That idea brought up other questions, but before Shell could get his thoughts in order, Quester turned and motioned to a small clearing. Lush green grass covered the ground, sprinkled with white clover. A small stream flowed along the near side, and a doe and spike buck grazed on the far side. The view behind would take his breath away at another time.
The hills they’d climbed were spread below where they stood, and beyond a sea of brown as far as he could see. Closer, the colors were shades of green fading to green-brown, and finally to golden brown. His home was out there, somewhere, but he had no way to tell where. The rivers and streams down there were hidden by the rolling landscape.
Quester already knelt at the edge of the stream and scooped clear water into his hand to drink; then he washed his hands and face before turning to Shell. “Out there,” his thumb indicated the grasslands, “I didn’t get to wash often. Here the water is cold and clear, but down there it was warm and usually colored with mud. It tasted of mud and green things, too.”
When Shell didn’t immediately answer, Quester stood and said seriously, “We should talk.”
Shell realized he was about to hear the same speech about why they needed to split up that he had been prepared to give. No hard feelings, but . . . In other circumstances, it might have been funny, but he didn’t want to give Quester the impression that he was laughing at him, however, keeping a grin off his face was impossible.
Shell said, “Let me go, first.”
Quester shook his head and butted forward, “I’m sorry, but we are going to have to go on our separate ways. I can’t explain all the reasons, but I think you’re a good man, and you’ll do well.”
Shell’s small grin turned to a smile. The confused expression on Quester’s face provided a way to have fun and play a joke while revealing himself as Dragon Clan. “You say the water is cold and feels good?”
“Yes, but listen. We have to talk, I said.”
“Sure, but even though that stream is shallow, I think I’ll try to wash up a little.” He was facing Quester and let his staff fall from his fingers. The unused bow was next, followed by the quiver, backpack and finally his shirt.
Quester’s anger showed. Shell wouldn’t listen to him, talking without listening. Quester’s face had reddened as he tried to explain. As he appeared ready to shout, Shell turned his bare back to Quester.
“W-what?”
Shell turned his head, while keeping his back exposed, and gave his innocent expression, the same one he used when he’d used to filch cookies from his mother’s kitchen and pretend he hadn’t.
“You’re Dragon Clan?” Quester shouted.
“I think you’re supposed to show me your mark as a sign of respect after I show you mine,” Shell said, splashing cold water on his chest, and quickly deciding he wouldn’t be getting into the icy water after all. When he turned to see why Quester hadn’t replied, his friend had turned his back to him and held up his shirt to display a fierce dragon on his back.
Quester said in a hoarse voice, “How did you know?”
“When the dragon flew nearby. My back told me a dragon was near, you touched your back with your hand, just like I did. Oh, there were enough other clues, now that I think about it, but I missed them all.”
Sitting in the grass, Quester brought his knees up and placed his head in his hands. He was not crying, but clearly emotional. When he finally looked up, he said, “I was so scared.”
“About what?”
“I’ve been alone for so long, and I thought I was going to have to leave you, my first friend in so long. For over two years I’ve been trying to get to the Bear Mountain I’d heard about. Then I stumbled across you, and you were going there, too.”
Shell smiled, “Didn’t that alert you?”
“It should have, but you’re such a poor hunter and tracker that I assumed you were not Dragon Clan.”
“I use a staff. Didn’t that give you an indication?”
“I’ve never heard of a staff used as a weapon. In fact, I never even heard of one,” Quester said. “Is it significant?”
“Yes. It’s a weapon the king cannot ban because it is a stick. But it’s traditionally Dragon Clan. And I have never heard of Dragon Clan living in the east. All the Families are to the west of us, the Raging Mountain Clan, the Drylands Clan, and the others. I thought I knew about all our Families. I never considered you might be one of us since you came from the east.”
An odd expression had grown on Quester’s face as Shell spoke. He summed his confusion up in two words. “Other families?”
Stunned, Shell tried to organize his thoughts. He burst forth by asking, “The other Families of the Dragon Clan. You’ve never heard of them?”
“No.”
“Breslau?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shell sat beside Quester and said, “Let’s turn this around. Tell me about your family and all you know about dragons.”
“Everything? Okay, we lived peacefully at the edge of the grasslands that we call the Green Hills. Beyond those are the Blue Mountains, but I’ve never been there. There were about a hundred of us I think when the King’s men attacked and killed nearly everyone.”
“King Ember?”
“No, King Reynard the Younger. I’ve never heard of King Ember.”
“What about other Families to the east? Are there more Dragon Clan?”
“Yes, but I don’t know where. We have to hide and pretend to be regular people.”
Shell began to realize the magnitude of what Quester was telling him. But Shell was only a shepherd. He was not qualified to make decisions or dictate policy to others. Hell, he was barely qualified to select which goat to slaughter and cook. Should Dragon Clan families send people east to live and find others? That might ensure survival if Breslau continued their invasion. Or, should they send messengers and ask for help from the other Dragon Clan families in defeating Breslau?
Dozens of other questions flooded his mind, all questions far beyond what a simple shepherd could answer. But what he did understand was that the young man sitting beside him held important information for his family, and possibly for the survival of them all.
Shell’s first question he needed answered, was also a problem. Should he immediately take Quester to his mother, the council leader of the Grasslands Family? Let her decide what to do? No, he was a small branch of the larger Family, and they lived at the edge of known civilization. Taking Quester to a larger branch that had more communication with the other Families of the Clan made more sense.
Besides, that suited his plan better. And probably those of Quester, too.
Shell said, “I think we’re safe here. Before we go any further, I have to explain some things.”
“You can talk as we walk. You’ve done that for two days, already.”
The laughter came easily. But Shell remained seated as he said, “No, this is too important, and I think you’re going to want to hear it face to face.”
The look Quester wore indicated he didn’t like the answer and intended to argue. Shell didn’t know all he intended to tell, but as his mind churned through the mass of information he decided Quester didn’t know, the mental touch of the wolf a few hundred steps away warned him that he wouldn’t share all. But he needed Quester’s full attention, and Quester needed to know how important it was that they talk.
Shell drew in a breath and just before Quester spoke, he said, “We’re all in danger. An enemy is invading our lands.”
“Your King’s lands,” Quester said. “Do you really care?”
“They have their dragons that kill ours.”