Mickey Reichert - The lost Dragons of Barakhai

Collins shivered. "Don't do that. Rat smiles look positively evil." He studied the rough homespun in his hands and hoped it would not itch. He turned his gaze on Aisa, waiting for her to politely excuse herself, but she did not take the hint. Remembering that the Barakhains were used to seeing one another naked twice per day, he resigned himself to the fact that he would get no privacy.

Turning his hack, Collins stripped off his running shoes, his socks, then his jeans, suddenly wishing he had left on his sleeping boxers. Wondering how the Barakhains survived without underwear, he jammed a foot into the leggings, rushing to get the whole thing finished as soon as possible.

Zylas interrupted, "You might not want to wear-"

Snarling, Collins twisted to face his companions.

"You'll get my underwear when you pry it off my cold, dead legs."

A shocked silence followed, while Collins returned his attention to wrestling with the leggings. The fabric felt like burlap against his flesh and pinched his toes.

Zylas cleared his throat. "I was just going to say 'you might not want to wear those backward.'"

Collins stopped fighting and looked at his feet. Now, he noticed the fabric bunching at his heels and understood why his toes felt so squashed. "Oh," he said sheepishly.

Aisa added with a hint of disdain, "Though you probably shouldn't bare yourself in front of anyone wearing your… precious underwear either."

Collins replied quietly, "No, I guess I shouldn't."

Zylas finally took the hint. "Come on. We're making him nervous. I think he'll do better if we leave him alone for a bit."

Obligingly, Aisa hopped down from the boulder, and Collins watched her walk away. Removing the leggings, he turned them and tried again. This time, they fit much better. He pulled the shift over his head, smoothing out wrinkles with his hands, then added the cloak. He spun, feeling the breeze of the fabric billowing away from knees and thighs, and felt like an utter fool. Suddenly, going stark naked in front of strange women did not seem so bad in comparison. *You look lovely.*

Prinivere's assessment startled Collins, who had considered himself alone when Aisa and Zylas left. "Thanks, I think."

Zylas skittered up to the dragon's shoulder to examine his companion. "Good. Except Orna buttons her cloak."

Collins looked down his front, only then noticing the three cloth buttons on his chest. He fastened the lowest one, then the one above it, and finally the last.

Zylas shook his head, his little pink ears quivering. "Undo the first one."

Collins' hand drifted to the upper button.

"No, the first one. On the bottom."

Collins shifted his hand obediently, though the gesture felt as strange as his new clothing. He usually left the top button or two open when he deigned to wear a dress shirt, but he had never heard of anyone leaving the bottom one undone. He unclasped the button, and Zylas nodded approvingly. "Now you look like Orna."

Collins tossed back the cloak. "I feel like Little Red Riding Hood."

"Who?"

"Forget it."

Zylas leaned toward Collins, still studying him. "I'm just saying that's how Orna wears it."

"It?" Collins repeated. "You mean this exact cloak?"

"One of her favorites," Zylas proclaimed proudly. "Swiped it yesterday."

"You did?" Collins could not believe Zylas had slipped away without him knowing.

"Not me, personally," Zylas admitted. "One of ours, though."

Collins nodded, appreciating the renegades' competence. His life might rely on it. *My turn,* Prinivere announced.*Come here, Ben.*

Though it went against every survival instinct, Collins approached the dragon. The dim light from the cave mouth seemed to swathe her in a gently glowing blanket. Ancient scars marred the green-black scales, some small as splinters, others large as craters. She reached a claw toward him, nails chipped and broken.

Collins lowered his head, but the dragon's massive foot closed over his face. The lowest toe tilted his chin upward, and he met the slitted green gaze with trepidation. He felt as if he were falling deep into those vibrant eyes, spiraling into a dense morass of age and wisdom, from outer weakness to inner strength. His face prickled and grew icy cold. It felt like his features were withering and melting like putty beneath the confines of her scaled, wrinkled claw. Then, within a few moments, she removed her toes from his face and turned her head toward Zylas, still perched on her shoulder.*How's that look?*

Zylas examined Collins, twisting his furry head from one side to the other. He smiled that frightening, ratty smile. "Perfect."

Collins' face felt numb and tingly, though he dared not touch it for fear of damaging the magic. *It's all right,* Prinivere sent.*You can touch it, but it won't feel any different to you. It's an illusion.*

Cautiously, Collins ran a finger down his nose. It did seem the same, though the pressure on his face gave his flesh that pins and needle sensation he got when trying to bring feeling back into his hand after it had "gone to sleep."

Apparently having heard the same words as Collins, Zylas nodded. "Best not to touch it much, though. You'll have a tendency to look as if you're poking through your face or in your eye, and we don't know if too much handling might shorten the spell."

Collins lowered his hands, simultaneously curious and trepidatious, wanting to know what he looked like yet not sure he could stand the sight of his face. "So… I'm Orna."

"You look like Orna," Zylas confirmed, picking his way down Prinivere's foreleg. "And it's almost my turn."

Collins glanced at his arm, only then remembering he had left his watch and glasses with his regular clothing. They would definitely reveal the deception. Instead, he retreated to the corner that held his backpack, willing himself into character. He was a twenty-seven-year-old female guard with an attitude, gruff yet taciturn, and more than capable of speaking her mind to the detriment of those around her. Though entirely unlike him, he appreciated the role. This way, he could mostly keep his mouth shut. Under his breath, he practiced the voice Zylas had taught him and hoped he did it well enough to pass, should speaking become necessary.

While waiting for Zylas' switch, Collins opened his backpack and examined the contents for anything that might prove useful without revealing who he was. Unless he developed a headache or heartburn, he saw no need to risk discovery of the medicines. He would have loved a bath with soap and shampoo, a liberal application of deodorant, and a good toothbrushing; but those scents might attract undue attention. The illusion made a close razor shave unnecessary on his face, and he knew the Barakhain women left their legs and armpits natural. He was not a hairy man. He slipped his multitool into a shift pocket. It might come in handy, and he believed he could keep it safely hidden. He balanced the lump with his mag light and one of the packs of matches in the opposite pocket, then ran his hands along his clothing. He could feel the items, but they did not leave obvious bulges. No one ought to be touching him, and an accidental brush would not reveal the nature of the objects he carried. It seemed safe enough.

By the time Collins had made his selections, Zylas was pulling a tan tunic over matching leggings. The outfit looked strange on the albino, who usually preferred black. As he adjusted his perception, however, Collins realized the new color suited his friend better. It made his ultra-pale skin seem less stark in comparison. Zylas added a leaf-green cloak to the outfit, which brought images of forests and Merry Men to Collins' mind. Had Zylas added his usual broad-brimmed hat, he might have passed for the taxman-thieving Robin Hood himself.

Noticing Collins' regard, Zylas bowed regally. "You approve?"