“It’s starving, Sean,” Sorka said, fumbling for the packet of sandwiches. “Can’t you feel the hunger in it?”
“Don’t you dare mother it!” he muttered, though he, too, sensed the little thing’s craving. But he had seen the flyers rend fish with their sharp talons. He would prefer not to be their next victim.
Before he could stop her, Sorka tossed a corner of her sandwich out onto the rock. It landed right in front of the weaving, crying hatchling, who pounced and seemed to inhale the bit. Its cry became urgently demanding, and it hobbled more purposefully towards the source. Two more of the little creatures raised their heads and turned in that direction, despite their dam’s efforts to shoo them towards the adults holding out succulent marine life.
Sean groaned, “Now you’ve done it.”
“But it’s hungry.” Sorka broke off more bits and lobbed them at the three hatchlings.
The other two scurried to secure a share of the bounty. To Sean’s dismay, Sorka had crawled out of their hiding place and was offering the foremost hatchling a piece directly from her fingers. Sean made a grab for her but missed, bruising his chin on the rock.
Sorka’s creature took the offered piece and then climbed into her hand, snuffling piteously.
“Oh, Sean, it’s a perfect darling. And it can’t be a lizard. It’s warm and feels soft. Oh, do take a sandwich and feed the others. They’re starving of the hunger.”
Sean spared a glance at the dam and realized with intense relief that she was far more concerned with getting the others fed than with coming after the three renegades. His fascination with the creatures over came caution. He grabbed a sandwich and, kneeling beside Sorka, coaxed the nearer brown dragonet to him. The second brown, hearing the change in its sibling’s cries, spread its wet wings and, with a screech, joined it in a frantic dive. Sean found that Sorka was right: the critters had pliant skins and were warm to the touch. They did not feel at all lizardlike.
In short order, the sandwiches had been reduced to bulges in lizard’s bellies, and Sorka and Sean had unwittingly made lifelong friends. They had been so preoccupied with their three that they had failed to note the disappearance of the others. Only the empty shards of discarded eggs in a hollow of the rock bore witness to the recent event. “We can’t just leave them here. Their mother’s gone,” Sorka said, surprised by the abandonment of dragonet kin.
I wasn’t going to leave mine any road,” Sean said, slightly derisive of her quandary. “I’m keeping ‘em. I’ll keep yours, too, if you don’t want to bring it back to Landing. Your mother won’t let you have a wild thing.”
“This one’s not wild,” Sorka replied, taking offense. With her forefinger, she stroked the back of the tiny bronze lizard curled in the crook of her arm. It stirred and snuggled closer, exhaling on something remarkably like a purr. “My mother’s great with babies. She used to save lambs that even my father thought might die.’’
Sean was pacified. He had put the browns in his shirt, one on either side, and tightened the leather belt he had dared requisition. The ease with which he had accomplished that at the Stores building had encouraged him to trust Sorka. It had also proved to his father that the “others” were fairly distributing the wealth of materiel carried to Pern in the spaceships. Two days after getting his belt, Sean began to see proper new pots replacing discarded tins over the campfire, and his mother and three sisters were wearing new shirts and shoes.
The brown dragonets felt warm against his skin and a bit prickly where their tiny spikes pressed, but he was more than pleased with his success. They only had three toes, the front one folded against the back two. Everyone in his father’s camp had been hunting for lizard – well, dragonet – nests and snake holes along the coast. They looked for signs of the legendary lizards for fun, and hunted the snakes for safety. The scavenging reptiles were dangerous to people who camped in rough shelters of woven branches and broad-leaf fronds. Reptiles had eaten their way into the shelters and had bitten sleeping children in their blankets. Nothing was safe from their predatory habits. And they were not good eating.
Sean’s father had caught, skinned, and grilled several snakes and had sampled a tiny bite of each variety and instantly had to washed his mouth out, as the snake flesh stung and caused his mouth to swell. So the order had gone to everyone in the camp: snare and kill the vermin. Of course, as soon as they had terriers or ferrets to go down the holes, they could make short work of the menace. Porrig Connell had been upset because the other members of the expedition seemed not to understand how urgent it was for his people to have dogs. The animals were not pets – they were necessary adjuncts of his folk’s lifestyle. It was proving the same on Pern as on Earth: the Connell’s were the last to get anything useful and the first to be given the back of the hand. But he had had each of his five families put in for a dog.
“Your dad’ll be pleased,” Sorka said, expansive in her own pleasure. “Won’t he, Sean? Bet they’ll be better even than dogs at going after snakes. Look at the way they attacked the mottleds.”
Sean snorted. “Only because the hatchlings were being attacked.”
“I doubt it was just that. I could almost feel the way they hate the snakes.” She wanted to believe that the flying lizards were unusual just as she had always believed that their marmalade tom, Duke was the best hunter in the valley, and old Chip the best cattle dog in Tipperary. Doubt suddenly assailed her. “But maybe we should leave them here for their dam.”
Sean frowned. “She was shooing the others off to the sea fast enough.’’
Of one mind, they rose and, walking carefully so as not to disturb their sleeping burdens, headed for the summit of the headland.
“Oh, look!” Sorka cried, pointing wildly just as something pulled the tattered body of a hatchling under the water. “Oh, oh, oh.” Sean watched impassively. Sorka turned away, clenching her fists. “She’s not a very good mother after all.”
“Only the best survive,” Sean said. “Our three are safe. They were smart enough to come to us!” Then he turned, cocking his head and peering at her through narrowed eyes. “Will yours be safe at Landing?” They’ve been after us to bring ‘em specimens, you know. ‘Cause my dad’s special at trapping and snaring.”
Sorka hugged her sleeping charge closer to her body. “My father wouldn’t let anything happen to this lad. I know he wouldn’t.’
Sean was cynical. “Yeah, but he’s not head of his group, is he? He has to obey orders, doesn’t he?”
“They just want to look at life-forms. They don’t want to cut ‘em up or anything.”
Sean was unconvinced, but he followed Sorka as she moved away from the sea and made her way through the undergrowth to the edge of the plateau.
“See ya tomorra?” Sean asked, suddenly loath to give up their meetings now that their mutual vigil had now come to an end.
“Well, tomorrow’s a workday, but I’ll see you in the evening? Sorka didn’t even pause a moment to think about her reply. She was no longer hampered by the stern tenets of Earth restrictions on her comings and goings. She was beginning to accept her safety on Pern as easily as she accepted her responsibility to work for her future here. Sean was also part of that sense of personal safety, despite his innate distrust of all but his own people. Even if Sean was unaware of it, a special link had been forged between Sean and her after the momentous experience on the rock head.
Are you sure these creatures will hunt the snake?” Porrig Connell asked as he examined one of Sean’s sleeping acquisitions. It remained motionless when he extended one of the limp wings.
“If they’re hungry,” Sean replied, holding his breath lest his father inadvertently hurt his little lizard.