A Sending of Dragons Read Free Page A

able to travel miles with neither hunger nor fatigue, and their sendings had matured to a deeper red. Sssargon and Sssasha, the names they had given themselves with the characteristic dragon hiss at the beginning, spent most of the daylight hours catching currents of air that carried them over the jagged mountain peaks. They were, as they called themselves, Jakkin’s and Akki’s eyes, a mobile warning signal. But they were not needed for scouting at night because there was nothing Jakkin and Akki feared once the true dark set in.
    â€œCome home. Come home.
” Jakkin’s sending was a green vine of thought.
    â€œ
Yes, come home.
” Akki’s sending, much weaker than Jakkin’s, was a twining of blue strands around his brighter green. Blue and
green, the braiding of the cooler human colors.
    â€œ
Come home,
” called the blue once again. “
Come home. I have much food. And I have a new song for you.
” The sending was soothing and inviting at the same time. The young dragons loved songs, loved the thrumming, humming sounds, especially if the songs "concerned great flying worms. Baby dragons, Akki’s thought passed along to Jakkin, thought mostly about two things—themselves and what they wanted to eat.

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    â€œT HEY’LL BE HERE SOON ,” Akki said in the sensible tone she often used when talking about the hatchlings. “So we’d better eat. You know how much attention they demand once they’re down—rubbing and coaxing and ear scratching.”
    â€œNursery dragons are worse,” reminded Jakkin. “They can’t do anything for themselves. Except eat. At least these are finding grazing on their own. And they groom themselves. And . . .”
    â€œThey’re still babies, though.”
    â€œSome babies!” Jakkin laughed and held his hand above Akki’s head. Sssargon’s broad back already came that high, and with his long ridged neck and enormous head, he was twice Jakkin’s height and still growing.
    â€œBig
babies!” Akki amended.
    They laughed aloud together and then walked to the pathway, where they sat down on the flat rocks that flanked the cave mouth. Akki shared out the bits of mushroom and then the berries. She had found three kinds: tart chikkberries, black and juicy warden’s heart, and the dry, pebbly wormseye. They washed the meal down with a cup of boil, the thin soup made from cooking the greasy brown skkagg grass of the high meadow. Boil was only drinkable cold—and then just barely. Jakkin made a face.
    â€œI still miss a cup of hot takk with my dinner,” he said. He wiped away a purple smear from his mouth, a trace of warden’s heart, and slowly looked up at the sky. A dark smudge in the west resolved itself into a dragon form. As it came closer, Jakkin stood.
    â€œSssargon come”
Sssargon always announced himself, keeping up a running commentary on his actions.
“Sssargon lands.”
    His wings stirred the dust at the cave mouth, and for a moment obscured his landing, but Jakkin knew it was a perfect touchdown. For such a large and clumsy-looking beast, Sssargon was often quite dainty.
    â€œSssargon folds wings.
” The great pinions swept back against his sides, the scaly feathers fluttering for just a moment before quieting. Sssargon squatted, then let his large ribbed tongue flick in and out between his jaws.
“Sssargon hungers.”
    Jakkin went back into the cave and came out with a handful of wild burnwort, just enough to take the edge off Sssargon’s hunger and to quiet his pronouncements. Though Heart’s Blood’s hatchlings had begun to graze on their own in the various high meadows full of wort and weed, they hated giving up their ritual of sharing. Jakkin had to admit that he also hated to think about giving it up. He smiled tenderly at the dragon.
    â€œBig babies,” Akki whispered.
    Jakkin ignored her and focused on Sssargon.