“I’ve been worrying about how we’re going to feed our dragons. I think the dragons can find some food for themselves. Dead stuff should be easy for them, and maybe big fish, too. Or big dead fish, that might be easiest of all for them. My Heeby likes fish, and she doesn’t much care if she gets it alive or dead.”
“Heeby. Is that her real dragon name?” Tats had suddenly appeared behind Rapskal. He had his pack already loaded and on his back. He’d shaved, too. So he’d been awake for a while. He didn’t shave often, only about once a week. Thymara had seen him do it once since they’d left Trehaug. He didn’t seem very confident of his technique; he crouched with a small mirror balanced on his knee and scraped carefully with a folding razor. It had surprised her to see him shaving; she had realized then that she still thought of him as more boy than man. She glanced over at Rapskal. She supposed that she thought of all of them as boys still, with the possible exception of Greft. Rapskal, she realized, was probably close to her own age. Not a boy at all, really. Until he spoke.
“No. I don’t think Heeby had a name before I got here. But she likes me and she likes the name I gave her, so I think it’s going to be all right.” Rapskal suddenly halted where he stood. Then he smiled indulgently. “Rats! I thought about her too loud and waked her up. I’d better eat fast and get over there. She’s hungry. And I got to tell her again that today is the day we’re going up the river. She forgets stuff pretty easy.”
He crumpled his blanket up and stuffed it into his pack, then looked around the area where he’d slept. He snatched up his extra shirt, pushed it into the top of his pack, and then said, “Time to eat,” and headed off to the main campfire. Tats and Thymara watched him go.
“I think Rapskal and Heeby are pretty well matched,” Tats observed with a smile. He stooped down and picked up a stray sock Rapskal had dropped. “I wish he weren’t so careless,” he added more soberly.
“Give it to me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“No, I’ve got it,” Tats replied easily. “I’m headed that way anyway. You’re right. We’d better enjoy our last easy meal.”
Thymara put her neatly folded blanket into her pack and did a quick check of the campsite. No. She hadn’t forgotten anything. All the others were beginning to stir. Greft, she noticed, was first in line by the porridge pot. She’d watched how he ate; he’d be fast and get a second serving before some of the others had even had a first one. His bad manners annoyed her even as she wondered if she were a fool for not copying him. A couple of the boys had started to do so, over the last day or so. Kase and Boxter imitated him in most things, she’d noted. It made her uneasy to see them trail after him now, food bowls brimming. When Greft sat down to eat, they squatted to either side of him. She was surprised to see that Nortel had a black eye and a bruised face. “What happened to him?” she asked.
“Got in a scuffle with one of the other lads,” Tats said briefly. “What’s going to become of the unclaimed dragons?” Tats’s question distracted her from staring at Nortel.
“What?”
“There are two dragons who don’t have keepers. You must have noticed.”
Food bowls in hand, they fell into line behind Nortel and Sylve. The girl immediately turned to join the conversation. “The silver one and the dirty one,” she filled in.
“I think if he were cleaned up a bit, he’d be copper,” Thymara mused. She’d noticed them. She’d almost chosen one of them when it looked like Skymaw was going to refuse her. “They’re both in bad condition,” she added, and then forced herself to voice what she knew they were all thinking. “Without keepers to help them along, they won’t last long on this journey. I’m not even sure they’ll follow us when we leave. Neither one looks very intelligent.”
“You’re right about that. I saw the silver snuggling up to the barge last night, as if it were another dragon. It’s not there this morning, so maybe it figured it out. Still. Not very intelligent. But I doubt that the Cassarick Council will allow us to leave any dragons behind,” Tats said. “If we did, I suspect they’d both be dead within a week. Somehow I doubt they’d continue feeding them once we were gone.”
“That’s mean,” said Sylve. “They’ve been stingy and cruel to these dragons for a long time. My poor Mercor says he can’t remember a time when dragons were so badly treated by humans or Elderlings.”
