Still a prisoner, even if they've given it some freedom of movement.
At least we have something in common now.
Gareth trails behind me, watching the way I approach my supposedbondedone. Studying the way I study the dragon. Taking notes for his king, I’m sure.
I stop a few feet away, keeping my distance. “So, the beast is here, and we're supposed to do what, exactly?”
The frill around the dragon's head flattens at the wordbeast. I'm noticing that this part of it behaves a bit like the ears of a dog, relaying everything from interest to irritation. Its actual ears are tucked underneath this expressive, protective hood, I think.
We stare at one another for a long, tense moment.
Gareth clears his throat. “You should probably start by figuring out what you’re going to call her. Dragons are highly intelligent creatures; she won't take kindly to being referred to asbeast.”
“How do you know it's a female?”
“Her coloring, among other things,” he says. “Most dragons are born covered in black scales and feathers. Some stay that way, but others eventually take on a secondary coloring as they mature; the females are always brighter when this happens. And she looks like she's going to be a particularly bright beauty.” He gestures to her underside.
She rises with a deliberate, slow motion, showing off a section on her belly where the purplish-black is transitioning to a pale, shining teal color.
It's a beautiful shade.
But my eyes are drawn over and over again to the darker scales around it, and I can't help thinking about a blight closing in on a healthy crop. Because, beautiful or not, this is what all dragons are: a disease that chokes the life—the brightness—out of far too many places.
“Well?” Gareth prompts. “What will it be?”
“Blight,” I mutter.
“…What?”
“That's her name. That's what I'm calling her. It seemsfitting enough.” I arrange my face into a cold mask, not inviting further questions. I'm not digging into my past with this man, not explaining anything beyond what's absolutely necessary for us to get through these training sessions.
“Not much better thanbeast,” he comments.
I shrug.
He studies me for a long moment. “…Well, maybe in time you'll learn her true name.”
I frown. “How would I?”
“By letting her tell it to you.”
I want to pretend I'm not interested in learning any more about these creatures, but I can't help my curiosity. “…They can actually talk, as some of the legends claim?”
“If you can listen.”
“And she knows her own name?”
“They're born knowing it; when the gods shape them from the energy of the world, they speak a chosen name, and this is what makes a dragon's heart begin to beat. It's just a question of whether or not she decides you're worthy of knowing that divine fact about her.”
“Shaped from energy? They don't hatch from eggs?” This doesn't seem right, based on things I’ve heard and seen. There are well-known nesting spots; they’re always marked on maps, because of how dangerous it is to approach one. I also know for a fact that eggs are traded and sold in some of the seedier markets of the empire.
“There are…several other types of birth,” Gareth says. “And lesser ones hatch, yes.”
“But Blight isn't a lesser one.”
He frowns at my use of the less-than-divine name I chose. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t think so.”
He doesn't seem to want to elaborate onwhy. But I’m stillsurprised he’s elaborated on anything at all, so I decide not to press him on this point.
