Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He had forgotten the wolf had her scent and would recognize it when he came across it again. Like the red leaves Myron had explained, the wolf must smell scents left by Camilla. “How long ago?”

He asked with his mind, but must have spoken out loud because Henry said, “What?”

“Just thinking.”

The wolf sent an impression of a sun rising and setting. One day. That was good because he didn’t wish to catch up and encounter her again. She’d think he followed her and she would make more accusations. Better to move slow and let her gain some distance. Besides, Henry was struggling to move quickly and needed rest to heal.

In Henry’s condition, we should have stopped long ago. Shell said, “Hey, I’m tired. Do you mind if we find a place and rest for the afternoon? Dry our things?”

Henry took a few more steps and said, trying to sound reluctant and failing, “Okay, if you want to.”

“We can make up for it tomorrow.” Shell looked ahead and noticed an opening in the trees that might be a clearing. When they reached it, he found a small meadow not far from the river, and rocks placed in a circle with black ashes inside. A small pile of firewood lay beside.

The girl? He asked the wolf.

The confirmation contained a hint of humor of irony. It seemed to ask, who else?

The mid-day sun was almost hot, the sky clear. As Henry sat and rested, Shell took the time to empty his backpack and spread everything in the sun, including the three wet blankets. He removed all but the shirt that hid his dragon mark, spreading them to dry in the sun. He placed his boots there too, making a mental note to buy or trade for oil to soften and make them waterproof again.

He turned to Henry to help him undress and found the boy fast asleep. His clothing would dry in the sun, although not as fast. As he silently wished Henry happy dreams, like his mother, had taught him to do, he realized that he hadn’t been having the dreams of the night whisperer calling to him anymore. It hadn’t happened since he’d first encountered the red dragon.

Had the small red dragon been the one calling to him for all that time? Did it know it called to Shell? All Shell knew for sure about it was the adage of members of the Dragon Clan calling down dragons to help them when they were in trouble. Even though he had intended to take on the entire Smithson family, the rage that first seethed, then boiled over, had perhaps called the dragon to his rescue. The five of the farmers would have beaten him as senseless as they had beaten Henry, or worse, without the appearance of the dragon.

No, that was not completely true. If the dragon had not appeared, the wolf would have charged into the fray and probably done as much damage, or more. So, he somehow had two animal protectors. He pulled on pants that were dry and tucked his shirt, then spread himself out on his blanket, confident that the wolf would wake him, if needed, and surprised at the confidence he had in the animal after knowing it only a few days.

He slept until late afternoon. When he woke, Henry was still out, snoring softly. He gathered more firewood than would be needed for one night, but more was better than less. He cut a green stick and roasted venison that gave it a smoky taste and warm texture. At the river, he drank and went back to his backpack.

The pouch with the barbed iron hooks and thin, woven hand-line were one of his prized possessions. He carried a strip of venison to the shore, baited his hook with it, and tossed it into the water. It floated down with the current, sinking slowly.

He felt a slight tug on the line and reared back, setting the hook. He pulled in a perch, reflecting yellow and orange in the bright sunlight. Soon he had six of them, all small but the numbers would make up for that.

He rebuilt the fire just before dusk and used green sticks with the bark removed to skewer the cleaned and scaled fish. Henry woke, either from his movements from the aroma of him cooking the fish. Shell watched him painfully sit and asked, “How are you doing?”

“Better,” he winced when forced a partial smile.

He didn’t look better. The bruises had spread and turned darker colors, from pale yellow to the darkest reds and blacks. His one eye was still swollen shut, the cuts and scrapes on his forehead were scabbed over, and his nose bent slightly to one side. Shell knew he should try to move it back into place before it set in that position, but the thought of the pain it would cause the boy prevented him.

But if he did nothing, Henry might never breathe through his nose again. “Your nose is crooked.”

“Broken. You can say it.”

“You know.”

“I feel it grind when I talk or chew. It hurts all the time. But I intend to eat some fish.”

“I saw a boy get his nose reset one time about ten years ago.” Shell kept his eyes from giving away the rest of the story by looking out at the darkness as if there was something interesting out there.

“Did it hurt him?”

“Oh, yes. He screamed, but it worked. He said it hurt less right away after it was set, but he’d never want to do it again.”

Henry paused, his voice choked, and he said, “You didn’t have to tell me that last part.”

“A true friend would.”

A silence fell between them. Henry opened his mouth and worked his jaw, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Do you remember how it was done?”

“I think so.”

“Do it.”

“Henry, I’m telling you that the boy said it was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced, far worse than breaking it in the first place. Besides, I don’t know if I can do it to you. Make you hurt that bad, I mean.”

Henry held his nose between his hands, gently moving it from side to side and wincing. He said, “It hurts constantly, and probably will for weeks. After it heals, I will look crooked in the face, and it still might hurt.”

“I was going to offer, but I’m not sure I know how.”

“How did they do it before?”

“My father put his thumbs against each side the boy’s nose. Then he pulled down.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh does not tell of half the pain. He pulled hard as he set it. And he had to do it more than once to get it centered right.”

Henry was quiet as they watched the fire. He looked up suddenly, drawing Shell’s attention. “What if he pulled too hard and it got too long?”

Shell shrugged, not liking the thought and not trusting what words were about to cross his lips. Instead, he said nothing.

“That was a joke, but I can’t laugh.”

“Oh.”

“I want you to do it.” Henry sat still and drew a few deep breaths. “Tonight. Now.”

Shell stood and went to Henry. He gently touched his nose, but when Henry pulled back in pain, he said, “Maybe you should try. First, move it side to side. Just a little.”

Henry did, and the lower part of the nose moved easily through the swelling.

Shell said, “Okay, use your thumbs to start at the top and gently pull down, sliding your thumbs downward.”

The boy did as told. As his thumbs moved downward, the nose suddenly shifted position and changed shape. Henry moaned, and tears streamed down his face, but he said, “Almost. It already feels so much better, but it’s still not right.”

He moved his thumbs to the top of his nose again, ignoring the snot and blood flowing freely from his nostrils. The thumbs came down gently, and Shell saw the nose slightly shift again, and Henry looked up at him, a sort of bloody smile trying to emerge. “How do I look?”

“Not exactly great,” Shell laughed, “but better. How does it feel?”

“Not exactly great,” Henry said, using the same tone and words as Shell, “but it feels so much better. I can even get a little air through it. Probably half the pain just went away.”

“We should have done that sooner, I guess. Right after it happened.”

Henry tried cleaning himself, but with only one eye and the obvious pain he was still in, Shell said, “Here, let me get cold river water to help clean you, and maybe the cold will ease the pain.”

Shell used the corner of his blanket to soak up water and rushed back to Henry. It took four trips to get him reasonably clean, and the scrapes and cuts wiped, during which time Henry never said a word of complaint.

They ate the fish in silence.

Henry finally glanced up and said, “I’m going back there, you know. I have to.”

“To your farm? It belongs to someone else now.”

“No, to face Smithson. And his sons. I can’t just leave and let them think they can do this to me. Beat me and get away with it.”

The statement brought Shell to attention. So far, he hadn’t shared much of what happened after they beat Henry senseless and he lay in the mud. How much of the tale to share was a problem. How could he explain a dwarf dragon falling from the sky and attacking them and burning their house while a giant wild wolf ripped out the throats of their stock?

“Listen, I think you are about even with them. While you were unconscious, a few of them were hurt, most of their stock died, and their house burned. You will not have to go back and punish them.”

The boy peered at him with his one good eye. “You did all that?”

“I guess so,” Shell said, trying to make the explanation truthful but vague.

“Oh. I think I need to go to sleep, now.” The boy lay on his blanket and pulled the other over himself. He was asleep in moments, his face peaceful.

Shell remained awake, watching the fire and feeling guilty for not telling all he knew, and for not setting the nose sooner. The boy was exhausted.

The tingle of the dragon touch drew his attention. He realized it had been there for some time, but his mind had been elsewhere, and the feeling was slight but persistent. While he didn’t know where it was, but the dragon roosted for the night close to him. He shifted attention to the wolf that roamed the edge of the river. She had just caught a frog and ate it.

Camilla probably sat near a campfire much like his, perhaps along the same river. When she looked up at the sky, she saw the same stars and low smoldering clouds threatening more rain. His mood turned morose. He sat, thinking about the great venture he’d planned for a year or more, when the reality said there was no maiden to save, a wolf had attached herself to him, a pygmy dragon stayed close, and a boy he didn’t know was so beaten he could barely walk.

There was supposed to be beautiful women to save, dashing young men fighting for the rights of the world, and majestic dragons trying to bond with him. By now his name should be on the lips of thousands of the Dragon Clan. The warriors of Breslau should tremble at the mention of his name.

The wolf, lying a short distance away in the stillness of the night snorted, which sounded like a rude laugh to Shell. He pulled his blanket around himself tighter and watched the roiling clouds. At some point, he fell asleep.

He woke with the first hint of daylight. Instead of rebuilding the fire and rushing to depart, he lay awake and looked at Henry. The swelling had gone down measurably, especially around the nose and eyes, but the bruising had intensified. The colors all seemed to have darkened. In some way, the boy’s face appeared worse than after the initial attack.

But Henry slept soundly, and his body probably demanded sleep to recover or at least rest. Shell decided to forego any lengthy travel. The clouds still hung low and gray, and he wondered if the wolf could be persuaded to seek out any nearby shelter before it rained again.

The wolf touched his mind with the information that there would be no more rain today. How does he know that?

Shell climbed to his feet, stretch, and rebuilt the fire, using only a few sticks to keep it small, so it didn’t wake Henry. He gathered more wood and then reached for his hand-line. He quickly caught four perch, then one large bass, big enough to feed them both.

While cooking the fish, and lamenting over not bringing a few spices with him, especially salt, Henry woke. As he sat up, Shell noticed he now looked through one good eye, and the slit of the other, a vast improvement.

“Morning,” Henry said, barely moving lips that were cracked and scabbed. “I feel better.”

Shell kept the smile to himself. “Good. I’m not doing so well. I think the wet must have given me a cold or something.”

Henry’s eyes turned to the bass. “Nice one.”

“I thought it was going to break my line. Listen, would you mind if we stay here for the day? Give me time to recover?”

The face twisted into one of relief. “If you need to rest, that’s okay with me.”

The mental touch of the wolf said, exploring. Just the single impression, not the word, but Shell was beginning to ‘understand’ the wolf and the limited communication. It was trotting in its usual manner, not running, not walking with the long legs that almost seemed too long for its body, as it made the first of several expanding circles around Shell and the campsite. It found an inquisitive field mouse that leaped at the wolf instead of hiding. The action startled the wolf. The wolf jumped back, and the mouse leaped forward again. The wolf jumped to the side and sniffed the mouse before edging closer, then chasing it playfully. The mouse spun, and the wolf jumped away again.

They played like that for a few minutes, then the wolf left the mouse and that meadow and continued exploring. It was not hungry, didn’t kill for sport, and the entirety of the actions gave Shell the impression the wolf was either younger than he had believed, or still immature.

“Something funny?” Henry asked.

Shell realized he had been smiling at the antics of the wolf. After shaking his head, he sat and reconsidered the incident. It was telling in more ways than age. The wolf killed to eat. It also played for fun. But Shell was thinking in terms of a bond with dragons. What had he actually seen in his mind? Impressions that he interpreted, or what the wolf told him? More importantly, had he watched the mouse through the eyes of the wolf?

He decided he hadn’t. Recalling the incident was as if a descriptive story had been told, but not with the same detail as looking at the scene. It was not what he’d seen, but what he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen the kind of grass the field mouse was hopping in, the color or texture of the dirt, or the background of shrubs and bushes. What had been in his mind was like a moving painting of a cute mouse, big ears, and eyes, and unlike any painting, it moved.

Shell found himself swallowing hard with understanding, and his mood improving. He didn’t like wolves or hadn’t in the past. They had been one of the enemies of his flocks his whole life and the idea of bonding with one turned his stomach, but perhaps it shouldn’t. However, changing his lifelong attitude of protecting his flock from the likes of the wolf wouldn’t be that easy.

The thought about bonding made him think again about bonding with the red dragon. He couldn’t feel it tingling on his back anymore. It must have departed at dawn and flew on, but he didn’t know which direction. It had been there during the night and now was gone.

But he could tell where the wolf was, and it now explored in the direction they had already traveled. He pictured the wolf following their trail part of the way back to the valley where Henry’s farm was, searching for anyone following them. He received an instantaneous reply that translated to already did that last night.

He shot back, do it again.

If they were going to follow Henry, they might have waited until the rain quit. Shell waited for the wolf to refuse or confirm, but neither happened. It simply changed its direction and explored further on their back trail.

Henry said, “Sometimes you blank out like you’re asleep with your eyes open.”

The observation warned Shell to be more cautious when communicating with the animal, especially when around others. “Yes, I know. Just a bad habit.”

Henry finished eating, then immediately went back to sleep. As the wolf predicted, the rain held off, and no one seemed to be following them. The Smithson family probably hoped never to see him again.

Shell found that he too was tired. He went to sleep after placing a few larger logs on the fire. Yesterday had been hard mentally and physically. He couldn’t even imagine how hard it had been on Henry.

When he woke, the sun had come out; the clouds were mostly gone, and the day warm. A single glance at the position of the sun told him he’d slept most of the day, and if he didn’t stand, he might sleep the rest, then stay awake all night.

His morose mood had evaporated as he slept. The same things he’d lamented over earlier, the small dragon, the wolf, and Henry, all took on a different, more pleasant light. How many of the Dragon Clan even knew a tiny, adult, red dragon existed, let alone one that shadowed them? Who else had a wolf that touched their mind as a companion? And the incident at the farm in the valley also changed in his perception. He had managed to sell the farm to a family that needed room to grow, saved a boy from almost certain death, and righted a few wrongs in the process.

He built up the fire up again and considered catching more fish, but decided venison would be better. Too many fish meals left him wanting something else to eat. The heat from the sun soaked into his clothing warmed his skin. As he stood, the kinks and tight muscles worked themselves out.

Henry woke and started to sit. The swelling on his face was less, but the bruises darker. He too seemed in a good mood and worked his way to balance on a knee before standing on shaky legs. He went into the bushes to relieve himself.

Shell went to the edge of the river and sat on the same flat rock he’d used before. Feet tucked under him, he watched the ripples on the water and allowed the pleasant mood and quiet of the campsite with the ripple of the river for background, to soothe him. Henry came and sat near him, saying nothing but moving far better than any time since the beating. The decision to rest for a day had been the right one.

Shell said, “Anything you want to share?”

“Just how lucky I am that you came along.”

“Funny. I was just thinking about how lucky I am to meet you and to be able to help.”

“I’m the one needing you.”

“Maybe both of us needed something back there.” Shell flashed a smile and drew in a long relaxing breath.

Danger. The word leaped into his mind as sharp as if a bee stung him. It came from the wolf. Shell instantly thought of the Smithson family following them seeking revenge, but the wolf corrected him. The girl.

Camilla. The wolf was talking about Camilla. Not that she was causing him danger, but telling him she was in danger.