Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

“Here, Zenor, wrap this around Kindan’s hand before the creature savages him,” Zist said, passing Zenor the bandage roll. Kindan could feed the creature as easily using his left hand while Zenor wrapped up his right.

“You’ll need some numbweed on that, as well as a healing salve,” Zist said. “I’d no idea the hatchling would be so voracious.”

Kindan hadn’t either. “I wish we knew more about them.”

Zenor gave his friend a surprised look. “You mean you don’t—”

Kindan shushed him. “Not a word to Natalon, Zenor,” he said imploringly. He exchanged looks with Master Zist, then continued with more assurance than he felt, “I’m sure I’ll get it all sorted out when the time comes.”

“Well, I’ll help all I can,” Zenor promised stoutly. Kindan grinned at him.

“And I,” Master Zist added. “First, however, I shall get your things.”

Kindan’s brow puckered in surprise. “My things?”

Master Zist nodded. “Yes, you’ll sleep here from now on. You’ll need your things here, too.”

“Here?” Kindan looked around the shed. It had not been built for warmth; Dask had had a notoriously thick hide that kept him comfortable.

“You need to be around the watch-wher,” Master Zist declared. In a lower voice, he added, “And there’s some that might not wish it well.”

Zenor and Kindan both looked toward Tank’s house—not more than a dragon’s length from the shed.

With a sigh, Kindan nodded. “But—”

“I’ll have someone check on you regularly to see if the watch-wher needs food,” Master Zist said.

“But—”

“I understand that it will be a hardship for you,” the Harper went on. “But you made your choice when you agreed to raise the hatchling.”

Kindan bit off any more objections and nodded dejectedly. “I suppose I’ve made my nest, now I’ll have to lie in it.”

Master Zist let out a hearty guffaw, drowning out Zenor’s softer laugh. “Good one, lad! Good one.”

“I could come and stay with you for a bit, after my shift,” Zenor suggested.

“Thanks,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “But I can’t ask you to stay too long, you’ve got your own work and—”

“It’ll be no problem,” Zenor declared. “Especially if you let Miner Natalon know that you asked me.”

The new arrangements left Kindan exhausted by the end of the first sevenday. He was constantly fending off visits by the camp’s children, the camp’s miners, and Tarik, with his constant sour prophecies.

“It’ll eat more than it’s worth,” was Tarik’s first dour comment. Later, it was, “And how long before it’s ready to go down the mines?

“When does that ugly creature reach its growth?” was the next snide remark. “Not much use as it is now, is it?”

And yet again, “Natalon paid how much coal for that bag of bones?”

Kindan’s hatred of the head miner’s uncle grew steadily greater with each return visit and insulting comment. He found himself afraid to leave the watch-wher unattended, not only for fear of what Tarik might do, but also for fear of what the watch-wher might do out of its own fright. The poor thing had already nearly bitten Zenor once when he arrived early one morning and threw back the heavy curtain draped down behind the door to protect the watch-wher’s delicate eyes.

Kindan was frazzled and bone-tired every day, wondering how he would survive the watch-wher’s fierce and frequent pangs of hunger.

Day by day, he grew more and more red-eyed, less able to stand the least cheerful comment and barely keeping himself civil in his dealings with the Harper. He found himself having the deepest respect for Zenor and could not understand how he could ever have been so thoughtless as to tease his friend when he had complained about losing sleep dealing with his younger sisters.

One morning, near the end of the second sevenday, Kindan woke groggily. Something was different. He looked around in the darkness.

Someone was in the shed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said. “It’s about time. I think she’s getting hungry. Why don’t you go get her breakfast while I stay here?”

“Nuella?” Kindan said in surprise.

“Who else?” she replied. “Go on, get. She’s stirring. Ahh, the lovely thing.”

Kindan rushed out of the shed and up to the Harper’s cothold. It was still dark, although there was a hint of dawn on the horizon. He let himself in, stoked up the fire, and began to heat the porridge.

“Who’s there?” Master Zist asked irritably from the room beyond.

“It’s me. Kindan. I’m just making breakfast for the watch-wher.”

“Oh.” Kindan heard the Harper rumble about in his room for his robe and slippers. “Wait a minute! Who’s with the watch-wher?”

“Nuella,” Kindan said.

“Ah,” the Harper responded abstractedly, clearly still not entirely awake, “good.”

Kindan grinned and rooted about the cabinet for klah bark. “I’ll put on some klah,” he shouted.

“Good idea,” Master Zist boomed back, entering the kitchen. Then he blinked. “Did you say Nuella was with the watch-wher?”

Kindan nodded.

“Mmm. That’s not good. What if something happens?”

“She can hide in the shadows,” Kindan suggested.

“But what if she has to raise the alarm?” Master Zist returned.

Kindan started to make a number of different replies before he finally stopped and shook his head. “I see what you mean.”

“I’m glad you do,” the Harper replied testily. “Go get the blood from Ima, the porridge is nearly hot.”

Kindan was nearly frantic by the time Ima delivered his pitcher of blood. He raced back to the Harper’s cothold, nearly spilling the pitcher in his haste. Panting, he made the mix and ran down to the watch-wher’s shed.

“Where were you?” Nuella asked testily when he returned. “You took forever.”

“Sorry,” Kindan gasped.

“You sound as if you’ve been running all over the place.”

“I have,” Kindan replied, pouring the noxious mix into a bowl for the wakening watch-wher.

Nuella crinkled her nose at the smell. “You know, it’s really surprising that something as pretty as her would eat something as awful as that.”

“Pretty?” Kindan exclaimed.

“Yes, pretty,” Nuella repeated emphatically. “You see pretty with the heart, not with the eyes, you know.” She paused, giving Kindan a chance to argue and, when he didn’t, reverted to her original topic. “Wouldn’t meat scraps make more sense?”

“But Master Aleesa said—”

“She’s the one you got the egg from, right?” Nuella asked.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed.

“What did your father’s watch-wher eat?”

“Well,” Kindan considered, “mostly meat scraps. But Dask was much older, and she’s still young.”

Nuella cocked her head at the watch-wher, who had already begun to eat, and stroked the soft neck gently. “Hmm,” she muttered to herself. She clucked at the watch-wher, diverting the creature’s attention long enough to dip a finger into the bowl. Nuella sniffed at the blood-porridge mix on her fingertip and then, much to Kindan’s astonishment, licked it clean. She made a face at the taste and then said, “If I were you, I’d try meat scraps. It’d be much easier all around.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Kindan admitted.

“And what are you going to call her?” Nuella asked impatiently.

“Well, I was hoping her name would suggest itself,” Kindan said.

Gingerly Nuella ran her hands over the watch-wher. Kindan was surprised and a little abashed to realize that he had not yet done so himself.

“She’s beautiful,” Nuella said.