Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [38]
She realized Dar had given her this same advice earlier. She looked up to see a familiar wide grin breaking over his face. She smiled back.
“The book said to let the dragon hatch out on its own. I can hold the egg, but not peel back any of the bits and pieces of the shell as they crack.”
“How long will it take?”
“Fifteen minutes to an hour and a half.”
“Time for another cup of tea.” He got up and went back to his cookstove.
Kale cradled the egg, intent on watching every moment.
A crack widened, and a wee bit of shell pressed outward.
“Dar, there’s a hole. A tiny hole.”
He looked up from dropping tea leaves into the kettle. “Can you see the dragon?”
Kale examined the grayish membrane exposed by the hole. “I think so.”
“What color is it?”
Is that the dragon’s skin? “I can’t tell.”
“I bet it’ll be green.”
Kale remembered what she’d read only the night before. The minor dragons had different abilities. All could fly. All could mindspeak with people. But some were fighters, some peacemakers, some masters of fire, some healers, and the list went on. The color of their scales indicated which subspecies they fell into. Thinking of the times she’d been healed by holding this egg, Kale nodded. “A healing dragon? Green. Yes, I think so too.”
Dar brought her a fresh cup of tea while she watched, but he didn’t hover over the egg as she did. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him go back to his cookstove. He poured oil into a small pot and, out of his provisions, made a soft dough.
Kale heard a sizzle. She lifted her eyes to puzzle over what he was doing. He rolled dough into a thin rope and dropped it into his pot. An aroma of sweet bread arose with another rush of furious sizzling. She had no idea what he was making. Her attention went back to the cracking egg.
“Dar, it just broke out a piece the size of my thumbnail.”
“Can you see the color now?”
Kale wrinkled her nose. “A dull green. Not nearly as pretty as your Merlander. But the book said the color will brighten after it hatches.”
Dar brought her a tin plate piled high with finger-sized crispy bread. She took it absent-mindedly, placing it on the leafy floor beside her. She put one of the skinny fried sticks in her mouth.
“Mmm, this is good,” she said, but her eyes were still on the egg cupped in one hand.
“Fried mullins,” said Dar.
Kale nodded.
“Granny Noon gave me the recipe.”
Kale nodded again and took another bite. Dar shrugged and walked back to his improvised kitchen. She noticed he looked dejected when he sat down and pulled out his harmonica.
“I’m sorry, Dar. They really are good.”
Dar chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, Kale. It’s only right that your attention is on the hatchling. Let me see if I can come up with a tune suitable for the emergence of a minor dragon.”
He placed the wide instrument to his lips and blew a reedy scale, then settled on a stately melody known as “The Dragon Dance.”
Kale watched as another piece of the egg broke away. Anxious not to drop the baby should he suddenly tumble out, she placed her other hand beside the one holding the egg. The dragon’s head pushed through and slid across her wrist. Its wings emerged and then tiny front legs. It rested. Kale watched it take a long breath and let it out. Another and another. Then with a jerk, its hind legs kicked the shattered shell away.
“He’s out,” she whispered. “He’s out.”
With eyes still closed, the baby dragon rubbed his ridged chin over Kale’s skin. She cradled him with one hand and picked away the bits of discarded shell with the other. Soon she felt the familiar thrum she recognized from when the dragon had first quickened in the egg. It lay in her hand, gently stretching, rubbing its scaly skin against her roughened palm. It twisted on its side and then its back, seemingly trying to move every bit of its hide into contact with Kale’s hand.
As she watched, the gray-green color took on a richer hue. Shades of emerald green appeared on its back. Lighter, brighter shades lined its sides. Its underside glistened with the pale green of a new leaf. She marveled at its