Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [44]
The dust kicked up by Librettowit landed in her face, and Tipper sneezed. She took a moment to rub her tickling nose.
Bealomondore rested his hand on her back. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“I tied on a handkerchief.”
She turned to see what he meant. A bandana covered the bottom of his face, and his kind brown eyes peered out at her.
He pulled out another large, soft linen square and folded it into a triangle. “Turn around. I’ll tie it on.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you coming?” Librettowit called.
“Just a minute,” answered the other tumanhofer. He tightened the cloth before tying a knot at the back of her head. “You worry too much, Tipper. Relax and allow someone else to bear the responsibility.”
In her mind, she heard Rayn laughing. She brushed aside the little dragon’s obvious reaction to Bealomondore’s advice and spoke to the artist. “That’s hard.”
“True, considering the burden you bore while your father was gone.”
They continued their struggle to conquer the slope. Bealomondore stayed beside her and huffed a bit as he spoke. “Librettowit said something the other day regarding Wulder that really stuck in my mind.”
“Hmm.” Tipper didn’t care to encourage this topic of conversation.
“Librettowit said that every person uses something as a plausible reason not to hand over his life to Wulder. Everyone has a core of willfulness that he doesn’t want to give up. These reasons, or excuses, are vastly different in nature for each individual but very similar in purpose.” He changed his voice to sound like he quoted someone. “ ‘No one else will love me as much as I love myself. I will do a better job of looking out for me.’ ” Bealomondore put his hand on her elbow to steady her over some loose gravel. “And that’s a lie. Wulder cares more.”
“Are you saying you’re beginning to believe all this about their Wulder?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Not beginning. I’ve already decided to believe.” He paused, then went on in a tone that sounded like he wanted to justify his choice. “I’ve been puzzling over it for a long time, since I met your father in fact. And Librettowit’s assurance seemed to be the binding element.”
He paused to untangle his pant leg from a thorny twig. “I find it fascinating. That Someone, who made the sky and the sea, the land and everything we see, would take time off from His daily concerns to take an interest in me.”
“Oh, now that is impossible. I know for a fact that one cannot watch the cooks in the kitchen and the workers in the field, the well digger, and the laundry maids all at the same time.”
Bealomondore didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and Tipper felt a strange sense of satisfaction in having silenced him … and a peculiar disappointment.
They reached the highest ridge of their climb and stood. Tipper rubbed the small of her back and surveyed the wide expanse of waving grass.
“Do you see the sky, Tipper?” asked Bealomondore.
She pulled the cloth down before she spoke. “Of course I do.”
“Do you suppose the creator of the sky is bigger than the sky? Wouldn’t that be logical?”
Tipper rested her fists on her hips. “Provided you believe that someone made our world.”
“As an artist,” Bealomondore countered, with a sweeping gesture that included the vista around them, “I have no doubt that someone created all you see. There is no picture without an artist.”
Rayn turned bright purple and opened his mouth. A song of joy poured forth. In the way of minor dragons, no words formed within the melody, but Tipper heard exclamations of praise and gratitude that she had heard on the lips of the kimens and Librettowit when they sang. Sadly, Tipper realized her own voice would not harmonize smoothly with her favorite dragon’s.
She chose to coldly ignore the prompting to join in his song and sat down to change her boots to