The Dragon Keeper
Tonight Greft was just as quiet as the rest of them. Anticipation warred with nervousness. Another day’s travel and they’d finally meet the dragons.
The committee had provided them with sturdy canoes, well sealed against the river’s acid wash. They’d given them two guides, a man and a woman who always cooked, ate, and slept separately from their charges. So far, food had been provided for them, and some of the keepers had even found time to try their skills at hunting or scouting for fruit and mushrooms along their journey’s path. But they had discovered that their blankets were barely warm enough for sleeping on the ground, and that the mosquitoes and stinging gnats were just as thick at river level as they’d always been told. They’d learned that down here under the trees, nights were darker, starless, and longer than any they’d known in the treetops. They’d already learned to conserve potable water and to gather fresh rainfall at every opportunity. They’d exchanged names and stories.
And somehow, in the few days that they’d been together, they’d become close.
That was something she was discovering about the boys her age. The pranking and foolish jokes seemed constant. Right now, silver-eyed Alum and swarthy Nortel were laughing helplessly because Warken had farted loudly. Warken, long limbed and tall, seemed to be relishing the mockery rather than being offended by it. Thymara shook her head over that; it made no sense to her that boys found such things so funny, and yet their sniggering brought a smile to her face. Jerd, sitting among the boys, was grinning, too. Thymara did not know Jerd well yet but already admired her skills at fishing. She had at first been shocked when she realized Jerd was female. Nothing about her solidly built frame suggested it. What hair she had on her scaled skull she had cut into a short blond brush. Both Thymara and Sylve had tried to befriend Jerd, and she had been affable enough, but she seemed to prefer male company. Her feet and well-muscled legs were heavily scaled and scarred. Jerd went barefoot, something that few Rain Wilders would ever consider doing on the ground.
“It’s strange to look around this circle and realize everyone here is my friend. I’ve never had friends before,” she said quietly.
He ran his blue tongue around the edges of his mouth, and then leaned closer to her. “Honeymoon,” he warned her in his raspy voice.
“Happens like this. I’ve worked as a hunter a lot. You go out with a group of fellows, and by the third day, every one of them is your friend. By the fifth day, things wear a bit thin. And by the seventh day, the group starts to fragment.” His eyes roamed over the fire-lit circle. Across from them, Jerd was in a friendly tussle with two of the boys. Warken appeared briefly to win it when he dragged her over to sit on his lap. But an instant later, she shot to her feet, shook her head at him mockingly, and resumed her place in the circle. Greft had narrowed his eyes, watching the rough play, and then said quietly, “Two or three weeks from now, you’ll probably hate as many as you love.”