Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

Kindan grinned. “She is, isn’t she?” The watch-wher was an ugly lump of muscle scantily clad with skin, her oversized eyes looking even bigger in her young head—but she was his and he wouldn’t trade her for anything.

“So what’s her name?”

“I’ll tell you this evening,” Kindan promised. “Or the next time you come here.”

Nuella nodded. “It might not be this evening, but I’ll see what I can do.” She rose, feeling her way toward the curtain and the shed door.

“The sun’s up,” Kindan told her warningly.

“That’s why I borrowed Dalor’s clothes, silly,” Nuella replied. “Help me put his hood on right. It’s cold enough this morning that no one will think it odd if I’m wearing it.”

Kindan rose and helped her settle the hood on her head. Nuella pushed her long hair back out of sight and rubbed her face with her hands, dirtying it.

“How do I look?” she asked him.

“Dirty,” Kindan told her.

She frowned at him.

“You don’t look like Dalor when you take on that sour look,” he commented. “And you won’t be able to play at being a boy too much longer.”

“I know,” she said softly, lips downcast. “I’ve heard Father talking to Mother late nights when they think I’m asleep, wondering what will become of me.” She raised her head and gave Kindan a determined look. She was about to say more when they heard voices outside the shed.

“You’d better go,” Kindan said. “Do you know the way?”

Nuella snorted. “Kindan, I’m blind, not stupid.” And before Kindan could apologize, she slipped through the curtain and headed out into the early morning light. Spurred by the watch-wher’s alarmed squeals, Kindan hastily pulled the curtain back in place.

After his eyes readjusted to the darkness, he returned to his watch of his watch-wher. Sated with the morning feed, the little green had curled up again, but she was happy to lay her head in his lap before falling asleep once more.

Idly, Kindan used the width of his hand to measure her length. She measured about ten hands-widths from nose to tail—slightly more than a meter—as near as he could make out, and she would stand about three hands high at the shoulder. He grinned down at her sleeping head, feeling full of pride and a little awed that she seemed to trust him so much.

“What are we going to call you?” he murmured to her as he stroked her ungainly head. The small watch-wher raised her head and peered straight at him intently. Kindan stared back, feeling as though he could almost hear her talking to him. After a long moment, the watch-wher let out a little murfle and laid her head on his lap again.

“Kisk,” Kindan said. The watch-wher opened one eye, shook her head, and closed the eye again. “Your name is Kisk.” The watch-wher shifted her weight, once more oblivious to everything around her. But Kindan felt Risk’s acceptance of her name.

Kisk was quite happy to try some meat scraps with her next meal. Master Zist fretted that it might be too soon, but Kindan made sure the scraps were all small and contained no bone or gristle, and he could feel how happy Kisk was with the new diet. Her rubbing her head against his leg contentedly and making small merrble-ing sounds only confirmed his opinion.

Certainly Ima was much happier to be asked to make ready a supply of scrap meat instead of fresh blood “at all hours of the day.” Supplying the growing watch-wher with scraps was much easier on everyone than the time-consuming blood-porridge.

In fact, as the watch-wher reached her first month, Kindan found himself wondering how much Master Aleesa really knew about the raising of young watch-whers—or whether the whole blood-porridge idea had been a joke on the part of the cranky “WherMaster.”

Master Zist came down to the shed every spare moment he had. He insisted that Kindan learn all the songs there were about dragons on the principle that because dragons and watch-whers were related, the songs about dragons would provide insights into raising watch-whers.

“But there’s not all that many songs about raising dragons, is there?” Kindan said after several days.

Master Zist frowned, shaking his head. “You’re right. Most of the songs are about fighting Thread and chewing firestone.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “And there’s the bit about how they grow—”

“And when a dragon’s old enough to ride,” Zenor, who had joined them earlier, added.

“Well that should be about the same for watch-whers, shouldn’t it?” Nuella asked.

Nuella, Zenor, and the Harper had established a routine of meeting in the shed just after the end of the day shift. Zenor would arrive at the Harper’s, and he and Kindan would escort Nuella down to the shed, keeping her well hooded and away from probing eyes.

“That seems likely,” Kindan agreed.

“That would be a Turn and a half,” Master Zist said. Kindan groaned.

“That long!” Zenor exclaimed.

“But how long until you can start training her?” Nuella wondered.

“I don’t know,” Kindan confessed.

“Well,” Master Zist said consideringly, “she’s too young to start training right now. It’ll be months before she’s ready, I’m sure.”

“Is it just me, or is she more active at night?” Zenor asked.

“She should be, she’s nocturnal,” Nuella snapped before Kindan could respond.

“I wonder if I should take her out at night,” Kindan said.

Master Zist shook his head. “Not yet. I think when she’s ready to leave her lair, she’ll let you know.”

Nuella cocked her head thoughtfully. “You might want to put a collar on her, with bells. I’d hate for you to be asleep the first time she decided to go for a stroll.”

“Isn’t that what happened with you?” Zenor asked Nuella. “I mean, when we first met.”

Nuella smiled impishly at him. “I wasn’t wearing a collar, but I did manage to go for a stroll.”

“You’re lucky Cristov didn’t catch you,” Kindan remarked.

Nuella shook her head. “I’d smell him at least a dragonlength away—he wears that awful scent his mother likes.” She frowned in thought. “I wonder how good Kisk’s sense of smell is.”

The others considered her comment silently.

“I imagine we’ll find out,” Master Zist answered finally. He rose and stretched. “But not tonight. Nuella, it’s time for your lessons.”

“We could do them here,” she suggested hopefully.

“No, Zenor’s got to get some sleep,” the Harper replied. “I can’t ask him to stay here the extra hours it would take to finish your lessons before he walks you home.”

Zenor grimaced. “Master Zist is right. Mother needs me even now that Renna’s gotten big enough to look after the others some more.”

“She’s doing most of the work Kindan used to do, isn’t she?” Nuella remarked. Master Zist cleared his throat warningly. Nuella frowned at the noise and turned back to Kindan. “It’s not as though you could do all your old work and look after a new hatchling, too, you know.”

“I suppose,” Kindan agreed morosely. “But it seems that all I do is look after the hatchling.”

Zenor gave him a commiserating look. “She’ll grow up before you know it, Kindan. And then you can help us in the mines.”

With that bit of encouragement, they left. Kindan curled up in a warm spot, and Kisk draped herself over and around him with a series of chirps and squeals. But she didn’t sleep. First she twitched one way and then she twitched another way. Kindan moved away from her, but Kisk moved back toward him and curled up again.

Kindan was finally drifting toward sleep when a warm tongue licked along the side of his jaw. Kindan blearily opened one eye and saw that Kisk was lying next to him, her head raised to look him in the face. He made a soothing sound and closed his eye.