“Thanks, Zenor, I appreciate your help.”
“Can you let me see the hatching, too?” Zenor asked wistfully.
“It’s nothing like a dragon Impression,” Kindan replied, rather wanting that moment to be private.
“Which I haven’t seen anyhow, so please, huh, Kindan?”
“Well, I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything, especially as you may be on shift.”
“If possible, please, Kindan? I’ll bring all the coal you need.”
“All right,” Kindan said, relenting. Zenor was his very best friend. “Would you stay in the shed while I make another batch of porridge? I like to keep it as fresh as possible.”
“Sure, sure,” Zenor said.
Kindan had to scour the pot to remove the brown bits that had stuck to the bottom before he could start a fresh batch. He thought he’d be wasting a lot of oats, but he wanted to be sure he had porridge ready and waiting when the egg cracked. He knew how important it was for the hatchling to be fed as soon as possible after it emerged from its shell.
Three mornings later, he was startled awake from a restless sleep by a loud noise. He sat up, momentarily confused, then opened the glow and carefully pulled the straw off the egg. A large crack almost bisected the center of the egg. He put a hand on it and felt something beat against his palm. He stroked the egg.
“Lemme get the porridge,” he said, struggling to disentangle himself from his sleeping fur and dashing barefoot across the short distance to the Harper’s cothold. He got the pail of fresh blood he had acquired that afternoon from the cooler, hauled the cookpot to the front of the range, and carefully poured in the blood, mixing it with the stiff porridge. He tried not to wake the Harper, but Zist heard the clink of the spoon against the side of the pot and, holding his fur about him, came into the kitchen.
“It’s hatching?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes and finger-combing his hair back.
“It’s got one great crack across its middle,” Kindan said. Carrying the pot, he returned to the shed, the Harper following him.
Kindan did remember his promise to Zenor but didn’t dare leave the shed. Nor could he consider the effrontery of asking Master Zist to wake his friend.
The crack had widened, and a chip of the eggshell lay in the straw.
“I believe a watch-wher is born light-sensitive,” Zist remarked, half-closing the glowbasket and turning it to face the back of the shed so as not to blind the creature on its emergence.
The oval rocked, and Kindan wondered if he should move it away from the bricks. Would they be too warm for the hatchling? He compromised by pulling his sleeping fur over as a carpet.
The egg gave one more lurch and fell into two sections. The hatchling reared up and tumbled out, landing on its nose on the fur.
Kindan chirruped encouragingly and reached out to touch the watch-wher. It managed to raise its head, open its mouth, and squawk.
“Feed it,” Zist urged, and Kindan inserted his hand in the not-too-warm porridge mix and offered it to the watch-wher. Or, to be specific, dumped it on the hatchling’s tongue. It gulped back the offering, swallowing instantly and opening its mouth for more.
Kindan used the spoon this time. Considering how the hatchling seemed to inhale the porridge, he could see why feeding it cubes of meat might cause it to choke to death. He continued feeding it until the pan was empty. The watch-wher cocked its head as if surprised its feeding was interrupted.
“I’ll make another pot,” Zist said, leaving the shed while Kindan stroked the hatchling and crooned encouragingly. Kindan guessed by the dim light that the watch-wher was green. Female, then. Wanting confirmation, he examined her carefully to be sure all the necessary parts were there. Yes, there were, and she was.
He worked the stumpy wings to be sure they functioned, and stroked the eye ridges and scratched her ears. The watch-wher butted at Kindan, squawking urgently and trying to take his fingers into her toothless mouth. Kindan remembered that watch-whers teethed, not unlike human babies, and with the same pain and discomfort. He made a mental note to get fresh numbweed, or some of the distilled spirits human mothers resorted to for teething infants. Not that any mother he knew would find the watch-wher lovable. It had a really misshapen, ugly kind of dragon face. Like its stumpy wings, which were sort of draconic, but not quite, so was this watch-wher, with eyes that blinked furiously until Kindan dimmed the glow to a thin sliver of light, earning a purr of pleasure from the hatchling.
Master Zist stumbled back into the shed, holding the pot in front of him. The hatchling made a snarling noise, smelling the proximity of food, and lunged in the right direction. Luckily, Kindan was able to seize the pot, grab the spoon, and dump a big glob into the watch-wher’s open maw. This time, the moment Kindan felt the spoon scrape the bottom of the pot, he asked Master Zist to prepare a new batch. As Zist obeyed, it occurred to Kindan that maybe it wasn’t proper for him to order his Master about like this.
When would this creature have eaten enough? Her belly was well rounded, and she still opened her mouth or nudged Kindan’s body when she felt she had been unfed too long. Finally, though, she gave a monumental burp, emitting a sour, bloody smell, and crawled to a spot of straw that seemed appropriate, curled up, laid her head on her forepaws, and started to snore.
Zist got wearily to his feet and scrubbed at his mussed hair.
“I shall get properly attired and announce the arrival of...” He looked down at Kindan, who was lying back in the straw. “Did it give you a name?”
Kindan shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”
“Is it enough like a dragon to know its own name?”
Kindan shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish we knew more about watch-whers.”
“Is it male or female? Though I don’t suppose it matters.”
“It’s a green. They’re like dragons that way, so she’s a female.”
“Then I shall report that to Natalon.” He reached over and tousled Kindan’s hair. “You’ve done very well, lad. Very well indeed.”
Master Zist left and wearily Kindan gathered up the odorous porridge pot and took it inside to the sink to clean. Then he started a new batch on a back burner, not knowing how long the current feeding would stave off the pangs of hunger in his new charge. While the pot simmered, he went back to the shed and settled down to await developments.
He roused somewhat to the sound of Zist’s soft voice and Natalon’s pleased remarks.
“And no idea what its name is?” Natalon asked Kindan.
“She didn’t say ... she was too busy stuffing her mouth and swallowing. Next time she’s awake, I must blood her,” Kindan said, giving a convulsive shudder.
“Is that essential?” Zist asked, wincing slightly.
“It’s how watch-whers know who they answer to. And that tradition has already served me well.”
Zist held out his hand. “Do you have a belt knife? I’ll sharpen it for you. That way you won’t feel the cut as much.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Natalon said, giving Kindan a sympathetic wave in farewell.
Kindan handed over his belt knife, murmuring a thank-you. He hated to tell the Harper that he was going to ask him to make the cut, as he wasn’t brave enough to slash his own hand. He shuddered again as Zist left the shed. With nothing to do, Kindan settled himself on the warmest spot of straw he could find ... and then remembered that he hadn’t let Zenor know about the hatching. His friend would be topside by now from his shift, and maybe still awake.
Zenor was still awake but yawning mightily when Kindan called at his window.
“You were on shift, when the shell cracked,” Kindan said apologetically.
Zenor muttered under his breath but slipped back into his tunic and joined Kindan.
“You actually didn’t miss much. One single big crack woke me and then, it fell into two pieces. It’s a green, so it’s a female.”