Black Scales III

It's amazing how much braver you can be when there isn't a fire-breathing monster nearby. Orla took a good look at the girl, who didn't look like a dragon at all. She'd scrambled up on a nearby rock and was staring down at Orla, hefting a large stick in her hand.

It could have been like looking in a mirror, if ever either child had seen a mirror. Both barefoot, with tangled hair, and grubby cheeks. Their clothes would have been mis-matched if they hadn't been so drab, and they'd been patched and handed-me-down so many times they were almost more patch than anything else. The girl wore trousers, like Orla, and they were turned up at the bottom, just like Orla's were. Maybe she has a brother, too.

Orla found her voice.

"Aren't you scared?" she wanted to know.

"Scared?" The bigger girl drew herself up straight and lifted her chin. "What of?"

Orla considered that a wildly stupid question, and went back to staring. The dragon-girl was taller than she was, and stronger. And either dull-witted, or perfectly mad. Orla felt as if she'd come face to face with a wild animal, and didn't know what it might do next.

Having sized Orla up, and decided she was no threat at all, the dragon-girl lowered the stick, sat down and swung her legs. The heels of her filthy feet drummed against the stone.

Is she stupid? She must know she is too old to be here. I shouldn't be here, and she's older than me. The dragon will eat her, sure as anything.

"Do you live round here, then?"the wild girl asked.

This sounded just as stupid to Orla. Where else would she live?

"Yes," she said slowly, still staring.

"So do I, now." The dragon-girl looked round, and wrinkled her nose, unimpressed.

"Why?"

"Because, that's why. Anyway, I have to take care of my brother."

"Isn't he older than you?" Orla frowned, puzzled.

"No. But I'm sure he'll be bigger than me someday. A lot bigger, actually. Anyway, brothers can be bigger or littler. Didn't you know that?"

Both girls thought the other to be slow-witted.

"Sure I know it," Orla said, "But you're wearing his clothes aren't you?"

"No," said the girl again, "I'm wearing my clothes. These are my clothes, see? I'm wearing them. They're mine." She plucked at the fabric, and spoke slowly, to accommodate the poor idiot she was talking to.

"But they used to be somebody else's," Orla pointed out. "Didn't they?" The other girl narrowed her eyes.

"Sure. Everything used to be somebody else's."

She got up and jumped down, landing in a light-footed crouch. Orla would have been nervous to jump off something so high, but she doubted that the dragon-girl was ever nervous about anything at all.

The girl poked at the small fire near the cavemouth, the one that had made Orla think the dragon must be lurking or napping close by, and then straightened up with a satisfied nod. She stood straight and still for a moment, as if listening.

Maybe she hasn't forgotten about the dragon after all.

"Come on in," she said, as if this were her doorstep and Orla a visitor.

"What if it comes back?"

The girl cocked her head, and gave this some thought. "I don't think so. Not for a while." The girl vanished into the gloom of the cave, and Orla followed her, putting an arm over her nose and mouth again. The acrid stench was worse than ever.

How can she stand it?

"You can sit anywhere," the girl offered, with a magnanimous wave of her arm. Orla peered around. None of the rocks looked especially comfortable. Anyway, being on her feet would make it easier to run.

The girl shrugged, and then sat hugging her knees, looking all around the cave, like it was new to her, too. Or as if she was looking anywhere but at Orla. Again, she'd chosen a rock that gave her a vantage point.

"Where are you from then?" Orla asked.

"I told you, I live here," the girl said, pulling her shoulders back, and looking right at her again.

"Where were you from before," Orla pressed, partly out of nosiness, but mainly for something to say.

Dragon-girl shrugged. "A long way. North. But, afore that, I don't know. Could have been here. Could have been anywhere." She paused, and then set a shrewd stare on Orla. "Why're you here?" she asked. She was still holding her stick. Her nails were badly bitten and very dirty.

"Looking for scales," Orla said. "A few years ago, they worked out the dragon that lives here di'nt usually eat children. Long as we don't get too close." She looked around again, before continuing, "So we fetch the scales, see, and then the grown ups can trade those, or make things to sell. Potions, you know. Or jewellery. Armour. Anything, really."

"Huh," the girl said. "Bet you'd do anything to get your hands on an egg."

Orla's heart hammered. Bringing home a dragon egg would change her whole life. She let herself imagine it for a moment, da's face, and his pride when he told people... Having new clothes. And a pair of shoes, and a full belly...

"Well," the wild girl added, "You can't have it, so that's that. If you try to take it, I'll kill you, like I said. But you can look at it if you want. No harms in looking, is there? Then you really should go. Else you really will get toasted and eaten. I mean it."

She led Orla to a crude hearth at the back of the cave, where the egg lay at the heart of hot embers. The upward-facing part of it was black and shiny. Orla had never seen obsidian, but that's what it looked like, except that it had a faint pattern traced on it, reminiscent of scales. The part that was nestled deep in the fire looked opalescent. Orla couldn't tear her eyes away, and unbidden, her hand reached out to touch the jet surface.

She yelped in pain, clutching that hand to her chest. The dragon-girl pressed the end of her stick to a spot just below the hollow of Orla's throat, and gave a shove.

"Don't do that again."

"I wasn't going to take it!" Orla protested. "I just wanted..." She trailed off. Wanted what?

"I should of let you try," the girl said, lowering her stick. "You'd have burned your hands right off."

"I wasn't going to take it," Orla repeated, "Really I wasn't, I only came here looking for scales."

"He's not an it," the girl shifted her grip on the stick, not quite casually. "He's my brother. And you aren't to touch him."

"Alright," Orla agreed, rubbing her sore knuckles. "I'll just find a few scales, and I'll go."

The wild girl froze, eyes wide, and fear flashed a fin for the first time.

"No," she said, "You have to go, now. Now."

"I can't go back without any, he'll be so mad. I should stay here if I don't find any."

"You really shouldn't," the girl retorted. "Here," she thrust something into Orla's hand, and folded her fingers over it. "I know it's only one, but just go. I don't want to see you be toast, I really don't."

Orla tightened her grip on the gift, stammering her thanks, and stumbling towards the cavemouth. The scale was sharp in her hand, and blood was leaking between her fingers, but Orla was too grateful, and too frightened to care.

The morning sun was bright after the gloom in the cave. It had already climbed out of the lake. Da should still sleeping off the drink, but if she'd been missed, someone might have woken him. It was this, as much as the threat of an imminent dragon, that hurried her feet.

No creeping now, no squatting down to hunt through charred bone and rock, no worrying about how much noise she was making, or how the rough ground was making ribbons of her feet.

A rushing whoooosh behind her, and Orla nearly wet herself in fright. It's here! That's it, that's its wings, I'm dead, I know it!

But it didn't roar, or flame, and she felt no hot breath on her back. It must have been eager to get back to the Egg...

Orla gave no thought to the girl waiting in the Lair.

There was no one else around, not this close to the lake. All the other children had gone home hours ago. Relief teetered, like a wave, but she refused it. It would turn her to jelly, and she still needed to run.

The slimy warmth of her own blood slicking her fingers reminded her that at least she wasn't going home empty-handed. She could feel the size and heft of the thing slicing into her palm, bigger than she'd expected.

Heart hammering, feet screaming, blood dripping, Orla kept flying.

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Thank you for your patience! There is another instalment in the making.