She ducked behind stone pillars and outcroppings and took side slips down little canyons and valley, (often where her wingspan was I swear unquestionably too wide for clearance) even when they weren't going in what seemed to be her direction, like she knew there were bad guys following her. And where did she get that idea? There'd never been bad guys at Smokehill, till the poacher. And he didn't fly, or go vvhompvvhompwhomp.
She didn't hold us painfully or anything but I was pretty horribly uncomfortable all the same, and scared that somehow Lois would slip out of either my hands or Gulp's. This didn't seem to be bothering Lois at all. Lois was like a kid having her first roller coaster ride. I kept expecting her to say Wheeeeee, although with the wind of Gulp's wings I couldn't've heard her. I hadn't trained her what to say for her first roller coaster ride anyway. Joke.
We stopped once, by a stream at the bottom of one of the little canyons. Gulp came down almost as awkwardly as she'd taken off — holding her, well, her hands stiffly and as if anxiously out in front of her, like someone carrying a birthday cake while walking downstairs in the dark. Phew. I was glad for a drink. We all had a drink. I had a drink and a wash.
Even that was peculiar — doing something with Gulp for the first time. Like we had something in common. Besides Lois. But Gulp got down on her belly again afterward. Lois knew exactly what was wanted — this was a game they'd played back in the meadow (although I'd never think of the concept of "game" in quite the same way again) and she climbed up to the top of Gulp's neck and settled down what looked like pretty contentedly, while I watched and reminded myself about how I should want to lose Lois . . . but not necessarily get stranded who the hell knew where in the middle of Smokehill alone with no survival gear. . ..
Gulp raised her head just enough to give me a very pointed stare and then laid it down again. So I could step on it, I suppose. That's how Lois climbed up there. I didn't want to, but what are you going to do when a dragon stares at you? And I was lost.
I hope I didn't hurt her. I was only wearing sneakers, but I'm not a baby dragon and all my weight's in two feet not four and you don't step on people. And I didn't step on her head. I found a way to crawl up her shoulder and then up that infinity of neck. Dragon scales are slippier than you think and the jagged bits aren't nearly as jagged as they look, nor do they give you much purchase. I settled down pretty gingerly with a leg on either side of the top of her spine, Lois right in front of me, where there's a little hollow where the skull meets the neck. But maybe it's the thickness of dragon skin there, she was never more than hot. In fact pleasantly hot, when you're flying in an open cockpit.
I didn't fall off. Neither did Lois. Even without the cage of Gulp's claws. Among other things the head and neck don't kick in the wingbeat-recoil the way the body does, so you can afford to kind of relax. Kind of. The dragon still looks around and you may not be looking at/for what the dragon is looking at/for, so you will find yourself very unnervingly looking one way while the head you're on suddenly swivels around some other way while you're still flying some other way yet. This is worse when your dragon is actually changing direction, when head and neck become part of the banking and balancing tackle. I also don't recommend looking down, however good you are about heights.
Lois was having the most fun she'd ever had in her life, if the blasting-bright-hot little sun in my skull was anything to go by. Maybe it was the comparison with the little sun, plus my own fears, that made the big rock in my head seem even bigger and knobbier and heavier and more headachy than usual and the boulder field squallier. At least up on top here the Headache eased a little but that internal storm-mauled feeling kept me dizzy and nauseated. I spent most of that flight with my check pressed against the base of Gulp's skull, because it was like I didn't have the strength to hold my head up. (Also that meant more of me stayed warm. And flying was a lot less confusing when my eyes were shut.) Lois had managed to wedge herself between these sort of horny places a little higher up and farther forward, and every now and then I got hit in the head by her wildly flailing tail — which was now long and heavy enough for some pretty impressive wild flailing. Ow. Not among my best moments however you look at it.
We stopped several times, but that could have been because Gulp needed a breather, carrying passengers, or a chance to get her normal balance back. And yes, she did stretch and shake her neck every time we got off. I know that horses can carry something like ten percent of their own weight in tack and rider over big jumps, but Gulp was flying. And flying and flying. Very energy intensive, flying, and worse when you've got like a very heavy hat tipping you forward all the time. But there wasn't any place else we could have stayed on, not bareback anyway.
I'm pretty sure Gulp went the long way around. The angle of the daylight kept changing direction from more than the sun rising and going back down again. (At one point I wondered faintly and queasily if even Billy could keep his sense of direction, flying dragonback.) Was she deliberately confusing our trail, or did dragons always leave a confusing trail? Something as big as a dragon you wouldn't think they'd've learned to bother — that they'd think they needed to. Unless, of course, this was all part of the Smokehill dragons trying not to be watched or studied. Or maybe they never had the faith in our fence that us stupid humans had had, before the poacher.
We arrived where we were going a little after sunset, although I think that was deliberate too. We'd had kind of a long pause, the last time Gulp came down, and the last flight was more of a hop. The Lois-sun in my head began to fade and it wasn't round any more. As the bright light died the shape of the thing began to soften like the light did, and by the time it was no more than a faint glow it was also a sort of collapsed blob, like jam let out of its jar. Lois was tired. So was I. The big Gulp-rock had sunk down so it was lower than it was high too, but it hadn't got softer, it had got harder. Just having it in my head hurt. It wasn't so much a headachy feeling any more though, it was more like by sheer literal weight it was grinding its way down through the bottom of my skull. If I'd had to give it a definition I'd've called it stubbornness. I didn't want to think about what Gulp might have to feel stubborn about but I couldn't help being pretty sure I could guess.
After we climbed back up her neck the last time and settled in, she shook herself a couple of times, sharply, and the big rock in my head developed spikes and sank them into my brain. Ow. I felt like a mountainside with pitons being banged into it. Lois gave a little squeak or mew, so I put my arm around her and tried to brace my feet and hands. I was tired and starving, and it wasn't easy — the waning daylight felt like the waning me and nothing to do with the sun setting like it does every evening — but Gulp was obviously saying "hang on."
Because my head was so sore and heavy anyway and the wind made my eyes water — and yeah, I was scared, but try and tell me you wouldn't be — I put my face down against one of the thick plates on Gulp's neck again, although I could peer a little. Lois, who'd been pretty much playing Gallant Figurehead Breasting the Airy Ocean all day like something out of a blue-yonder version of Hornblower, was subdued enough now to let me pull her down too. Also as soon as the sun disappeared it started getting cold and plastering myself along Gulp's hot neck felt good.