Myia had tasked him with speaking to the matron ahead of introducing the children to a bunch of curious dragons, but she had failed to specify when he had to have that discussion. So K’lter put it on his list, then promptly moved it to the bottom of said list.
There were a lot of preparations to make prior to inviting a bunch of dragons from around the Nexus to meet these wayward children. He had to find accommodations for the dragons, their entourages, the non-dragon related families just interested in perhaps adopting a child. Plus they had to be fed and entertained during their stay. Then there was travel to arrange. Wings to call up for extra transport. New training regimes to lay out. Thankfully Saiuun had a handle on that once K’lter explained his grand scheme. All in all, the head search rider of the Warren was kept quite busy with his pet project.
When the dragons began arriving, he discovered a hundred little tasks that he hadn’t thought to take care of before. All of a sudden, his list doubled. When the families began to arrive, even more little wrenches appeared in the works. All in all, K’lter did not stop moving for a good couple of weeks while putting everything in its place.
Finally, after days of scrambling and fixing and rewording, he was ready. The dragons were ready. The families were ready. It was high time to make the introductions.
And then K’lter remembered the last thing on his list.
He left a note for Myia, knowing his sister would come looking for him to ensure he’d done his duty. All was in order, the note said. Nothing to worry about. K’lter and Penorith were in the air at dawn, rushing to get to the orphanage before anyone else woke.
Mist still curled off the dew-damp grass as Penorith winged to a landing outside the long, low orphanage with its red door. Smoke rose in lazy spirals from the chimney at one end of the building. Someone was already up and evidently baking bread, based on the delectable smells wafting from the open windows.
There were no sounds of children in motion at this early hour. Even the youngest with their seemingly endless energy would not wake before the sun lit the sky. K’lter only hoped that the matron was not the sort who enjoyed sleeping late.
The tall, broad-shouldered man stood on the stoop and adjusted his riding leathers. He’d put on fresh clothes that morning, but he still felt woefully under dressed for the monumental task that lay before him. Still, he straightened his sleeves and adjusted his collar, cleared his throat and ran a hand through his short, red hair, then he put a calloused knuckle to the door and knocked.
The sound broke the stillness of the morning like a thunderclap, ringing out so loudly that K’lter winced and made his subsequent knocks much quieter. Then he put his hands behind his back and waited, straining to pick up the faintest of sounds from within.
Nothing. For the longest time, nothing. Then the soft shushing of slippered feet on old, creaky floorboards.
K’lter straightened his spine as sharply as he could manage and lifted his chin, then dropped it, then lifted it again. He didn’t want to be intimidating, but he needed to look formal. Less formal. More approachable.
The door opened the barest crack, allowing warm, golden light to spill out over the stoop. A tall, narrow figure filled the gap and banished the light. Shrewd eyes set over a hawkish nose narrowed at K’lter. A shrewd mouth pulled taut into a downward curve.
“Good morning, ma’am,” K’lter said in the polite tone of deference he’d been practicing in the mirror. “My name is K’lter, rider of blue Penorith-”
The door shut in his face, pinching off the end of his sentence.
::That went well. Myia will be pleased that you smoothed the way for us.:: Penorith’s sky blue threads of thought wound around his mind, warming them with his amusement.
K’lter did not give his bond the satisfaction of looking back at him as he cleared his throat again, straightened his jacket a second time, and repeated his triple knock.
This time, the door opened immediately, but only half as wide as the last time. Just enough for K’lter to see a single, dismissive eye aimed in his direction.
“Go away,” hissed the voice from within.
“By order of Their Graces of Lanutha, I have been tasked with speaking to you,” K’lter said, hating himself all the while. Good way to win her over. Name drop immediately.
Though he disliked the method, it had the desired effect. The silhouette behind the door wavered, then opened the barrier just wide enough to fit her narrow frame into the breach.
K’lter hadn’t gotten a good look at the matron the last time they’d done a fly-by of the orphanage, but he recognized her all the same. Despite the early hour, she was fully dressed in a high-necked, ruffled coat with antiqued brass buttons down the front. She had a frame that appeared to disdain nutrients just as she disdained dragon riders. She was tall and narrow and sharp at every edge. Sharpest of all was her frown, which looked to be tugging the rest of her face into an avalanche of deep lines and disapproving contours.
“What do you want, dragon rider?” She demanded.
K’lter felt like a child all over again before the might of that glare. Despite being a good head and shoulders taller than her, she grew to giant proportions in his mind’s eye. And no matter how straight he stood, how well he enunciated his words, he would never be good enough to turn that disapproval into something else.
Warmth nibbled at the edges of his childhood panic. It wrapped around him and filled his thoughts with memories of summer breezes and cloudless skies. It reminded him of all he had accomplished over the years, not the least of which was bonding a dragon that loved him now as fiercely as he had loved him the day of his hatching.
K’lter let out a low, shaky breath and dipped into a hesitant bow.
“May I assume you are the matron of this establishment?” He asked.
“You may,” she replied curtly.
“A few weeks back, one of my riders pointed out your domicile as the location of someone, or multiple someones, with great potential.”
“I will say now what I said to you then,” the matron cut in. “Children are not pets. They need families, not a flying lizard. You may not take any of the children away from here.”
K’lter hesitated while his brain processed the many different directions in which he could respond to that statement. For one, she’d never spoken to him directly. For another they were in agreement about the requirement for families. Finally, once the dragons showed up, she wouldn’t be able to stop any willing bonders save by tying them down. Which he didn’t suspect a prim and proper woman like the matron to be willing to do.
Once he had his head wrapped around her statement, he cleared his throat for a third time and smiled.
“You and I are in agreement about the need for families. Which is why I have been sent to offer you and your charges an opportunity. Should any of them show an inclination to bond, they will paired with willing families that have already been vetted at the Warren-”
“What do you mean already vetted?” The matron demanded. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and K’tler realized he’d screwed up.
“Uh… well… that is to say,” he stammered.
::She is no threat to you,:: Penorith whispered into his mind.
“Ma’am,” K’tler said, recovering his composure with a brisk tug of his jacket. “Talent such as the collection we’ve found in your orphanage doesn’t happen very frequently. The authorities of the Order of Lanutha have already met and discussed this finding. We would like to extend an invitation to you to participate in the scouting of your charges, with the understanding that they will be placed with families and communities that are prepared to care for them, and that they will receive an all-expenses paid education at the Warren prior to venturing off for their new homes.”
“Venturing off.” The matron clipped the two words into separate sentences.
K’lter winced and hoped it wasn’t too noticeable.
“And where do you think my charges will be venturing off to?” She demanded.
“The dragons that have shown an interest in your charges are from other worlds around the Nexus. Allies of Tris’Hath-”
“I truly do not care if they are the kings and queens of the universe,” the matron said in clipped tones. “I do not care if they have an entire retinue prepared for the ridiculous notion of showing up here and claiming a child. There is a protocol to be observed. There is a process. Absolutely no one will be leaving this building without my say-so, and what I say is no. Good day, sir.”
The matron began to shut the door. K’lter scrambled for words that would stall her. It was at that moment that the dragons began to arrive.
They appeared in the sky as a rainbow of colours and origins. Blues and greens and golds dotted across the orange horizon with their spikes and fins and sails and all other manner of adornments. K’lter could name their origins with a glance, but he didn’t dare glance back. Not while he watched the matron’s face morph from stony rejection into dumbstruck awe. No doubt she’d never seen so many dragons in her life.
With the dragons came the riders. Most of them were not bonded to the beasts they rode. In fact, most of them rode two or three deep, clinging to the actual rider, who could be identified by their leathers and helmet and armband.
As the dragons landed one-by-one, the rider-laiden ones dropped one shoulder to the ground to let their mounts climb down. That left the unladen ones, those wearing white shawls draped around their necks and shoulders, to separate themselves from the rest and shuffle together into a cluster of curious, bobbing heads.
K’lter drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He armoured himself in the warmth and presence of his bond. He counted to three, and then he spoke.
“That’s too bad. Because the dragon always knows its rider.”
From within the confines of the orphanage, a cry went up. One of the children had woken early. One of them had looked out the window to see an array of dragons arranged across the lawn. One of them had cried out in delight or surprise or possibly both, and from that cry came others. First one, then three, then many. Soon the cry of ‘dragons’ ran up and down one wing of the orphanage.
The matron looked back at her domain, then at K’lter, then at the dragons beyond. Through her expression, K’lter watched the quick calculation of how to deal with this new development. It didn’t take her long to settle on a course of action. The door slammed in his face. This time, K’lter did not try to change the outcome. He turned and faced the gathered party, and looked to his bond. Penorith ducked his head sheepishly.
::It would appear,:: the dragon said in his most apologetic tones, ::that someone saw us leaving this morning and gave up the call to ready the candidates, as it were.::
K’lter looked between the expectant huddle of dragons and his bond.
::And the shawls?:: He asked.
::Ah. Yes. I may have sent those on ahead,:: Penorith replied.
K’lter drew in yet another stabilizing breath. He held it in his chest, willing the air to calm the vibration of his nerves. This effort was not aided by the sudden commotion beyond the doors.
K’lter closed his eyes and listened. He heard the matron’s voice, stern and clipped. He heard a cacophony of arguing voices, some of them deep and bassy, some feminine, some young and high-pitched. He heard one rise above the others, matched by the matron’s increasingly shrill protests. He heard a scuffling of feet, a thud, a splash, and then the door flew open. K’lter whipped around to see the red door disgorge itself of its precious treasure. One of the older children stood against the door, flattened to it like a squashed bug, with a cheshire grin spread across his face. He twirled a small, narrow tool between two fingers as his brothers and sisters in orphanhood streamed past him.
The youngest ones came charging out first, screaming in delight to see all the dragons lined up before them. A few looked hesitant, slightly frightened, but buoyed on by the joy of their companions, they didn’t dare slow down their run.
The older ones came afterward, some of them rushing to keep up with the younger charges and stop them short of running directly up to the dragons. Others strolling leisurely past the matron screeching and hollering at them to stop.
The matron, as it turned out, had been waylaid by a rogue bucket of washing water. Or perhaps it was a deliberately rebellious bucket of water. One of the orphans did look equal parts sheepish and pleased with herself as she skirted past the sputtering old woman.
The matron’s austere appearance had melted away like ice beneath a spring sun thanks to the deluge. Her perfectly coiffed bun had lost several strands of gray, stringy hair, which now clung to her neck and face like tentacles. Her makeup, so artfully done as to be unnoticable, now ran down her cheeks and from the corners of her eyes. Her dress had suffered worst of all, staining the already dark material to a muddy black and drowning the ruffles along the edges.
“All of you, get back here at once,” she screeched.
Some of the younger ones came to a halt and looked back at their stand-in parent figure, suddenly unsure. K’tler felt a pang of pity for them, remembering that need to follow authority. He had no need to step in though, since one of the girls chose that moment to let out a squeal of delight.
The young woman stood before a blue dragoness with her white shawl draped artfully around her neck. On the dragon’s back, tucked between her folded wings, sat a host of small, dragon-like creatures with long, spiny fins and fish-like tails.
“Blessed gods, you are all too cute,” the girl squealed again. She had a nest of dark, tight curls atop her head and skin the colour of burnished oak. Her clothes were simple, well worn leathers and cloth of dark mauve and brown.
One of the dragonders curled on Yorthorpa’s back, a little green female, bared fangs and claws at the squealing girl. Another, bright red and nearly double the size of his sister, swatted at the green.
::We are not trying to scare them,:: he said.
::I wanted to see if she would be scared. If she’s scared, she’s not for us,:: retorted the green.
The girl made another high-pitched sound of delight and bounced in place.
“Oh, that was absolutely terrifying. I love it. Can you all do that?”
The dragonders looked at each other, and one by one crawled slightly further out onto Yorthorpa’s shoulders. As one, they bared fangs and claws and hissed as ferociously as their little bodies could manage.
The girl responded with another squeal of joy and bounce.
“Fantastic,” she cooed. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you lot like the water, do you?”
The dragonders looked at each other, then up at Yorthorpa. It was the blue dragoness her bent her head and touched her thoughts to the girl’s.
::The dragonders are water creatures. We live in a cave overlooking the bay. I am Yorthorpa, by the way.::
“Brilliant. My name’s Marisol, and I’m a pirate.”
“Marisol,” the matron hollered. “You get away from that dragon this instant.”
Marisol’s delighted contenance soured in an instant. She was an expressive girl, and she wore her emotions like some people wore hats. Pivoting on her heels, she directed a glare at the matron.
“Pirates don’t take orders from sodden old biddies like you.”
The matron sucked in a breath and pursed her lip into a line so thin, it could have threaded a needle.
“For the last time, Marisol, you are not a pirate. You are a troubled young lady who needs-”
“I am a pirate. Just like my mother was a pirate. I don’t need or want your help. I want to be free.”
Marisol took a step back toward Yorthorpa and tilted her head back to look up at the dragoness.
“Could I do that with you lot? Be free? I’ve never had a dragon in my head before, but you feel natural. Like a soft, fuzzy blanket for my brain. And your little ones are cute enough to kill for. I’ve not felt at home with anyone since my mum… since before I got here. You feel like home though. Is that okay?”
Yorthorpa bent her head and nuzzled the girl’s cheek, and Marisol responded by wrapping her arms around her snout.
::This one is ours:: The dragonders hissed in unison as they crawled down to perch on Marisol. ::You may not have her back.::
The matron’s mouth dropped open in a disbelieving gape, then snapped shut hard enough to make her teeth clack. K’lter tried not to gloat. He really shouldn’t gloat.
“The dragon knows its rider,” he said.
The matron’s wrath turned on him in an instant. Her face suffused with colour, filling out her cheeks and temple and neck with bright blotches like unfolding petals.
“This is not a joke,” she snapped, once again enunciating each word into its own sentence. “Adopting a child is not as simple as showing up and saying you’ll give it a go. Nor can you just drop a bunch of families on our doorstep and expect the children to hop on the nearest dragon to shoot off to a new life with someone they’ve never met before. Winnifred, get down from there!”
The last was a cry of exasperation directed at a young girl with pigtails who had just hopped onto the back of the nearest dragon. Now that Marisol had broken the dam, the rest of the children were not so hesitant to approach their winged visitors. Some had even ventured over to meet the families brought in from other worlds.
“I think,” K’lter said in a measured tone, “that you and I want the same thing for them.”
He waited for the matron’s ire to cool, for his words to penetrate her flustered focus on the children. When her brows came together in confusion, he continued.
“These kids deserve good homes. They also deserve to reach their full potential.” K’lter lifted his chin in the direction of the dragons. “If they have the potential to do great things with someone who will never leave their side, shouldn’t they be allowed to do that?”
The matron scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“You have provided absolutely zero guarantees that these dragons and their associates are reputable. Adoption takes time. They must be vetted. I categorically refuse to allow anyone to leave my care in the company of someone whose character I cannot speak to.”
At that moment, another dragon appeared in the lightening sky above the orphanage. The pale golden hue of her hide and her long, lithe frame were instantly familiar to K’lter. Senorith was also one of the largest dragons at the Warren, and so when she came into a landing, others moved aside to give her space.
Myia sat astride her bond, a mouse atop a cat. When Senorith bent a leg to assist in her descent, Myia leapt lightly from shoulder to limb to ground with the practiced ease of a gymnast. She moved toward K’lter and the matron with the single-minded focus of a missile and greeted the pair with a nod, and then a long stare at her brother.
“So how goes the bonding? I assume everything’s been smoothed over already,” she said.
K’lter grimaced.
“Oh gods, not another one of you,” the matron muttered. “Must I repeat myself again? No. There will be no adoptions happening today. Everyone must be vetted. The process must be followed. I simply cannot condone such irresponsible, spur of the moment frivolity when it comes to the lives and futures of these children.”
“Right, that’s about what I expected,” Myia muttered under her breath. She cut a quick bow to the matron and produced from the satchel at her side a rolled scroll stamped with the crest of Lanutha. “You must be Matron Marigold. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Myia, rider of Senorith, Matryonus of the Order of Lanutha. I am here as a representative of Their Graces, High Prince Aaron Audil, and High Princess Mystic Dragon-Audil. And with that mouthful out of the way, I present to you an official declaration that all of the entities presented here today, humanoid and dracanoid alike, have been vetted and vouched for by the throne, with all of the authority and assurances expected therein.” Myia held out the rolled parchment and waited for the matron to accept it.
The disheveled woman did, though not without pursing her lips to the extent that K’lter worried she might suck her face into itself.
“Thank you,” she said in a clipped tone that made the acceptance sound more like a curse. “I accept the will of our gracious monarchs. Though I would still kindly request the authority to interview the adopters myself as well.”
“That was to be expected,” Myia said, undeterred by the ice directed her way. “There’s even a provision for it in there. Their Graces also send their apologies for not being able to attend in person, but they have Nexus matters to attend to.”
“I suppose then that I have no choice but to let this…” the matron waved a vague hand at the mingling children and dragons, “scene continue.”
“So glad we could come to an agreement,” K’lter said with a smile. Then immediately winced as Myia drove an elbow into his side.
“I’ll arrange to have the families come introduce themselves. The dragons will wait until later,” Myia said. She slipped an arm around her brother’s elbow, smiled, bowed slightly, then tugged him away from the still stewing matron.
For all her irritation and displeasure, the woman had the good grace to nod in turn to Myia, then hold her place slightly apart but watchful over the unfolding events.
“You’re lucky you have a sister on the council,” Myia said under her breath as she led K’lter back toward the gathering.
“I’m also on the council,” he countered.
“Mhmm. But not as high up as me,” she said in a sing-song tone.
“Are you going to rub my face in your station for the rest of our lives? It’s been decades already.”
“Consider it my sisterly privilege. And also payback for dragging your feet on meeting the matron. This could have gone a lot smoother.”
“Or she could’ve locked and barred the door before we even got here,” K’lter muttered.
“And here I thought you were a charmer. That’s what all those young, impressionable recruits talk about anyway. That and your handsome beard.”
K’lter flushed and tried not to look too flustered. He hated those rumours. Hated even more that everyone and their dragon knew about them and delighted in teasing him about his “eligibility” status.
“Oh look. Someone else has taken a shine to a dragon,” he said to refocus his sister’s mischievous attention.
True enough, another one of the orphans had separated themselves out from the group and stood before one of the dragons come in search of a bond.
The dragon, at that very moment, sported a hide of vibrant gold and blue. As bright and cheerful as the sunrise sparking across the sky. Yet as they watched, the dragon closed her eyes and sent her hide spiraling through a kaleidoscope of colours. Blues and purples and pinks and pastels and neons and all variety. In response, the young woman at her feet let out a peel of laughter and clapped her hands.
“Okay, okay. My turn,” she said in a soft, breathy voice.
She closed her eyes, errant red locks of hair drifting across her face, and pressed clasped hands to her mouth. Then, with a small utterance of some arcane words, she sent her own attire through a cascade of colours.
The multiple bands of cloth covering her front were already done up in a riot of pastels, but as she concentrated on her arcane workings, it began to morph. Each band flashed through a series of colours, starting out light and diving into deeper and richer hues, then back again. At the same time, her skirt shifted from pale blue to pale red to pale violet and back again.
“Belia,” the matron barked, bringing the girl’s concentration and her magical colour shifting to an abrupt halt.
The top and bottom of her outfit returned to their original pastel hues, and she jumped in a small circle to face the matron.
“How many times have I told you not to play with your arts without the proper training?” the matron demanded.
“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” Belia mumbled. She ducked her head low and tucked a rogue strand of red hair behind her ears. Then dared a glance up at the dragon hovering over her shoulder. Under her breath she added, “that was cool though, right?”
Meanwhile, Myia had detached herself from K’tler’s side to beckon forward the waiting families. A few looked already smitten with a handful of the orphans. Including a pair done up in fancy, futuristic black and white armour. The woman of the pair, though she looked little more than a teen herself, waved to a small, brown-haired girl who hung back on the edges of the larger group of orphans.She gave a bashful smile and small wave in response.
It was a heart-warming scene, and it might have reminded K’lter of happier times in their past had it not been for the horse-sized gryphon stepping into line behind them. He had only to spare a glance for the matron to see that she was not in the least bit pleased to see the large, feathered creature stepping her way.
“Uh…” K’lter said, jogging up to his sister and leaning down to keep his words for her alone. “I think one of them got confused.”
“Arinya is here to foster,” Myia countered. “She’ll go through the interview like the rest.” She continued to smile as she waved the gryphon forward.
The matron continued to scowl.
“I just worry we’ve already pushed our luck too far,” K’lter said.
“You haven’t met Arinya yet,” Myia countered.
Just then, one of the orphan boys let out a braying laugh, which was quickly picked up by his peers.
“Tch. Who’d want to go home with a bird brain?” He called out. Despite looking little older than thirteen or fourteen, the child had the appearance of someone who had seen the rougher side of life. A snake tattoo wound up one of his arms, and his thin, black hair was styled up in spikes atop his head. He sneered at the gryphon, delighting in the jeers of his compatriots around him.
“Prem, honestly,” the matron said. Her look of shock had melted away beneath a veneer of irritation.
“It’s alright,” Arinya cut in before the matron could further chastise the boy. She turned on her heels and stalked toward Prem.
Though his companions fell back, Prem held his ground. He folded his arms across his chest and struck a proud pose. A look which was not reflected in his eyes as Arinya towered over him.
“So you can speak. So what? That just means someone taught you some tricks,” he said with a short chuckle to himself.
“Tricks,” Arinya repeated, rolling the word over her tongue as if it was a new flavour. She lowered her head slightly, putting herself on eye level with Prem. “My rider, rest her soul, taught me manners. A lesson you might benefit from.” Arinya turned then, Prem dismissed from her mind as she sought the matron across the field. “I have an interest in this one.”
K’lter didn’t need to be a mind-reader to understand the morphing expressions crossing the matron’s face. Confusion, interest, and something guarded. Like a most cherished secret.
“He is a handful,” the matron called back. Then her eyes slipped over Arinya and landed on Prem. The ghost of a self-satisfied smile crossed her lips. “Or a clawful. Maybe you could do what I haven’t been able to.” She paused then, looking to the couple in the white armour and those beyond them. “If everyone interested in adoption or fostering could please follow me inside, we can begin to discuss the adoption process.” She paused again, and her attention landed on K’lter. “The proper way.”
K’tler tried to hide his grimace, but Myia chuckled beside him regardless.
It was not easy for Arinya to fit through the little red door of the orphanage, but by tucking her wings in tight and ducking her head, she squeezed herself through. For a little while, there was peace on the field.
K’lter watched the children mill about with the off-worlders, dragon and humanoid alike. It was an oddly serene scene, despite the rough start and the excited squeals of the children. Being a search rider afforded him few opportunities to attend the bonding ceremonies of those he found. He was enjoying this.
“It’s good work,” Myia said. At his look, she nodded to the kids. “You can’t always guarantee the kind of conditions kids get adopted into. You did good in finding all of these people.”
“I get the matron’s hesitance,” K’lter said after a moment. “She doesn’t know us at all. She’s really just looking out for the best for these kids.”
“You’ll win her over,” Myia said, giving his side a gentle nudge. “You always do.”
::Perhaps you could save your focus on the matron until later,:: Penorith cut in, his mental threads wrapping tight around K’lter’s attention and drawing it toward the cloudy blue dragon. ::For now, I may need assistance with one of these youths. He is attempting to bribe us with… fish.::
K’lter exchanged a look with Myia before heading in the direction of the Warren dragons.
There were a few of the off-world dragons huddled close to them. Those who had come with riders. Two in particular stuck out to him. One was a large, mottled brown with a disapproving expression pulling down the edges of his muzzle. The other was smaller and vibrant blue, but the patterning of her scales placed her as originating from the same world as her large, brown companion.
“Your offer is impractical and insulting,” the red intoned, staring down at his feet.
“Hush. It’s not that bad an offer,” said the blue female beside him.
“How does one young human boy expect to provide us with mountains of fish?” The brown countered. The way he phrased the words put quotes around “mountains” and disdain into his appreciation of fish.
“Fine. Sheep. Goats. Bones. Gold. Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. All you gotta do is get us out of here right now,” whispered back a young, insistent voice.
K’lter stepped through Senorith’s forelegs and half-hid behind Penorith. Just beyond his bond’s folded wings, he spotted a young, scrappy-looking boy standing in the midst of a forest of dragon legs. Behind him cowered a young girl. The same girl he’d spied waving to the couple from earlier. Though the girl shared a likeness with the boy in the brown of their hair and the lightness of their eyes, she lacked his courage and youthful belief in immortality.
The brown dragon curled scaled lips back from wickedly sharp teeth.
“I do not appreciate the attempt at bribery,” he said in a voice that rumbled with displeasure.
“Well nuts to you then. How about you?” The boy said. He turned and stared up at the blue dragoness with a defiant expression, chin jutting out proudly.
The blue dragoness chuckled in response.
“While I appreciate your offer, I must decline. Our riders would be upset if we just took off on them.”
K’lter cleared his throat and stepped out from behind his bond. He wasn’t about to let one of the children run off, with or without a dragon.
The moment the two youths spotted him, they flew into motion. The girl let out a squeak, her eyes doubling in size. The boy grabbed her hand and yanked her between the legs of the disgruntled brown dragon.
“Easy now,” K’lter said in what he hoped was a disarming voice. Judging by the way the boy backed up with his hand out before him, like he expected to hold K'lter at bay with sheer force of will, he did not succeed.
“You're not taking her,” the boy said.
“I'm not-”
“Don't lie to me!” The words roared out of the boy like a tidal wave. “All you adults are the same. Always making promises and then breaking them. I know you all like her better, but she's my sister. Nothing is ever gonna separate us.”
And for once, K’lter had no response.
It was as if the boy had sucked all the air out of his lungs to fill his own fury-laden rant. K’lter was transported back in time to his youth, where his own sister had made a similar declaration. That hadn't ended well for them.
“What is going on out here?” The matron's voice cut across the field,
K’lter came out of his reverie and stepped around the dragons to put himself in her line of sight.
“It's…” A brother trying to protect his sister. A child attempting to bribe off-world dragons. A dozen things he could have said. “It's nothing.”
“It looks like one of your children is trying to take off with another,” Myia said, throwing K’lter an odd glance as she did.
“Mayken, not again,” matron Marigold said. A heavy sigh followed her words.
She stood a short distance from the doorway, and behind her peeked the curious heads of the hopeful families. Many of them still waited within the orphanage, though they'd made room for Arinya to squeeze her way out.
Yet instead of the gryphon at her side, the matron turned to face the man and woman in white armour.
“As I said, he is a handful. His sister, however, is an angel. She's quiet and well mannered, but she speaks very little. She seems to be more at ease around her brother but he…”
Matron Marigold trailed off, her eyes sliding toward the knot of dragons once more. A few had stepped aside by then to reveal the two youths at the center of their huddle. As soon as they were exposed, Mayken wheeled around and pulled his sister toward an exit path between the brown dragon’s legs.
“Hey, woah! Penorith, stop them,” K’lter called out. Yes, he had been about to cover for them, but that was a moment of weakness. Running away rarely ended well.
Except in their case but that was a different story.
The lithe blue leapt into the air, buoyed himself up with a few flaps, then came down on the other side of the gathering. He crouched low and spread himself out as long as his small frame could manage. It was enough to at least stall the two kids. The other dragons fanned out, and soon they had formed a semi-circle penning them in.
Trapped and increasingly desperate, the boy wheeled around again. His face had taken on a blotchy red hue, and as he scrunched his features up into a mask of rage, he looked like nothing so much as a dried out tomato.
“You can’t take her away from me,” he roared. “We’ll run away again. Wherever you go, I’ll find her, and I’ll take her back. We’re family. Not you.”
“Mayken,” a soft voice cut through the growing chaos. The girl tugged at her brother’s shirt as tears welled in her eyes. “Mayken, stop, please. I want a family.”
“We’re the only family we need,” he shot back without taking his eyes off the matron.
“I want a home,” she went on, putting all of her heart into the last word. “I want a bedroom that’s all mine and toys and… and I want a mom and dad. Mayken, I won’t ever leave you, but I want a mom and dad.”
These words seemed to deflate the boy’s excitement at last. His body relaxed and he looked back at his sister.
“We’ll take them both,” Renee said into the beat of silence that followed.
Matron Marigold frowned and looked the woman in white over.
“Are you certain? He has a great deal of behavioural issues, as he’s already demonstrated.”
“We’re sure,” she said, looking up at Shep.
“A military home might suit him best,” the matron murmured, more to herself than her audience. “Very well then. I’ll finalize the paperwork.”
“You try to separate us and I’ll-”
“I know,” Shep interrupted, holding up his hands in surrender. “You’ll run away. But I’ll tell you right now, you’re wasting your time with Goose. You’ll have better luck with Osprey.”
The boy started, then scrunched his face up in confusion. He turned to stare up at the brown dragon.
“Your name is Goose?”
“It’s a fine name,” the dragon huffed.
“Yeah, for a bird.” Mayken let out a short laugh. Soon, the sound was echoed by his sister. They stood in the center of the field, hugging and laughing, as Shep and Renee walked over to join them.
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