes they are out of sight, up one of the little valleys leadin’ into the steeper foothills. The sky to the west has turned a dark orange, the eastern sky a rich purple. I look toward the peaks to the south. There’s no way I’m gonna make it to our mountain lair in the remainin’ light.

I have never slept away overnight, alone. Only with my sedge when the seven of us are south on a long hunt, have I slept anywhere besides our deep cavern. The thought makes me feel lonely, but oddly not for my family, but for Aedwin.

Where to go? The shallow shell Kyn liked so much is the only thing that made sense. It lay only a few minutes away. I stand stiffly, stretch my wings, watchin’ the ever-changin’ western sky for a few minutes. The period of ocher sky is my favorite, I think. For a moment I consider stayin’ right here, to be closer to Aedwin. Have no idea why that thought crossed my mind. Was silly. But I continue to linger. Force myself to launch into the air before it gets too dark to fly.

~

I’m shocked to find my sire, dam, and sibling all sleepin’ inside the shell of a cave. Mo’sale trumpeted softly in greetin’. I fold in my wings and waddle inside. Find a spot of my own, scratchin’ a depression into the warm, deep sand, and lay down. There’s no hissin’ or snarlin’ from the queen, though when I settle, her neck unwound and her head hovered over me, smellin’ where the ogre hen lay across my shoulders, I know.

I grimace, waitin’ for her angry outburst. But none comes. Instead, I feel her caress the top of my neck with her chin for a moment, before curlin’ back up to sleep. Could not remember her ever touchin’ me like that before.

I relax into the warm sand, talons clenchin’ into it as though explorin’ it on their own. The coarse silica feels as though it massages my hide. Driftin’ asleep, I think of my new friend. Sense a lightness in my heart. Think about how kindly Iza treated me and my bull siblings after she bonded with Lucas.

Finally makes sense. A little.

~

Chapter 10
Verner

~

I darted at the gnome that appeared, barely avoiding the other majie’s swat. Collided into the beast’s forehead, and dipped into the ethereal to escape another sweeping hand. Keen appeared beside me in an instant, proclaiming her glee that she had managed to pinch the gnome’s ear hard.

We returned to our daemons’ side, ready for war again. We flew madly about in the fading light, looking for any interloper.

“Settle down,” Kelza cooed at us. “The gnome’s gone.”

“They really hate when the other kind come about,” Drazy mumbled softly, reaching out to pull his mate back down into the covers next to him. “I don’t blame them. The stinkin’ gnomes are an intrusive bunch. We don’t get much privacy as it is, but one more beastie flittin’ in isn’t necessary.”

“We shouldn’t have saved the orcs,” Kelza said. “Ever since, the gnomes have been a pain.”

Drazy quieted his mate with his lips, pulling her tightly against him. Keen blushed and with a giggle, pulled me back with her into the ethereal. It was time for our favorites to be alone. We cuddled into our nest, moved by the sensual emotion we picked up from the daemons. As brutish as the giants could appear, they loved as hard as they snarled.

I wrapped Keen in my arms and the two of us nestled to get our wings out of the way. Snuggling for fairies is such a complicated thing, compared to the daemons we have adopted. Those two could writhe their bodies together for hours. Just thinking of it tired me. Love should be soft and gentle, as the word implies. Keen burrowed firmly against me, nibbling on my throat, and the lingering thoughts of Drazy and Kelza faded.

~

First light, Keen and I returned to the other realm to check on our favorites. We blasted in ready for a battle, but there were no gnomes about. The adult daemons mostly ignore us, though the clan’s children situated around the endless dining table giggled and greeted us with shrieks. They do love their favorite fairies to buzz past their noses, our normal morning ritual, before I settle in Drazy’s dreadlocks, and Keen settles in Kelza’s.

The morning lazily plied on and the clan set about performing chores. There would be no hunting. That made me happy. Drazy bores pursuing prey, and takes his impatience out on me, as though it could possibly be a fairy’s fault a deer didn’t fall into the daemon’s lap.

Instead, Drazy settled upon the stoop to whittle with his youngest bull-child. I dug into a thick tress to watch. The little daemon scraped at a stick with a dull knife, while Drazy slowly hewed at the musical instrument he had started during winter, working the hard ash. Drazy kept up his half-hum, half-whistle, as though it’s required to pass the time. The tyke did the same. It’s a bit of an irritating sound to me, but I’m mostly used to it.

“Are ya gonna do that all day?”

I jerked, startled by Kelza’s irritated retort behind us.

“I may, to irritate ya,” my bull-daemon answered, with a smile in his voice.

“Ya finished that precious smoke house yesterday. Isn’t it about time ya started fishin’ for that pike you dreamed of smokin’ for so many years. I wouldn’t mind tastin’ a little of that dream myself.”

“I didn’t think ya have dreams,” Drazy baited her. He loves to tease his mate.

“More like nightmares, of spendin’ the last days of my life stuck with ya.”

“They must be more like wild fantasies, then.” Drazy grinned.

“Only if I could follow Keen into the ethereal to get away from yar lazy self.”

Kelza nudged Drazy a little meanly with her booted toe. He slipped his knife in its sleeve at his waist, reached around and grabbed her leg. She pulled to get away. The jostling displaced me from my little hidey hole. I flew into the air, flying a circle over the daemons’ heads, unhappy my peace was broken. Keen joined me.

Our admonishments didn’t settle Drazy and Kelza down. It quickly turned into a wrestle. After a moment, Kelza tumbled over her mate, the two rolling down the two steps, and the child jumped on his father’s shoulders. The three rolled farther from the porch and into the pine needles of the walkway, giggling, squawking, making a din.

Keen and I turned away from the daemons’ antics as a half-dozen gnomes appeared nearby to watch. I led Keen after them. The much larger majies snarled at us two fairies in their high pitched voices, and whiffed at us. Keen and I bore upon them with all our fury.

“The daemons are ours,” I shouted at the gnome herd.

“Presumptuous of you, you silly fairies,” one answered back. “What right do you have following them into our realm?”

Their realm? I poked one of them in the eye before blinking out. I returned in time to see Keen get swatted by one she wasn’t paying attention to. She flew awkwardly through the air but managed to right herself. She dove back at the herd with a vengeance. That’s my perky little mate.

I joined her. Together we crashed into the face of the sneaky gnome that had struck her. The majie disappeared as we attempted to thrust our fists into his eye.

Everything about us changed!

The cabin was gone, as were the gnomes and our daemons. Tree limbs blocked the sun overhead.

Keen and I found ourselves in an unknown place, pulled along by the escaping gnomes into an unknown plane of the ethereal. We hovered, looking about. Keen covered her face with her hands and cried. I tried to console her. But fear ripped at my heart as much from her emotion, as the fear that we might never be able to make it back to where we belong, on the shoulders of Drazy and Kelza, or our own home in the ethereal.

Long minutes passed and I wept with Keen. Pulled her along into the shelter of a tree to think, and to feel for our realm. The hours passed as we watched for our kind. We huddled in each other’s arms, trying not to cry. If this was a gnome’s realm, where were the gnomes?

“I think we were pulled only half-way,” Keen managed between a cry. “How can we ever find our way home?”

I pulled her tight, not knowing what to tell her. The sun fell and rose. We remained in our tree, frozen in fear. Midday, something began to tug at my consciousness, but it remained faint. I didn’t mention the voice to Keen, not wishing to give her false hope. I sat concentrating, trying to hear where the soft call came from.

The sun crossed from one side of the horizon to the other. I finally sensed a direction. Sitting still wasn’t getting us anywhere. I stood and took Keen’s hand, looking deeply into her eyes. Though I didn’t know my own intentions, she nodded. I flew south with her, to follow the tweak in my mind. This world was nearly identical to our daemons’ realm. We found a similar lake. I flew over the water as the tug in my mind became a clear voice.

Without knowing how I knew, I recognized the race reaching out to me, to us—leviathans. Two of the peaceful creatures broke the surface of the water and their thoughts cleared.

“Jealousy brought you here, did it not?” asked the voice in my head.

I didn’t know how to answer the leviathan. Guilt for my accused-transgression coursed over me.

“I thought as much,” echoed in my mind. “Your kind, I’ve heard, do not like to share. Tis a shame. Perhaps we can help you get home.”

I closed my eyes and listened. Had never had to work to find either of my two realms before. I wasn’t even aware there were more than our two. It was as natural to flash between them as taking a breath. The leviathan’s instructions felt bizarre.

Keen held my hand and our wings collided. The discomfort disrupted my concentration.

“I don’t understand,” I finally told the enormous creature of the lake.

“You first must understand how you travel. Reach out with your mind, and see your destination.”

The afternoon passed, night fell, and exhausted, we returned to shore, and the elbow of a tree to sleep—and cry.

~

The leviathans returned late the next morning. Keen and I were so distraught, afraid we had been forgotten, we could hardly speak. The two leviathans spent half an hour simply calming us. The four of us returned to our efforts and, as though the process had needed the night for our effort to decant in our minds, Keen and I were quickly able to sense our path home. We flowed through the ethereal and found ourselves in front of our daemons’ cabin where we had last been two days ago.

We hugged, Keen almost squeezing my breath out.

“We didn’t tell them thank you,” Keen said when her excitement ebbed a tiniest tad.

“True. But I don’t wish to risk going back, do you?”

She shook her head, many of the tiny braids evenly spaced around her head dashing into her face. I took her hand and we turned to search out Drazy and Kelza. The two weren’t about the cabins. We finally found them at the smoke house. The grumpy dwarf who helped the daemon-bull build it was with them, advising how best to use it. Evidently the clan had a successful fishing trip while we were gone.

The gnomes who were frequently with the dwarf glared at me and Keen, prepared to battle, but Keen and I flew to the shoulders of our respective giants, to quietly nestle into their dreadlocks.

“There ya are, sweetie,” Kelza cooed at Keen. Kelza blew my mate a kiss. “We missed the two of ya. Where’ve ya been?”

I didn’t look toward the gnomes, but I knew the dwarf the gnomes claimed never spoke sweetly to them, like Kelza did with Keen. The dwarf is actually quite rude to them. I felt a devilish smile etch my face.

~

Chapter 11
Pazeta

~

I ran late and hurried across the rough gravel of the shoreline. I found myself concentratin’ on the crunch of my boots upon the polished pebbles, and the gentle rhythmic lappin’ of waves against the thin ice linin’ the Lake. The two sounded beautifully harmonic, one dramatic, the other impatient. I chided myself for my lack of focus. Needed to decide which story I was gonna recite.

There are so many to choose from. Thankfully all the orclings are near the same age, young enough that many of my own favorite stories, the short, quaint ones, are still appreciated. My mind wandered. Couldn’t help but consider how odd it was the human woman allowed her precious little toddler to associate with all the orcs Kincere cared for durin’ the day. Well, there weren’t that many. Her two, and the four new ones that somehow survived to make it to the Hamlet at the beginnin’ of last winter. Oh, it was a harsh one.

The human woman, Miss Lydia, is a strange one. Did her husband and brother-in-law insist little Gladys socialize with the neighbor orclings? Lydia certainly doesn’t act like she personally has an incredible tolerance for other races. She doesn’t even talk around the elf. She reserved her conversation for Gladys and Sylvia, her own kind, but they’re constantly surrounded by at least one troll, or an ogre or two. The Valley must be a lonely place for the woman. Remember how that felt. Took me a year to find my own place.

Lydia is starting her fifth year in the Valley. Poor woman. That’s a long time to be isolated.

No racket drifted from the edge of the woods where Kincere gave the little ones their lunch and set them down for their nap when the weather accommodated. I’m not that late, am I? The gang of younglings certainly didn’t stop their din simply because they munched on sandwiches.

I found them farther afield from where they normally rested. Prolly to get away from the breeze comin’ off the Lake.

“I was afraid ya got busy at the Inn.” Kincere, the sweetest daughter in the world, rose from her blanket set out on the grass and gave me a kiss, as the little ones lined up for their own.

“Finally made it. Hello, ya darlings.”

A high pitched chorus of, “Hello, Miss Pazeta,” sang back.

I whispered to my daughter, “An elderly guest pulled his back traipsin’ in the mountains. I have no clue what provokes these folks to ride in a wagon for a day, to kill themselves hikin’ these hills.”

Kincere gave me a wink.

One by one the younglings made their way past me. The tiny human child wrapped her arms around my neck after her peck on the cheek. No. She didn’t get that behavior from her mama Lydia. The tots quickly made their way back to their own blankets and settled down for the day’s story. My chest welled a moment, thankful I’m still appreciated for this last orcin skill.

I sat next to Kincere and the excited blue eyes of the human child caught my attention. She’s the youngest, but still listened with an eagerness and fascination to the age-old orcin fables and tales.

Only that moment did I decide which I was going to tell. I described the nasty chicanery of young Lukim, and his fondness for the village’s sweetest hen. The elder told Lukim he had to overcome five challenges before the council would allow him to woo the pretty princess of his desires. But the elder wouldn’t give a hint what the challenges were.

I think I told the story with more energy than I ever had. Though the six older orclings yawned and struggled to focus to even stay awake, little Gladys leaned forward, eyes open wide, enraptured. How much of the fanciful story could the toddler even appreciate?

The story completed, the orclings fell back ready for their naps. Little Gladys jumped up and gave me another hug, another kiss on the cheek. She returned to her blanket and curled up with her little stuffed doll. She calls it Dody, a little thing my son Janding made her for her birthday. There’s nothing special about the toy. It has a wooden-carved head connected to a rod that fit through the body’s stuffin’. Through a little pouch in the back, the head could be manipulated a bit, makin’ it appear it could look left and right. It’s simply dressed in a white smock and a gingham skirt. Humble maybe, but it’s never out of the child’s reach.

~

Havin’ no clients this afternoon, I helped Eina and the others prepare for the dinner service. Though still hours away, the chatter and clankin’ of cookware echoed loudly in the kitchen. But nothing covered up the call from the dragons. A series of trumpets across the Lake from Iza began it all. The nearby Tir and Syl joined in an instant later.

“My, Lord. What is that?” Gladys asked, dread already streakin’ her face, as it was Sylvia, Ren, and Eina’s.

Braes walked in through the door to the dinin’ hall holdin' his hands over his ears. The trumpetin’ turned into high-pitched keens. Poor elf and his heightened hearin’.

“What is it?” Eina asked the elf.

He shook his head. “Perhaps the old queen?”

We all made our way out the side door. Syl stood outside his barn. We all covered our ears as Tir flew over,  landin’ near his brother. The two dragons extended their heads into the air, screamin’ in a deafenin’ pitch. Their heads twisted as though they were possessed.

I sobbed, though I didn’t know what for yet, but the sound wrenched at my heart. I struggled to breathe. Turned to look at the others. Tears flooded down all of their cheeks. Janding staggered around the front of the Inn as though he was drunk. He bent over and grabbed his knees.

Janding and Syl feel each other’s most casual emotion via their close dragon bond. Through my own sobs, I realized I must get to my son, but found it hard to make my feet move. I ploughed forward and reached Janding’s side.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“Iza. Iza. Iza,” was all he could say.

I helped Janding toward the two keenin’ dragons, but Janding and I had to stop. The intensity of the dragons’ trumpets was too painful. We stood next to the Inn’s garden, holdin’ our hands over our ears. The din softened a moment later. Syl fluttered toward the others who still stood outside the kitchen. Janding and I rushed to join them. Gnomes flitted in and out all around them.

“Gladys,” Janding shouted. “Iza wants us to bring ya to Kincere’s right now.”

We all jerked as though struck. The meanin’ of the message brought the pain closer to home. One of the younglings? Considerin’ who started the impassioned chaos, it must be the child closest to Iza and Lucas—little Gladys.

The woman the child was named for pulled herself together to collect her basket of herbs. Minutes later, Gladys rushed back out the door with her things and scrambled up Syl’s shoulder, behind Janding. I climbed up behind the two. The dragon leapt into the air before I was confidently snug. Startled, I clutched at the human in front of me. The issue at hand helped me manage to push aside the horror of the short flight over the black waters.

~

“I can’t wake her up,” Kincere kept screamin’.

Gladys already knelt next to the child and Kincere ran into my open arms.

“Everyone else woke and began playin’. I thought she was just tired, so I let her sleep a little longer. Oh Mama! Mama! She won’t wake up!”

Kincere flung her face into my shoulder. Her head collided against my bones. The pain felt strangely refreshin’, as though it was right to have some kind of physical pain to go with the emotional agony my daughter must be experiencin’.

A story of an orcin hero slipped across my mind. He had battled for hours even after sustainin’ wounds that should have killed him. The pain I sensed comin’ from those around me washed more overwhelmin’ than what the hero perhaps noticed from his wounds.

“What could it be, Mama? What should I have done?” Kincere’s voice fell to a whisper. “Could I have done something? Is there something I don’t know about humans?”

I didn’t know what to tell her. I pulled her tightly against me and thrummed her back. Was there indeed something we should have known about human children?

I peered over at the sobbin’ Lydia. Hours ago I thought unflatterin’ things about the woman. Now the human’s experiencin’ a horror no parent should ever feel. Could my own thoughts have invited a bad spirit to the Hamlet?

I looked around for the orclings. Saw two of the newcomer-hens had them all huddled on Kincere’s porch. They wore the same pain on their faces as the long-time residents.

The keenin’ of Iza fifty feet away covered the sound of the others’ cries. A doctor. Someone should be goin’ for a doctor.

“Lucas. Lucas,” I called.

The young man turned to face me, but his glassy, red eyes looked past, unfocused.

“Lucas.”

He staggered forward.

“Lucas. You must go north for a doctor,” I told him.

He stood, noticeably wobblin’. I took his hand as Kincere pulled away and grasped the tall human’s other forearm.

“Kyn—and Tae—are on their way north already,” Lucas finally mumbled. He shook his head as though tryin’ to wake up. “I’m—sorry. Feelin’ both my fear and Iza’s anxiety is very—” He looked forward, not focusin’ again. “It’s very troublin’. The emotions—compound—each other.”

“I understand, Lucas. Will Iza’s brothers know where to find the doctor?”

“Iza has shown them.”

I struggled for a moment to catch his meanin’, until I remembered Janding’s explanation of the mental bond he held with Syl, which all the dragons also shared. I looked at Iza. Her brothers, Tir and Syl, were now by her side, consolin’ her, their necks wound together like a braid. The trumpetin’ had thankfully stopped, but the three emitted a shrill bay.

“Do you think a human should go with them?” I asked Lucas.

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Tae—is bondin'—with an ogreling-hen from the north plains. Aedwin’s her name. She’s gone with Tae.”

The young human seemed to be recoverin’ with the forced conversation, so I continued to ask him questions. As Lucas calmed, so did the three dragons. But Lucas doubled over with sobs as his brother picked little Gladys up and carried her toward their cabin. Kincere and I walked with Lucas, each graspin’ an arm. A procession formed behind us.

The daemon, Kelza, carried the cryin’ mama, Lydia. I thought back to my thoughts of the woman’s prejudices earlier in the day. My face burned.

~

I looked out the eight panes of glass that made up the arch of the window facin’ the Lake. It had been fourteen days since little Gladys—since she became ill. Rarely had the sky over the Valley been empty. There was always one dragon present, soarin’ in a long loop. The others, I understood, circled above the hospital hundreds of miles to the north.

I always knew the tiny human girl was one of my favorite, even over my own great-orclings, but never imagined the child gripped the whole Hamlet like she does. Only part of the fondness tied to the fact she’s the first human born to the Hamlet. Represents a promise for a grand future. Even, a bit of cohesion between the races.

For fourteen days, Braes had been allowin’ guests to remain in the Inn without charge. He told them, “No one should pay to vacation in a place where there is no joy.”

The guests turned around and offered their silver toward little Gladys’ doctor fees. The Hamlet’s already takin’ care of those things. The guests insisted, so a fund for the child grew.

I stared across the Lake, where the cabin peered between the trees, where the tiny little girl should be playin’ with six orcin playmates. Instead, she’s miles away, frozen, showin’ no motion other than an occasional flutter of an eyelid. Tears welled again. I didn’t even try to blink them away. I studied my schedule through the blur. Don’t have another client for two hours. I had time to—just—

I remained unmovin’, starin’ out the window.

~

Little Gladys was scheduled to return home, day twenty-seven, and everyone at the Inn wore horribly insincere smiles, the best face they could put on. The sky had been a gloomy-slate for a week. True winter would fall on us soon and the Inn is mostly empty of guests. The streams leadin' to the Lake remain frozen through the day. Eyes watched the sky for the inevitable snow which could come any hour it seemed, considerin’ the solemn gray out the window.

I, like all the females of the Hamlet, spent many hours with the spinster who moved to the Hamlet to help with little Gladys. Hortense is her name. She’s a kind, wrinkled thing with sloped shoulders, pepper-colored hair, a beak of a nose. She always wears a thin, knowin’ smile on her face. The family will need her.

Lucas reported little Gladys was skin and bone, but regained some tiny movement of her limbs. Her fingers were clenched together in grotesque fists. Her speech, this is when Lucas’ voice broke, was little more than ahhs and grunts.

Dragon trumpetin’ filled the sky. I whirled around and ran to the window. Could only mean one thing. Syl was the only one visible over the Lake. He fell crazily for several moments before throwin’ out his wings and glidin’ north, out of my view. I turned for the stairs and ran down them with less care than I know I should in the gloom.

The gallery below was empty. Janding and Kelhin already stood outside on the deck. I rushed out and joined them at the banister and waved at the seven trumpetin’ dragons. Iza left the sedge’s formation and circled slowly toward the family’s cabin across the Lake. I turned to the two orc bulls next to me. Tears ran down both of their faces. Janding’s knees visibly shook. His friend held him, arm around his back. My son has always been emotional, even before bondin’ with Syl. Since, he could burst out in laughter or tears in most any casual conversation.

Kelhin, I thought, is the surprise. But I reconsidered. I know his mate, my daughter, felt responsible for little Gladys’ illness. That’s nonsense of course, but natural enough. The girl was in her care the day she was stricken. Kelhin and Kincere no doubt shared many troublin’ words about it at night, in the privacy of their bedroom.

I looked to my left. The rest of the Hamlet’s North Shore residents stood on the Inn’s veranda, watchin’ Iza land a mile away. Did the desire to run over to see little Gladys swirl as strongly in their chests as it did mine? It must. They had all agreed to give the girl and her family time to adjust without visitors, and to rest from the trip home.

~

“They should move over here for the winter,” the troll, Yoso, grumbled through a mouthful of biscuit. “Not fair only the orcs and daemons will get a chance to be around her once the snow comes.”

“Yar leg ain’t broke,” Eina teased her mate. “Ya can go a visitin’ anytime ya choose. Ya can do what the ogres do and wear some furs on yar feet. I’ll bet Janding would even be willin’ to help ya craft some boots for those ugly feet of yars.”

The troll hen looked over at the orc-bull and he nodded his head earnestly.

Yoso said, “Ya’re bein’ downright disrespectful now, hen. I may need to replace ya. Never soddin’ my troll feet.”

I watched the beamin’ smiles around the long table. I’ll never get used to the constant sarcasm the trolls, ogres, and humans toss about so lightly. As the thought crossed my mind, I watched Gladys reach over and wipe a smudge of gravy off Bick’s chin. Yet like that, they all could be as lovin’ as puppies. Not that I like puppies. Why they were brought to the Hamlet, I can’t imagine. Nasty little creatures. But now there’s at least one litterin’ every kitchen on both the North and South Shore. It isn’t clean, havin’ the scraggly, flea bitten beasts indoors or out.

“Little Gladys needs the surroundin’s of her own home more than she needs bawdy neighbors disruptin’ her peace,” Sylvia said. She pointed her fork, which held a chunk of ham danglin’ off it, at Yoso.

The troll growled, deep in his chest. Eina clubbed him hard in the arm. The elf walked in from the kitchen and held out his little fist full of straw at me. “What?” I asked.

“We’ll draw straws to see who gets to go see the child first. We agreed only two of us at a time, one pair in the morning, one in the afternoon.” He continued, no doubt prompted by my confused glare. “Straws are all a different length, longest goes first.”

Elves are strange creatures. But then, there is no formal social hierarchy in the Hamlet like there was in an orcin clan, which would have determined the order. I pulled out a length of straw about two inches long.

“Congratulations,” Braes said, with a wink.

The stub didn’t seem that long, but they couldn’t be too long and be hidden in the elf’s tiny hand.

~

The wind blew off the Lake and whipped my cape about, snuck under my hood tinglin’ my ears. This is the nasty part about livin’ here. Almost enough to make me miss the eastern desert. Maybe not. Come to appreciate regular meals, not worryin’ about the clan well dryin’ up.

“Colder than a witch’s wing tip,” Sylvia groaned.

“Witches have wings?” I asked. I didn’t really care if the spell-weavers did, but anything to take my mind off the thoughts that cluttered it was welcome.

The woman laughed. “Sorry. An expression.”

Humans have too many expressions. “What race are witches?” I asked.

“Never thought about it,” Sylvia answered, speakin’ up to be heard over a gust. “Suppose it could be any. Never heard it has to do with the blood in your veins, but more to do with the sentiments of yar soul, the connection with the ethereal.” I find that the human woman from the North never knows whether she’s gonna use a southern or northern accent. Odd.

I grunted. Could witches cast away whatever it is that curses the poor little girl? Probably not, or the dragons would have been out scourin’ the world to find one.

“That Coedwig is a scallywag,” Sylvia blurted, interruptin’ my thoughts. “Look at him. He found an excuse to come a visitin’ out of turn.”

The dwarf was usin’ a plane on the banister of the newly built veranda and its wheelchair ramps. As I watched, he took a rag and rubbed at the spot he’d been smoothin’. As Sylvia and I strode up the long, east-facin’ ramp, the dwarf turned toward us.

“Feel this and tell me if ya think it’s good enough for a human’s soft hand.”

“Don’t fool with me, ya old codger.” Sylvia waved a finger at him, before pushin’ it back into her coat pocket. “You aren’t here to work in this cold. I know why you’re here.” She sounded awfully irritated with the bull dwarf. And I thought she was kinda sweet on him.

“Ya be a suspicious race,” the dwarf growled.

“And you dwarves are full of guile,” she said.

“I was here on business. Didn’t hurt to pop in for a hello. It would have been rude not to.” He smudged his face together makin’ his button of a red nose seem to disappear.

Sylvia laughed. As she passed by her friend she mashed his hat down on his head. The dwarf grumbled something under his breath and swatted at the woman’s hand. Humans don’t treat their elders with appropriate respect.

Sylvia reached to knock on the door but it quickly swung inward. I followed the woman in a rush to save the warmth in the cabin.

Lucas and Roger stood before us and grabbed both of us hens in hugs. My skin squirmed a little. Not used to that particular human habit yet, despite livin’ among them for years now. A strange squeak came from behind us. At first I thought it came from the contraption the others call a wheelchair, which Lydia pushed toward us, but it was the inhabitant sittin’ in the thing.

“Oh, my. She’s excited.” Lydia laughed. “Coedwig told us we could expect visitors shortly. Little Gladys has been vibratin’ with excitement since. Welcome.”

“Ah—mmm. Ah—mmm. Ah—mmm,” the child purred, holdin’ out her crimped fists.

“She wants you to hold her, Pazeta,” Hortense, the nurse, somehow interpreted.

I knelt in front of the tyke’s chair and she propelled herself forward, into my arms. I stood, heftin’ the girl. She weighed nothing, looked more like a gangly elfling than a human child. Tears flooded my eyes. I pulled little Gladys against my shoulder so she wouldn’t see the tears. Lydia stepped forward, facin’ her husband, no doubt hidin’ her face for the same reason.

“I’m so glad ya’ve come back to us,” I whispered. “Are ya cold? Ya’re shakin’ something awful.”

Hortense stepped near and felt the girl’s face with the back of her hand, and laughed. “You’re cold enough, Pazeta, to chill a summer glass of tea, but she’s fine. Just excited.”

“S—re. S—re. S—re,” little Gladys screeched, throwin’ her head back.

Moisture edged the girl’s chin. Hortense reached out and wiped it with a hanky before I could.

“You want Miss Pazeta to tell you a story, sweetie?” Lydia asked her.

Little Gladys shook shoulders to toes, and a crooked smile stretched across her face. Lydia waved us toward seats near the hearth. We all settled in. The others studied me as though they were as excited to hear an orcin tale as little Gladys was. I shuddered. It wrenched odd bein’ surrounded by humans—still. What story should I tell? Needed a good one today, not to disappoint the five humans—a special one for the special little human girl.

Princess of the Crystal Palace, I decided.

~

Chapter 12
Birs

~

Ike sat on the hearth rubbin’ wax into the ash of his bow. I have to admit my youngling created a magnificent piece of art. Not just a huntin’ tool. Over the past two months, he patiently burned the intricate design into the bow’s face usin’ simple pieces of heavy fencin’ wire he hammered into the shapes he wanted. He burned his fingers raw brandin’ the wood.

“Will ya ever consider sellin’ that to Janding?” I asked. A simple-minded Northerner would pay a ransom to place that on a wall.

The ogreling didn’t answer.

“He’s offered ya enough to outfit a small ranch with cattle,” I said. “That would be quite a tidy sum to put under yar mattress for—the future.”

The youngling sat on the hearth strokin’ the wood with the square of oiled wool. His eyes never fluttered. His expression didn’t twitch. If I didn’t know my mate as well as I do, I would question if the ogreling is indeed my offspring. He possesses way too much focus. While Asr can read for hours on end, it doesn’t mean he has focus. Torc bounces from task to task, thought to thought, like a stone rattlin’ inside a steel can.

“Ya gonna craft yarself more than three arrows, aren’t ya?”

“Never use more than one at a time,” the youngling said in his soft voice.

Could he be the same tyke that shouted toy, and bam at the top of his lungs for years? The last two seasons he sprouted like no ogre I ever met. He peers over Asr’s head already, with a build that makes Torc look spindly.

“I agree ya’re good with a bow, but—” I stopped myself. Thought about the last time I watched Ike practicin’. Perhaps he didn’t need more than one arrow—if he was huntin’ only one critter. It’s that focus. Patience.

Ike turned and looked at me, closed one eye halfway, but it wasn’t exactly a wink. More like he judged his papa’s thoughts a bit deeper only out of respect. It gave me a shiver. I love my youngest, but he’s a little eerie in some ways. Advanced as he is physically, thrice too serious, too patient to be reasonable. Though a prankster when he’s around that Lucas, Ike needs more true mirth, like he had when he was ankle tall to a daemon. He sped through his youth too fast. A sadness rushed into my chest. The ogreling wouldn’t be about much longer.

“Before ya go a wanderin’, maybe ya’ll craft one of those for yar papa,” I said. Maybe that would keep him about longer.

Tiff stood abruptly, her knittin’ forgotten in her lap, fallin’ to the floor. She glared at me. My face turned as hot as one of my youngling’s tiny brandin’ irons.

“Ya don’t expect me to ever return one day, after I go a hikin’. But that isn’t what’s on my mind,” the young ogre bull said.

Tiff, tears runnin’ down her cheeks, sat back down. The legs of her chair screeched against the wood floor. I wanted to ask Ike what he meant, but the ogreling slid the bow into the leather sling he made for it, and picked up his night fur warmin’ by the fire. I watched the strappin’ youngling walk toward the bedrooms. He didn’t say, “Goodnight.” That isn’t something he ever volunteered anymore—since Ren moved to her new home with Angus. The bull misses his hen sibling more than can be put into words, even though she only lives miles away, across the Lake.

~

The next mornin’ at the dinin’ table I smiled, listenin’ to Asr and Torc talk excitedly about our upcomin’ winter hunt. I was startled when the somber youngest spoke up. The two elder siblings jerked their heads to look at Ike. One learns to pay attention to the few words the tyke—young bull—shares.

“We’ve all been west, many times,” Ike said. “This year we go east.”

It wasn’t a request or even a suggestion. There was no confusin’ that the ogreling made a decision for the four of us. It immediately occurred to me that if we didn’t agree, he’d simply go without us.

“Why do ya wish to go east?” Asr asked with irritation clear in his voice. “Even the orcs are forsakin’ it. There’s nothing there.”

Ike made a fist and held it in front of him. For a moment I thought he threatened my middle bull offspring.

“What’s in my hand?” he asked.

“Prolly nothing, like the eastern desert,” Torc blurted, and laughed.

“If ya don’t investigate, ya’ll never learn if there’s anything there,” Ike whispered.

My youngest’s voice wore scratchy, old, like on old sage’s. I found myself leanin’ toward Ike with interest, only half because I struggled to hear his words.

“I’ll nibble,” Asr said. “Open yar hand. What mysteries are ya hidin’?”

Ike turned his hand and opened it palm up.

“Ha, nothing,” Torc and Asr said together.

But Ike studied the surface of his palm closely, with the light of the hearth in the background. I realized the ogreling had sprinkled salt into his hand.

“The crystals explode with all the colors of the clouds at sunset,” Ike murmured. “The even surfaces and sharp edges of each, look like nothing else ya’ll see on this earth. They’re magnificent. But I had to shut my mouth and study them to discover their beauty.”

The two older ogrelings shouted at Ike. I closed my eyes.

Why didn’t we stop after one hen and one bull offspring? The typical ogre mates often settle on one.

I immediately felt guilty merely thinkin’ the thought. But three young bulls under the same roof the past year had become increasin’ly more difficult. It had always been a task. Tiff leaned toward me and whispered in my ear.

“I never realized how much peace Ren managed in this home.”

~

We had waited on the porch for a few minutes for Ike. Asr and Torc were eager to get underway, and sniped at their missin’ bull sibling, rocked back and forth, and pushed each other in good-natured teasin’. The door opened and the broad-shouldered youngest strode past us without a word. At the bottom of the stairs he turned left, east.

“Oh no. We aren’t goin’ to the desert,” Torc shouted.

“Papa,” Asr whined.

I watched Ike steadily stridin’ forward. He had no intention of debatin’. We either followed him, or he traipsed off on his own. I didn’t have the heart to battle my youngest. I somehow recognized that Ike’s refusal to be swayed showed no lack of respect for me, as his papa. The ogreling simply lived in his own world. Everyone else was welcome to stay in their own. It made little difference to him.

I turned to the other two young bulls and smiled, before steppin’ off the porch and followin’ Ike. Asr and Torc followed, their ire fillin’ the quiet, icy, mountain air.

~

The second night, we camped in a depression, selected by Ike, in foothills that an ogre possibly hadn’t tread in centuries—surely since the wars. I mused that I felt more like the youngling, followin’ my papa, than the other way around. The tyke’s brain is constantly takin’ in everything around him, his senses as alert as a hawk studyin’ the plain grass. He pointed out critters and plants and rock formations I know I would have otherwise ignored. But once Ike made me aware of them, I started to recognize the awe of the eastern desert.

As we relaxed under our furs, I said to Ike, “Now I know what ya and Janding, and Kelhin had to talk about all those nights in front of the hearth.”

“Pazeta and Yoso too,” Ike said.

A moment later the deep breathin’ of one asleep floated over to me. As busy as my youngest’s mind is durin’ the day—he certainly can stop it when he lies down. The other two young bulls chatted about their aches and pains.

~

I woke smellin’ the sharp aroma of smokin’ meat, the crackle of fire, something sizzlin’. The eastern sky hardly held a glint. It was stinkin’ cold. Too cold to rise before the sun. I closed my eyes again, but my snout wouldn’t allow me to sleep. I heard the phhhff of someone blowin’ on something. No ogre can resist sizzlin’ meat. My curiosity piqued, I sat up and watched Ike nibblin’ on a longish strip of roasted white meat.

“Whacha eatin’ there?”

Ike handed me the stick it was spitted on. I tasted it while Ike worked to separate another that was strung over the fire.

“Hm. A little tough. Tastes like range chicken.”

“Snake,” Ike told me.

“Snake? Have ya lost yar mind? How many times have I told ya to stay away from snakes? They can kill ya.”

“Not in this weather. They’re coldblooded. Just lie curled in their hidey holes, in a forced slumber.”

“Coldblooded?” I couldn’t remember ever hearin’ the expression. A farmer’s offspring, seems like something I should be aware of.

I think I hate this ogreling. He sits and absorbs everything. The little booger. Not so little any more. What’s he learned sittin’ on the pier talkin’ to the Inn’s guests? I could have been givin’ him more chores.

~

The vastness of the desert is a little numbin’ to me, I have to admit. Asr and Torc had a right to complain. Still, Ike climbed into every gully and examined every cactus like it was from another world. Well, might as well have been, considerin’ what the bull had experienced in the Range. The next day, we climbed a high outcroppin’, a mountain in its own right, which allowed us to see a hundred miles in every direction. Ike sat enthralled by the sight. Asr and Torc rewarded him with glares that would have wilted anyone who cared. Instead, Ike talked about the scrub oak that dotted the peak.

“Very slow growin’. These could be four hundred years old,” he said with awe in his voice. “Imagine. They may have been inch long sprigs before the earlier wars ever began.”

Asr and Torc scoffed. I wasn’t too sure if the thought entertained me. How did anything so scrawny manage to be so old? But I wasn’t about to doubt what my youngest suggested. It’s irritatin’ that Ike finds so many borin’ things so stinkin’ interestin’.

Ike’s eyes followed something high in the sky. I looked up expectin’ a cloud formation, or maybe a vulture, to be catchin’ the young bull’s attention, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Oh. A vulture,” I mumbled. “We’ll have a kettle of them followin’ us until we reach the mountains.”

Ike leveled me with, for him, an enormous grin. “Don’t think it’s a vulture. Farther away than it looks.”

“Then what?”

Ike pulled his huntin’ knife out of its sleeve and fiddled with it—not whittlin’, or carvin’ on anything. Took me several moments before I realized Ike wasn’t mindlessly keepin’ his hands busy. Should have realized quicker. Ike doesn’t do anything without a reason. The ogreling was usin’ the polished blade to flash a reflection at whatever was in the sky.

“We gonna sit here all day?” Asr asked, not payin’ attention to our discussion.

“Ya think it’s a—” I didn’t finish my statement.

Ike repeated his little-practiced smile.

“Way out here? Why would a dragon be way out here?”

“What we’re doin’. Explorin’,” Ike suggested.

“But dragons hibernate.”

Asr started payin’ attention to us, prolly when he heard the word dragon. “Dragons don’t really hibernate,” he mumbled. “Ours sleep so much in the winter because it’s so cold in the mountains.

“Tir says the half of the sedge that settled on the North Plain are goin’ out and huntin’ every week still.” Asr turned and followed our stare. “Mo’sale says the few remainin’ dragons are spread across the far, southern edge of the continent.”

“But that does look like a soarin’ dragon,” Torc said. He stood and joined us, glancin’ down to watch the signalin’ his younger sibling was doin’. “What if it isn’t as friendly as Ash’et and her brood?”

“If he was huntin’, he wouldn’t be so high,” Asr said.

“How do ya know it’s a bull?” Torc challenged.

Ike laughed. “If it was a queen, she’d have at least one bull followin’ her, if not an entire sedge of ’em.”

Asr nodded, but didn’t say anything. I slipped off my pack and made myself comfortable—clearly Ike was prepared to linger here for as long as it—whatever it is—took. A few moments later the dragon reduced its altitude, and I could see it thrusted its wings now, but it was gonna be a while before it joined us. And no doubt, we were gonna wait until he did. Ike put away his knife. The other two bulls got comfortable, too.

The creature circled above us, finally landin’ on a near, adjacent peak. Ike was on his way across the saddle ridge before I caught my breath. I looked around, a bit surprised it wasn’t Asr to first go to the dragon, since he’s bonded to one. But the ogreling remained still, studyin’ the newcomer, satisfied to let his little bull sibling do the investigatin’.

A pang of fear leapt through me, realizin’ my youngest traipsed to a creature capable of tearin’ him in two, swallowin’ him in as many gulps. The sharp breeze made me aware sweat beaded my face. Ike was steps away from the thing. It lowered its wings, something only a calm dragon would do.

I sat back down and leaned against a boulder, watched Ike and the dragon closely for a moment, smiled as my oldest caught my attention. Torc was totally indifferent to what occurred across the way. He strolled about the ridge searchin’ for anything to grab his attention, glared off into the distance, searched the sky. Obviously, he preferred to be anywhere in the world besides this mountain peak. That’s Torc. Bored. There weren’t enough distractions. Used to a hundred things in his mind even durin’ the dinin’ hour.

I turned back to Ike and the dragon. The creature had seen plenty of seasons, wore more than his share of scars for the typical territorial battle. A slate color, several shades lighter than Tir’s sibling—what’s his name—Kyn’loch. Asr would be horrified to think I forgot anything about one of his dragon’s siblings, much less one of their names. I idly wondered if Asr’s bondin’ would interfere with his wooin’ an ogre hen, present interference in a relationship? Competition? I scrunched up my face. That would be a bizarre twist in the ogreling’s life. But then, he’d have to get his snout out of a book to notice the existence of an attractive hen.

The dragon threw back its head and let go a soft trumpet. I’d observed Tir do the same thing a hundred times with Asr. So Ike amused the creature. He wouldn’t be a snack. The dragon’s voice carried across with the breeze from time to time. It seemed as though he was now doin’ most of the talkin’. He would raise one deadly-lookin’ talon and wave it in the air as he spoke. It reminded me how animated Gladys can get. She uses both hands whenever she weaves a story, if they aren’t encumbered with a knittin’ needle or kitchen tool. Most every Northerner I’d ever met is the same way. They’re odd folk.

“I’m not gonna stand around here all day.”

I looked at Torc, studied the young bull’s frustrated expression.

“I’m headin’ home. I’ve had enough of this empty desert. Nothing out here to hunt in the first place. In the second place, the sun’s gonna peel away all my skin. Place stinks.”

I closed my eyes a moment. Torc’s statement reminded me of Ike’s several days ago, when he made a similar, dedicated statement. But Torc didn’t move. He waited for concurrence, for someone to join him. The elder of the three bulls isn’t the least bit as independent as his youngest sibling, as he wanted to sound.

I glanced over at Asr, who raised his brow. So he agreed, in sort. I remained sittin’ for a few more moments decidin’ what to do with Ike. A sadness crept into my chest. Ike’s years from even sportin’ proper tusks. Advanced for his years, but still an ogreling. Did I throw my youngling over my shoulder and carry him home? This is the fear Tiff cries herself to sleep over, kept me awake many a night as well—of Ike leavin’ home. No matter when it comes, gonna be too soon. My mind wandered upon the things that keep Ike in the Hamlet. Ren. Lucas and Iza. Braes, Silvia, Bick and Gladys. I sighed. At least one family member is on the list.

I stood, in no hurry to begin the confrontation. “I’ll speak to Ike,” I told the two siblings.

A sense of exhaustion flowed across my shoulders, and my knees wobbled as I walked across the saddle between the two peaks to the dragon and my youngest. The dragon didn’t acknowledge me until I stopped beside Ike.

“This is Taiz’lin,” Ike said. “This is my papa, Birs.”

The dragon extended his head toward me in the familiar way dragons smell one another’s breath when they greet. It’s intimidatin’ to have the jaws of a creature like that leanin’ in so close to my face. I found myself takin’ in Taiz’lin’s musky odor as Asr did Tir every time they’d been apart. The dragon’s lips pulled taut, exposin’ its deadly teeth—a good eighteen inches long. If I didn’t have a bull dragon livin’ in my barn, I imagine I would have wet myself. The dragon’s expression looked like a snarl, but it’s the closest thing to a smile the race managed.

“A peaceful greeting I offer ya, Ike’s papa.”

“Happy to make yar acquaintance,” I said.

The dragon cocked his head at me, studyin’ me—a bit like a slab of meat. Made Taiz’lin appear cross eyed, and the dragon pulled back, no doubt so he could focus. “I’m excited to hear yar region has been settled by a sedge of my kind.”

I shuddered as the vibration of the creature’s voice flowed over me. Felt as though it physically touched me, caressed me, in a way. The creature had a beautiful voice, which resonated with confidence, courage. Taiz’lin’s muzzle was heavily dusted with silver. Far from a young bull. Had prolly been wanderin’ the continent for centuries. I audibly groaned, as the thought of Ike befriendin’ another wanderer struck me.

The dragon cocked his head again.

It’s happenin’ too fast. My right knee threatened to buckle.

“Ya’re distressed,” Taiz’lin said.

“My papa is terrified I’m gonna take off on my own and never return,” Ike said.

“Ya said ya like to explore,” Taiz’lin said. “But ya’re only a child. For an ogre, ya must remain with yar family another decade, I would think, correct?”

Ike smiled. “Since I was a toddler I’ve been takin’ off to explore, but they refuse to believe my intentions—”

“Of course ya’ll return. As I return to my sedge’s territory at least twice a decade. Though I must admit, as the sedge has thinned, there is less to keep me every year. My visits are shorter.”

The conversation, I knew, was meant to calm me, but accomplished the opposite. My heart must have beat twice faster than normal. I wanted it over. Wanted to get my youngling away from this dragon. “Ike, it’s time to go, return home. Come.”

“Taiz’lin has offered to fly me to the eastern coast. Can ya imagine? The eastern ocean.”

I opened my mouth to speak but the dragon beat me.

“How many days will it take ya to make it home?”

“Th—three,” I answered.

“Then I promise to have yar youngling back to yar village in three days,” Taiz’lin said. “He will come back with stories to tell, memories to last him a lifetime. I look forward to the company. I’ve never traveled with one of ya two-legged creatures before. I’m excited about the prospect. Ike tells me his sibling is bonded to one of my kind. Imagine. Ya must be so proud.”

I closed my mouth. At least the dragon didn’t refer to us as a lesser race. But the war is over. Anger replaced dread. “Ya said yarself he’s a youngling, too young to leave his clan.”

Taiz’lin’s head ratcheted backward another foot and he angled his head. “Yar ire is misplaced, ogre.”

I remained silent. A sense of defeat radiated across my chest. I took several slow breaths before turnin’ to Ike, stared into his dark green eyes. They sparkled with excitement. How could I compete with flyin’ about on a dragon? Wanderers aren’t known to live long lives. For that, could their lives perhaps be richer, fuller, than those bonded to a place, as a blessin’ for a life lived well? That moment might be the last time I ever saw my obsessively focused, youngest. I pulled him against me and Ike thumped me on my back.

“Only three days, Papa. I promise.”

Don’t say what ya can’t follow through with. A bull’s word is his measure. But ya’re years away from bein’ a bull—only an ogreling. It isn’t right. I let Ike go and turned to Taiz’lin.

“Take care of my youngest,” I said.

The dragon raised a gnarled, taloned mitt. “I’ll protect him with my life.”

I, somehow, knew he would. I thought of how protective Tir’loch is of Asr, how the dragon adores my middle youngling bull. So is that it?

Have I assumed these two will bond? Three bull younglings, two dragons. All I need is Torc bondin’ with that remainin’ bull of Ash’et’s.

I slugged Ike in the arm and walked away without another word. I didn’t want to sob in front of the bravest ogre, ogreling, I’d ever known.

The little booger.

~