Dragonspell - Donita K. Paul [9]
I’m so tired. And I’m getting hungry. How long before they catch up to me? What if they lost that fight with the grawligs, and the grawligs catch up with me instead? What if…I’m so tired. My whole body hurts.
Kale sank down on the mossy bank. I’ll just rest a minute. She pulled the pouch from beneath her shirt and soon fell fast asleep with it tucked under her cheek.
The whistling first sounded like a double-crested mountain finch, but then a few too many high notes warbled at the end of the call. Kale’s eyes sprang open, and she sat up. A doneel sat on a log by the stream. From his finger, a string dangled over the edge of a rock into the water. His clothes were tattered but bright in hue between the smudges of dirt and blood. His whistle changed to the song of a speckled thrush.
Kale compared the look of this real-life doneel to the painted figure in the mural at the River Away Tavern. This whistling doneel sat, but she was sure if he stood, his little frame would not reach four feet. His tan and white furry head sat on a well-proportioned body. His large eyes hid under shaggy eyebrows that drooped down his temples and mingled with a long mustache. His broad nose stuck out like the muzzle of a dog, and his black lips met with hardly a chin at all underneath. Dressed in rich fabric of glorious colors, he was far more interesting than the blurry image on the dark tavern wall.
“Hungry?” he asked. Smiling, his face became round, half of it the huge mouth. Two ears covered with soft fur perched on the top of his head near the front. They twitched and turned as he listened.
“Only a little.” She had never talked to a doneel. Only mariones and a few kimens came to River Away. Kimens were smaller than doneels, but their bodies were much more delicate, almost wispy looking. They wore forest colors in loose, draping material. And a kimen’s face had what Kale thought was a more normal set of eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—although she had to admit she thought their raggedy haircuts and lack of eyebrows made them look perpetually surprised.
“You are very hungry,” said the doneel. His voice rumbled a bit over the words.
“I am?”
“Yes.” He nodded decisively. “When was the last time you ate?”
Kale remembered the bread and cheese Farmer Brigg had shared. “Yesterday noon.”
He jerked on his line and pulled out a brook dabbler, its scales silver on the belly, its back coal black, its fins the colors of a sunset.
“You’ve been battered by grawligs,” continued the fisherman as soon as he had his catch off the hook. “You fell down in a cave and healed yourself using magic.”
“I did?”
The doneel cast her a skeptical glance. “You did.”
“Magic?”
“The egg.”
“Oh.” Kale put her hand on the pouch. How much did this odd little man know about the dragon egg? All the questions that had disconcerted her as she followed the stream came back. What if this doneel meant to steal the egg? Did he also know about her new find? Surely, eight dragon eggs would be very valuable. How did he even know about the first? She hadn’t told a soul since leaving River Away.
The doneel stood and brushed off his torn and dirty pants. “My name is Dar.”
Kale stood as she had been taught. “I’m Kale.”
Again the doneel’s smile almost overcame his entire face. “Pleased to meet you.”
He crossed to a pack left on the ground and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Untying it, he revealed some flattened rolls. He handed them to Kale.
“Eat. The magic makes you think you aren’t hungry, but your body needs nourishment, especially when it has been busy repairing bruises and scrapes.”
Kale took the offering and sat again, this time beneath a borling tree. Dar gathered sticks and laid a fire while she ate. Kale watched him with suspicion. He whistled and hummed and didn’t seem to mind her silence. Kale had never been much of a talker. Slaves weren’t encouraged to enter into conversations. But the questions boiled inside her, and she thought she’d scream if she didn’t get at least some of the answers.
“Where did you come from?”
Dar crouched