“He really got some altitude there,” David said with ungrudging praise. “Look, Polenth’s dropped his wings now. He’s going for that one!”
“Got it, too,” Sean replied in a return of compliment.
Maybe they were all being too cautious, afraid of pushing down the throttle and seeing the result. Carenath flew strongly and well. The bronze was nearly the same height in the shoulder as Cricket, though the conformation was entirely different, Carenath being much longer in the body, deeper in the barrel, and. stronger in the hindquarters, in fact, the dragons already were much stronger than similar equines, their basic structure much more durable, utilizing carborundums for strength and resilience. Pol and Bay had gone on about the design features of dragons as if they had new sleds, which indeed, Sean thought wryly, was what they were intended to replace. According to the program, dragons would gradually increase in size over many generations until they reached the optimum. But in Sean’s eyes, Carenath was just right.
“At least they eat neatly,” Dave said, averting his eyes from the two dragons who were rending flesh from the carcasses of their kills. “Though I wish they didn’t look like they enjoyed it so much.”
Sean laughed. “City-bred, were you?”
Dave nodded and smiled weakly. “Not that I wouldn’t do anything for Polenth. It’s just that it’s one thing on three-D, another to watch it live and know that your best friend prefers to hunt living animals. What did you say, Polenth?” Dave’s eyes took on that curious unfocused look that people had when being addressed by their dragons. Then he gave a rueful laugh.
“Well?” Sean prompted him.
“He says anything’s better than fish. He’s meant to fly, not swim.”
“Good thing he has two bellies,” Sean remarked, seeing Polenth devouring the sheep, horns, hooves, fleece, and all. “The way he’s squaffing down the wool, he could start a premature blaze when he starts chewing firestone.”
“He will, won’t he, Sean?” Dave’s earnest plea for reassurance worried Sean. The dragonmates could not doubt their beasts for a moment, not on any score.
“Of course, he will,” Sean said, standing up. “That’s enough, Carenath. Two fills your belly. Don’t get greedy. There are more to be fed here today.”
The bronze had been about to launch himself into the air again, aiming toward the rise into the next valley where the terrified flock had stampeded.
I would really like another one. So tasty. So much better than fish. I like to hunt. Carenath sounded a trifle petulant.
“The queens hunt next, Carenath.”
With a peevish swing of his head, Carenath began to amble back down to Sean, spreading his wings to balance himself. Dragons looked odd when they walked, since they had to crouch to their shorter forelegs; some of them fell more easily into a hop-skip gait, dropping to the forequarters every few steps or using their wings to provide frontal lift. Sean disliked seeing the dragons appear so ungainly and unbalanced.
“See you later,” he said to David as he and Carenath turned to walk back to the cave they inhabited.
The dragons had quickly outgrown the backyard shelters and, in many cases, the patience of neighbors, some of whom worked night shifts and slept during daylight hours. Dragons were a vocal lot for a species that could not speak aloud. So dragons and partners had explored the Catherine Caves for less public accommodations. Sorka had at first worried about living underground with their baby son, Michael, but the cavesite Sean had chosen was spacious, with several large chambers—their new home actually had far more space than did the house in Irish Square. Faranth and Carenath were delighted. There was even a shelf of bare earth above the cave entrance where dragons could sunbathe, the leisure activity they enjoyed even above swimming.
“We are all much better suited here,” Sorka had exclaimed in capitulation, and had set about making their living quarters bright with lamps, her handwoven rugs, fabrics, and pictures that she had cadged from Joel.
But the new quarters had proved to be more than just a physical separation, Sean realized as he and Carenath trudged along. Dave Catarel had put his finger on it in his wistful comment about being forgotten.
This walk is long. I would rather fly on ahead, Carenath said, doing his little hop-skip beside Sean. Once again Sean thought that his brave and lovely Carenath looked like a bad cross between a rabbit and kangaroo.
“You were designed to fly. I’ll be happy when we both fly.”
Why do you not fly on me, then? I would be easier to ride than that scared creature. Carenath did not think much of Cricket as a mount for his partner.
Scared creature, Sean thought with a chuckle. Poor Cricket. How easy it would be to swing up to Carenath’s back and just take off! The notion made the breath catch in his throat. To fly on Carenath, instead of shuffling along on the dusty track. The adolescent year for the dragons was nearly over. Sean looked about in deep speculation. Let Carenath drop off the highest point, and he would have enough space to make that first, all-important downsweep of his wings . . .
Sean had spent as much time watching how fire-lizards and dragons handled themselves in the air as he once had patiently observed horses. Yes, a drop off a height would be the trick.
“C’mon, Carenath. I’m glad I. didn’t let you fill your belly. C’mon, right up to the top.”
The top? The ridge? Sean heard comprehension color the dragon’s mind, and Carenath scrambled to the height in a burst of speed that left Sean coughing in the dust. Quickly! The wind is right.
Rubbing dust particles out of his eyes, Sean laughed aloud, feeling elation and the racing pulse of apprehension. This is the sort of thing you do now, at the right time, in the right place, he thought. And the moment was right for him to ride Carenath!
There was no saddle to vault to, no stirrup to assist Sean to the high shoulder. Carenath dipped politely, and Sean, lightly stepping on the proferred forearm, caught the two neck ridges firmly and swung over, fitting his body between them.
“Jays, you were designed for me,” he said with a triumphant laugh, and slapped Carenath’s neck in affection. Then he grabbed at the ridge in front of him.
Carenath was perched on the very edge of the ridge, and Sean had an awesome view of the bottom of the rockstrewn gorge. He swallowed hastily. Flying Carenath was not at all the same thing as riding Cricket. He took a deep breath. It was also not the time for second thoughts. He took a compulsive hold with legs made strong from years of riding and shoved his buttocks as deeply into the natural saddle as he could.
“Let’s fly, Carenath. Let’s do it now!”
We will fly, Carenath said with ineffable calm. He tilted forward off the ridge.
Despite years of staying astride bucking horses, sliding horses, and jumping horses, the sensation that Sean Connell experienced in that seemingly endless moment was totally different and completely new. A brief memory of a girl’s voice urging him to think of Spacer Yves flitted through his mind. He was falling through space again. A very short space. What sort of a nerd-brain was he to have attempted this?
Faranth wants to know what we are doing, Carenath said calmly.
Before Sean’s staggered mind registered the query, Carenath’s wings had finished their downstroke and they were rising. Sean felt the sudden return of gravity, felt Carenath’s neck under him, felt the weight and a return of the confidence that had been totally in abeyance during the endless-seeming initial drop. The power in those wing sweeps drove his seat deeper between the neck ridges as Carenath continued to beat upward. They were level with the next ridge, the floor of the gorge no longer an imminent crash site.