“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Playing,” she said, baffled that I didn’t understand. “Look!”
She stood up, and threw herself into the snow bank for a third time.
Did she not realize it would make her colder? I supposed if her blood ran hotter than most, it might not affect her as much.
And I didn’t understand why she was playing. Now? After everything? After nearly falling into a volcano, being scooped away by a stranger, and being cold and hungry?
“You play too,” she insisted, with a slight whine to her voice.
“No,” I said automatically.
Her face grew serious. “You can. I say you can.”
Her command was small, and ridiculous.
“No,” I said again.
She frowned, disappointed in me deeply as though I’d gravely offended her. I didn’t like how my chest tightened unpleasantly at that. She walked right up to me, barely reaching my waist, and took my hand in both of hers. Tiny fingers curled around my knuckles with startling warmth, and she pulled my head down to her lips.
“Is it because you’reold?” she whispered seriously.
I drew back, offended.
Old.I’d show her old.
I huffed a breath. “No. I do notplay.”
She raised her chin. “Try. Unless you’re tooold.”
My chest puffed out because I could help it. I had never taken insults lightly. Ignoring them in the pit had been a death sentence.
You are not in the pit anymore.
That did not matter. I was not beholden to a child—especially one as tiny as her! She did not get to tell someone as big as me what to do. That was not the way of the world and the sooner she learned that, the quicker she would fit into it.
And yet, I did not say any of that to her. Instead, I let her tug my hand toward the pinecone where it had come to rest at the edge of the ice. She placed my clawed foot beside it, demonstrating the angle with exaggerated seriousness. Then she stepped back.
“Kick,” she ordered like a tiny militant leader.
It was absurd, undignified, and laughable. So, I kicked it back across the patch of ice.
Too hard.
The pinecone arced upward, hit a branch, and bounced down onto her head. She squealed with delighted outrage and threw herself into a giggling heap in the snow, leaving a child-sized imprint in it behind her.
She moved her arms and legs back and forth quickly. She stood and surveyed her work. The silhouette left behind was just as silly as her.
“Look!” She pointed, clearly proud.
Something in my chest cracked, painfully. It felt odd at first, almost hurting, but then something else replaced it. Warmth? Light?
I knew deep down why I’d escaped the fighting pits. The warlock I’d befriended had known about drakens. He said that males without family, without bonds, were a danger to themselves and others after long periods of time.
Perhaps that was why I had finally escaped, and sought out my own kind.
Whatever the reason, I didn’t think I was dangerous or crazy—not yet. And here was this little one, trusting me, and laughing with me. Surely that counted for something.
