When he was close enough to the queen, he held out his right hand. There was not much of a scar left from where his father had slit his thumb pad to blood him to old Dask. He altered his sound to a reassuring tongue trill and showed her his palm. She ran her tongue over it. It was a nice, dry tongue. Sometimes Dask’s had been slimy and not at all something you wanted licking you. He increased his trill to what he thought was a glad “Thank you.”
She responded with a click of her own, and Kindan knew that he had performed an appropriate greeting. What should he do now? “May I please have one of your eggs?” His father had never had to ask such a thing, so he didn’t know if there was a sound that was appropriate. He responded with a quizzical brr. He had been teased by his siblings because he could roll his r’s and l’s better than they did.
Although their family had done well by housing the mine’s watch-wher, none of his brothers had aspired to their father’s calling.
Well, he could be a sort of hero for the Camp, if he did get a watch-wher egg.
The men had been talking in fits and starts while they coasted a-dragonback down to the cliffside where Master Aleesa’s hold was, reinforcing how important it was to rear a healthy specimen and maybe even breed a few themselves, if this new one met the Master’s standards. Dask had been chosen to sire two clutches in his youth. Maybe that had been part of Aleesa’s willingness to give Danil’s family a chance, Kindan thought. He increased the intensity of his trill, making more complex noises, sinking into them his earnest entreaty. The watch-wher had opened her eyes wide at him now. Unable to control himself, Kindan yawned—he was still tired from all the recent early-morning rising.
“Excuse me,” he said, deathly afraid that he had insulted her. “I’m tired. We went back in time to get here and—well, I’m afraid.”
He bowed to her and formed the image in his mind of Gaminth and their journey back in time from tomorrow.
The queen gave a surprised chirp, and Kindan got the impression that she’d picked up the image from his mind. Her eyes intent on him, she twitched aside her wing. He gasped in astonishment at the pile of dimly glowing eggshells.
“Oh, how beautiful they are!” he exclaimed, leaning toward her hidden treasure and only recalling at the last moment that the queen would not permit just anyone to touch her eggs. He grabbed his hands back.
They were certainly not dragon eggs—at least according to all the Teaching Ballads Kindan had learned—being half the size and sort of rumpled, as if the layers of shell had been badly applied and the skin had wrinkled in forming. In fact, one egg had a distinct ring on one end, raised above the rest of the shell, like a necklace. But he had never seen anything like them. “How amazing they are!”
He almost fell into the eggs when she gave her wing a sudden flap and folded it against her backbone. Her spine did not have prominent ridges, as a dragon’s would, so they’d be more comfortable to sit on. If one ever did. His father had ridden Dask, on some evenings when the air was heavier and easier for the watch-wher to fly in. Usually watch-whers didn’t make the effort, especially with a rider, but Kindan had seen it happen.
Then he brought his mind back to the present and the realization that she had dropped her defensive posture. He made an interrogatory noise, and with a grace he hadn’t expected she made a small gesture with her wing tip, from him to the eggs.
“I should choose?” he asked. Ever so carefully he extended his hand to her again.
She licked him, her tongue rasping his skin, before she inclined her head to him and then to her eggs.
“Oh kind one, oh gracious watch-wher,” he said, trilling with his tongue when he finished speaking. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“Shall I come rescue you?” Master Aleesa called.
“She’s let me see her clutch,” he called back over his shoulder.
“Then she means you to have one, young Kindan. Pick it, make your farewells of her, and leave. There are others here who want to try their luck.”
Kindan shook his head in surprise, breathless with his success. Only which one should he pick? The children’s selection chant popped into his head. Well, why not? Pointing his finger at each egg with each syllable, he chanted, “Eeny, meeny, tipsy teeny, ah vu bumberini. Isha gosha bumberosha, nineteen hundred and two. I pick you.” His finger was pointing at the one with the odd ring.
He bundled it into his arms. It was heavier than he’d thought, and warm, but then the sands under him were warm as well. The shell felt hard enough that he could clasp it as tightly as he needed to and do no harm, which was fortunate, as he found it very awkward to clamber around on one hand and lurch forward. He turned back briefly and gave the loud trilled tongue sound of gratitude.
“Is the boy hurt?” someone outside asked.
“No, sir,” Kindan said, ducking under the screen above the entrance to the lair. “Just happy.”
Hands came under his arms and whooshed him out and onto his feet.
“All right, it’s your turn, Losfir,” Aleesa said, motioning for a short chunky man to enter the watch-wher’s lair. She grinned at Kindan, her eyes twinkling with an expression of surprised approval. “Got the ringed one, I see. Good choice.”
“Why? Why is it a good choice?” Natalon demanded.
“Just is,” Aleesa said. “Knew how to talk to her, didn’t you?” Grinning, she cocked her head at the lair from which only the sounds of scrambling could be heard. Then she chuckled. “That one hasn’t a clue.” She gave Kindan’s right hand a look. “At least you knew how to talk and what to show for her favor.”
“What? What?” Natalon demanded, irritated by all these cryptic remarks.
“Your lad here can explain at his leisure. Here come the others. You see that I get a delivery of that fine coal of yours by the next trader through Crom, or you’ll never hear the last of it, Natalon. Away with you. You bore me.”
Somehow Kindan knew not to take Aleesa’s comment personally and helped stow the egg in the fleece-lined bag they had brought to protect it on the journey back to Crom.
“How long before it’ll hatch?” he asked her, deciding that was a perfectly legitimate question.
She put a hand on the top of the egg in its bag. “Hmmmm. I’d say within the next sevenday. Possibly sooner. I’ll have my drummer warn you if I hear others are hatching.” She gave the egg a final proprietary caress.
“One more detail,” Kindan said, as she began to turn away from them.
“Yes?” she replied, half-turning back to him. Her expression suggested he should not have to ask her details.
“My father raised Dask before I was born, so I just don’t know what he ate right after he hatched.”
He had phrased his query correctly.
“We’ve been experimenting, actually, on the best post-hatching meal. Watch-whers are not as insatiable as dragons, but they will gulp meat down and sometimes choke, as you know.” She pinned Kindan with a fierce glare, and he nodded as if he knew exactly what she meant. “D’you have oats?”
Kindan nodded, glancing over at Natalon to be sure he was also listening to Aleesa.
“Then arrange to get fresh blood from whoever butchers at the camp. Make a porridge of the oats, using water, and add the blood as the oats thicken in the pot. I’d say a half-pail a day would be sufficient. If you keep the blood cool, a pailful should last over a day or two, no trouble. Most Camps or Holds slaughter every other day. Feed it as often as it wants, and some of the liver and lungs that might go to waste otherwise. Don’t start meat hunks until three months, when it has enough back teeth to chew with. You can continue the porridge feeds in the morning until the hatchling starts to coat out.”