The dragon egg shook.
Holt approached warily, at a loss as to what he should do. Rats scurried away from the egg, squealing shrilly to one another. The white scar across the shell had stretched tight and seemed close to bursting. A rattling sounded as the dragon inside rustled around, trying to break free.
And then it did.
There was a small pop, a crack and then a segment of the outer shell fell away. A slimy substance oozed out like raw egg white, and a tiny talon poked its way through. It flexed, as a baby might flex a little finger at the world.
Holt stood in awe, transfixed as the baby dragon began to demolish the egg, smashing the shell to pieces. Within seconds it was there before him. A new dragon to fight the terror of the scourge. But something was wrong.
He couldn’t say what caused this feeling, but it was something in the way the baby moved. Its head was turned away from him, looking at the rotting wood of the store house wall. Holt had never been to an actual hatching before, but he’d delivered food to young dragons in his time. They were always inquisitive, intelligent creatures, interested in everything around them. This dragon seemed confused.
Its color was unusual too; paler than snow so that even its scales were hard to discern. Two white stumps protruded where its wings would later grow. Holt had never seen a white dragon, nor heard of one. He wasn’t sure what magic type it was. Definitely not fire, nor emerald. Perhaps it was
linked to ice or storm? But such a unique coloring could make it a mystic dragon.
The baby gargled as it took in its surroundings. Then it began to thrash, and its cry became higher and more panicked.
Worried the noise would draw unwanted attention, Holt crouched down and made hushing sounds.
“Shhhh,” Holt hissed as he rummaged in the knapsack for a chicken leg. Most likely the baby was looking for food. “It’s okay. Over here.” He felt a bit silly talking this way to a dragon, as though it were a puppy on the street.
The baby pivoted ungracefully in the remnants of its shell, but even once turned around it still had a hard time focusing on Holt. Now he could see its face better, he thought he understood why. The dragon’s eyes were startlingly blue, like a clear sky on a crisp winter’s day. Yet its whites were milky, and it wasn’t looking directly at Holt. Rather the dragon focused on a point just past his elbow.
Can it see me?
Holt called softly to the baby again. The dragon moved its head from side to side evidently struggling to pinpoint the source of his voice.
It’s blind.
The realization struck Holt like a hammer blow. What had Brode said? Ysera had detected weakness in the egg and that was why the dragons wouldn’t want it to hatch. Was this the weakness? Blindness. Could this be linked to why the dragon was white as well?
Well if it can’t see me, I should go to it.
Still crouched, he shuffled his right leg forward. Immediately the dragon squawked again, wailing in its high, strained tone. It stumbled, slipped on the slime from its own egg, collapsed in a heap and squirmed in distress.
“I’m sorry,” Holt said desperately.
What was he to do? This was his fault. Guilt clawed at him and his heart sank. Well, it was done now, and the baby would need to be fed one way or another.
Clearly moving towards the dragon was no good as it couldn’t see him and was terrified by a larger creature moving in the dark around it. Holt could hardly blame it. So, he brought out the chicken leg from the sack and tore a small chunk free from the bone, hoping to attract the dragon over to him.
The baby ceased crying to sniff at the air instead. With the promise of food nearby it rallied, scrambling back up and smelled its way forward. The poor thing slipped again on its way to Holt, tumbling in a roly-poly towards him and landed spread-eagled upon its four short legs. But this time it was determined and got back up, sniffing for the chicken.
Very carefully, Holt edged his outstretched hand farther, holding the meat between his thumb and forefinger. The dragon stepped up, sniffed at the food, then at Holt’s fingers, and then back at the chicken. Then, in one quick motion, the dragon took a bite and began chomping away. It chirruped happily and took another bite.
Holt tore a few more pieces from the chicken and fed them to the dragon. It seemed to really like the poultry which made him think it might be a storm dragon – like Clesh – but it was too soon to say for sure. All dragons liked meat in general. They just got fussier and found their preference as they matured. Once the first chicken leg was gone, Holt decided to try the pork.
The baby leapt at this new delight. It attacked the meat so eagerly that it nipped Holt’s finger.
“Ouch!” Holt whipped his hand back and sucked on the wound. He tasted blood.
The dragon squawked and stumbled back. It was looking directly at him now, though its eyes were still off-focus, and it yelped little wails of worry. As if… Holt thought, as if it knows it did something wrong.
“It’s okay,” he told the baby. “I’m fine.”
It tilted its head at him but continued cooing lowly. Holt began to feel sensations that weren’t his own, much like when Ysera’s anger had hit him, although this was far lighter, like hearing your name called out over a great distance. He felt lost, confused, and frightened, but he, Holt, didn’t feel those things per se. He knew it was coming from the baby. The poor thing was so distressed that its fledgling core – if that’s what it was – was actually affecting him.
Another wave of guilt crashed into Holt. Maybe the Matriarch had a point? The other dragons wouldn’t like this. How could it fight the scourge if it couldn’t see? And how could it survive in the wild alone?
“It will be all right,” Holt said. He extended his hand again to the baby. “Come here. Follow my voice. It will be all right.”
Holt thought the dragon would be shy and back away. It didn’t back away, but it didn’t come closer either. Holt persisted.
“Come here. Come on. It’s okay.”
He spoke softly, encouragingly, and after a bit of coaxing, the dragon took a tentative step closer. When it reached Holt’s hand, he stroked it gently down its neck with one finger. The baby dragon shuddered at first, unsure of the new sensation, but soon began to relax. Its wails softened to contented sounds, and Holt began to pet it with his whole hand, just like he would a cat.
What am I doing?
Crouching was causing his legs to seize up, so he sat cross-legged on the ground. The dragon edged closer, and Holt fed it the rest of the chicken and pork. Once the meat was gone, it curled up into the crook of his arm and fell asleep.
Holt felt a warmth gather deep inside him, like the comforting sensation of drinking hot tea but constant, and somehow deeper than his bones. It collected just below his sternum; light and unobtrusive, and he couldn’t reach out to it or fully understand it. Then that nugget of warmth began to beat inside him.
Was this the dragon’s magic again? Was this normal?
All Holt knew for sure was that he would not be parted from the dragon now it was here. If they took the dragon, they’d have to take him. It wasn’t a rational thought but nor was the strange rhythm beating inside his chest.
Holt was sure of one other thing. He was in the worst trouble of his entire life.
