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The stranger turned belly-up and his harness fell away, twisting as it dropped to the trees below. It was no rider after all, but some sort of cargo-saddle such as mules and packhorses wore. For a moment AuRon dipped and turned to follow the faster-moving object—a natural instinct but one Red Stripe used to advantage. Released of his burden, he fought for altitude, and AuRon found that Red Stripe had the sun painfully behind him and advantage of wind and altitude.
“I’ve no wish to fight,” AuRon bellowed.
“. . . stay . . . or . . . below me,” the stranger called back, keeping his advantage as AuRon rose.
AuRon almost tried outclimbing the strange dragon to regain dominance in the encounter, but the cautious half of his brain took over and had him glide inoffensively back toward the dropped pack. Why reveal to the stranger just how fast he could climb?
“Might we land and talk?” AuRon called, and flew closer, repeating the offer.
“You first,” Red Stripe called back.
AuRon swooped down, tilting his body first right and then left, a quick way to drop but still have plenty of momentum in case you needed to fly off to avoid an attack. Plus it allowed him to keep an eye on the stranger.
Red Stripe imitated him and they found a wild brambly patch in the woods. There were thick thorns here and AuRon guessed it flooded in the spring, judging from the grasses and reeds. But now it was dry.
The stranger neatly retrieved his pack from where close-packed trees had caught it, with some loss of branches. It must be a heavy burden. Nevertheless Red Stripe extracted it with a mad flap of a hover and a dip of his tail.
A neat trick. AuRon didn’t want to be impressed. Every instinct told him to bristle and assert himself in the presence of a strange male, but he couldn’t help the impulse to admire such a deft move.
AuRon flattened some of the thorn bushes about. There were game trails crisscrossing this clearing. Whatever lived here must have a thick hide.
Red Stripe dropped his pack near them in the tangle of brambles and set down. He dug about behind his griff and then approached with whatever it was held in his right mouth. The gesture drew attention to the fact that he wore a gold earring. The decoration unsettled AuRon. It reminded him too much of the fixtures for lines on the wizard’s trained dragons.
“I am AuRon of the Isle of Ice,” AuRon said, taking the stranger’s part in greeting, since he’d moved to intercept Red Stripe. His store of dragon etiquette was about as deep as a puddle. He dipped his head.
“I am DharSii of Sadda-Vale,” the stranger said. If his nose dipped, it only just moved.
AuRon wondered at the name. It was “Quick-claw” in Drakine, but he’d never heard of dragons named for objects or their alleged attributes. It struck him as odd.
This DharSii stared at the old hatchling egg horn still perched between his nostrils for a moment, as if making sure of his eyes. Dragons usually lost their egg horn soon after hatching, but AuRon had fought the itch to rub it off and kept his, and it had saved his life in the hatching combat with his brothers.
Too small to be a weapon anymore, its only use of late was for aiming small, precise globs of fire for the amusement of his hatchlings.
“I am sorry if I alarmed you with my approach,” AuRon ventured. DharSii had impressive size, rugged scale, a keen, watchful eye, and healthy horns projecting from his crest, rather more outward and up than most dragons, almost in the manner of an ox. AuRon wouldn’t care to fight him.
“Care for some oliban to ease the words?” DharSii asked, extracting the tube from his mouth. He reared up and fiddled with a cylinder, put some quartz-like granules in his sii, and held them out to AuRon.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a distillate of rare woods to the south with a most relaxing aroma. The smell is more intense in liquid form, but it stores better as a crystal, even if the effect is diminished. The aroma is exceedingly pleasing, if you’ve never experienced it.”
The stranger had a fanciful way of speaking. AuRon wondered what hid behind the camouflage of words.
The stranger pinched some of his aromatic treasure into a nostril, grinding it between his claws. He gave a soft, satisfied snort.
“That rather washes the fatigues of the day away,” DharSii said. “Are you sure you won’t have some? Don’t worry, it’s merely a pleasant sensation. It doesn’t intoxicate like a shaggy mushroom or wishweed.”
AuRon wondered if it was some trick.
“No, thank you.”
DharSii put his cylinder away. “I’ve heard of you. A dragon named Shadowcatch told me about the rising against the men who were hatching dragons. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“He should have dragonelles do most of the fighting,” AuRon said, uncomfortable as always at the thought of people discussing him. “What is the Sadda-Vale?”
“The home of some distant cousins of mine. A remote spot in the north, east of the Red Mountains—you do know the Red Mountains?”
“You’ll fight a cold wind,” AuRon said.
