Dragonquest - Donita K. Paul [41]
“No, this is impossible,” answered Lee Ark with a smile. “Impossible creations spring from the hand of Wulder.”
Metta and Gymn teased Toopka by darting at her and shaking water-soaked wings above her head. They tired of the game long before the little doneel and took off looking for a place to sun themselves. They flew around the bare branches of a tree and chittered as if discussing this new oddity.
The rootup tree looked upside down. A dense bush surrounded the base. From the center, leafless branches reached upward, intertwined tightly. From a distance, they appeared to be a solid trunk. At the top, these limbs spread apart, just like a root system waving in the gentle breeze.
Toopka came dancing over the green grass, doing a shimmy every few steps to rid her fur of water.
“I like it here,” she announced as she grabbed her shirt and scrubbed her face dry.
“I like it here too.” Kale rested her hand on the pouch hanging from her neck. The egg within thrummed, reflecting her present mood.
By the time the sun slipped behind the Morchain Mountains, the party of travelers had settled in around a blazing campfire. Leetu Bends had taken the larger dragons off for a feed and returned to eat her own dinner cooked by Dar. Songs and stories followed the meal. Dar played a number of instruments with Metta’s cooing voice harmonizing.
The music fascinated Regidor. The meech dragon insisted on holding each instrument as Dar put it down and pulled another out of his bags. He concentrated on Dar’s every movement and mimicked him when he had a chance. Remarkably, he was soon playing accompaniment to every song Dar performed.
While Fenworth dozed against a pile of satchels and parcels, Librettowit and Lee Ark sang the words to the old ballads. Then they spun tales, trying to outdo each other in a good-natured rivalry.
At last Kale curled up in her bedroll. Though she was tired from the journey and the worrisome anticipation of entering Creemoor, her mind dwelt on an unknown mother and destructive spiders. She couldn’t banish the image of a beautiful, sad woman the evil wizard Risto had once shown her.
The woman looked like a queen sitting in a castle tower and gazing wistfully across the forested countryside. Risto had said the woman loved her, but Risto was full of lies. Kale knew what to expect from Creemoor spiders. She didn’t know what to expect from her parent.
Gymn snuggled against her cheek, but Metta could not relax so long as there might be another song. She skittered up and down Kale’s prone figure from her shoulder to her ankle.
From across the campsite, Toopka suppressed a yawn. She got up from the rock where she’d been sitting and came to Kale.
Kale held out the blanket, inviting the little doneel to crawl in beside her.
Toopka shook her head. “No, I’m not tired yet. It’s just the rock is hard. Can I sit with you?”
Kale patted the grass in front of her, and Toopka plopped down. She leaned her back against Kale’s stomach. The tiny child fit like a small puppy in the crook of Kale’s body.
“What kind of dragon will hatch?” asked Toopka, stifling another yawn and wiggling closer.
“I don’t know,” Kale whispered so as not to disturb Librettowit’s “Fable of the Fortunate Farmer.” She stroked the side of the little girl’s head where long, silky hair grew across her jaw line.
Toopka’s small fingers played with the edge of the blanket, pulling at a loose string. “You could ask Gymn and Metta. They might know.”
“No, they don’t.”
“You could ask Librettowit. He knows a lot of things.”
“I don’t think he can see inside an egg.”
“You could ask Wizard Fenworth. He’d know for sure. He can probably see into the egg and into tomorrow or even next week.”
“He might be able to, but he doesn’t answer questions very well.”
Toopka giggled. She leaned her head back against Kale. “I bet it’s a girl baby dragon. I bet it’s the kind that likes other little girls. I bet it’s not as smart as Regidor and not as hard to play with. I bet it’s a baby dragon who will want to ride with me most of the time ’cause you’re so busy.