Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [32]
Dar came over.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Yes,” admitted Kale.
He handed her a waxy bar. “Rub this on your face, hands, and ankles. It keeps the bugs away.”
Kale gratefully took the thick, sweet-smelling stick and scrubbed it over her exposed skin.
When she gave it back to Dar, she noticed his clothes.
“You changed.”
The doneel wore green trousers that hung loosely on his short legs. Over a crisp white shirt, a long emerald jacket flowed to his knees.
“I don’t like to wear the same thing at night as I did all day. I don’t sleep well in dirty clothes.” He sat cross-legged beside Kale and fingered the material of her cape. “This didn’t tear when you fell through the cygnot flooring.”
“No, but my skirt has big holes in it.”
Dar’s ears perked up. “Give it to me, and I’ll mend it.”
Kale stared at him.
“Really,” Dar insisted. “I like to sew. Many in my family are tailors.”
“Is that what you would like to be?”
Dar shook his head. “No. Unfortunately, I was born with the wanderlust. It happens sometimes with doneels. If you have the spirit of adventure, it’s painful to have to stay in one place.”
“So that’s why you’re in Paladin’s service?”
“I’m an adjunct.”
“I don’t know what an adjunct is.”
“I am officially accompanying you and Leetu because the meech egg was stolen from the doneel region of Wittoom. I am not officially from The Hall.”
“Oh, I thought you were.”
“I know.” Dar looked over to where Leetu sat reading a book. She had a lightrock in her lap, and the glow lit both the pages of her book and her face. He picked a broad leaf from the floor and bent it back and forth in his hands. “Someday I hope to be accepted at The Hall as one of their warriors. But there is a prejudice against doneels. We are considered too fastidious. Our love of music is supposed to be at odds with a desire to fight for right.” He sighed and tossed the leaf away. “How silly!”
“I agree,” said Kale. “I’ve seen you fight against the grawligs, and you are a brave warrior.”
Dar winked at her and grinned. “But I do like to look nice.”
Kale smiled back. She leaned closer to whisper, “I like to look nice too.”
“Then give me your skirt, and I’ll fix it.”
Dar jumped up and turned his back.
Kale stood and untied the cord at her waist. When she removed the torn and stained skirt, the blouse Granny Noon had given her hung down to her knees like a nightshirt.
“Here,” she said.
Dar reached a hand back over his shoulder. Kale placed the skirt in his fingers and sat down as the doneel walked away. Dar’s skillful whistling drifted over his shoulder. Fiddlers had played the same elaborate tune at the River Away Tavern. The sound reminded her how far she had come in such a short time. Her old home seemed a different world to her now.
Will I ever get to my new home?
Reaching into a hollow in her cape, she pulled out her lightrock and one of the books Leetu had given her at Granny Noon’s. The Care and Feeding of Minor Dragons.
The first chapter described the different types of dragons, their nesting habits, and the expected hatching patterns. Kale identified her eggs as those of minor dragons. These creatures would hatch thirty-three days after they had “quickened.” To quicken a dragon egg, a warm-blooded creature must provide nurture. As Kale read, she realized she had done this with the first egg. By placing it in a pouch and hanging it next to her skin, near her heart, she had quickened the embryo inside.
Two weeks? With careful fingers, she touched the spot where her blouse bulged slightly from the egg pouch underneath.
I found the egg and showed it to the village council. Then they had to think and talk and think some more and talk some more to decide what to do. That took three days. I traveled for twenty-seven days. I spent