Dragon’s Kin

Chapter VIII

M’tal begged off lunch, as he had to return to his Weyr soon.

“I don’t want my stomach to get the wrong idea about what time it is,” he explained with a wink at Kindan.

Kindan and Zist made a quick lunch of the bread and soup that had been kindly left for them in the Harper’s kitchen. Kindan wished he’d asked Aleesa more questions, which he could have easily added when he explained that Dask had been a hatchling before he was born. When he mentioned this to Zist, the Harper frowned slightly.

“I shall see what I have here,” he said, waving toward his small collection of hide-bound books on the shelf in the living area. “I don’t recall there being much about watch-whers.” He grimaced. “They weren’t high on the Archival list when I did my time with the Master Archivist. Still, there might be some.”

“I know my father—” Kindan faltered, still keenly feeling the loss of the one parent he had known. “—trained Dask with the other two Crom Hold watch-whers. They seem to educate each other.”

“But you were talking to it,” Zist said.

“I was talking to the queen, not the hatchling. Kids have to be taught to speak, you know.”

“Yes, well, that is true enough,” Zist admitted. “So you have to teach it to respond to the sounds. Do other watch-whers always use the same ones?”

“I don’t really know,” Kindan admitted.

The Harper stared into space, idly stirring the last of the soup. “Well, the important thing is that you got the egg, Kindan. We can wing anything else, somehow. M’tal’s our ally, and they have watch-whers at Benden Hold. A few adroit questions—you’ll have to think what you need to know—could be answered surreptitiously.”

Kindan was more impressed than ever with his teacher and with the morning’s incredible events. He mopped the rest of the soup from his bowl with a fresh piece of bread. Then he took his things to the sink and stacked them.

“I’ll wash them when I get back from checking the bricks,” he told Master Zist as he left the cothold.

That seemed to be all he did every waking hour. At night he slept in the shed, wrapped warmly in his worn fur; often he started from sleep to rise and make sure the egg was warm enough. He had increased the cothold’s supply of oats, and had made a mess of porridge in the big kettle that had been placed on the back of the oven range. A pail of blood was already in the cooler. Natalon had quickly given the orders for Kindan to receive whatever he needed to tend to the watch-wher.

The first evening, after the day shift, Zenor popped in to see the egg. His expression of awe made Kindan feel warm inside. All right, it was only Zenor, but to receive such unalloyed approval alleviated some of his worst anxieties. He kept delving back in his memory for all references his father had made about watch-wher tending. He had remembered the right sounds and gestures. He had gotten the egg back to the camp. It was warm and it would hatch.

“When?” Zenor asked, his eyes glowing as he regarded the egg under its blanket of straw.

“Master Aleesa said in a couple of days,” Kindan replied as nonchalantly as he could. “Would you mind getting me some more coal so I can keep the bricks warm?”

“No, no, of course not,” Zenor said and darted out of the shed.

Kindan felt the shell of the egg, then started burrowing in the straw to find which bricks were cool enough to be reheated.

He was using the tongs to haul heated bricks out of the fire and filling in the spaces with cool ones when Zenor returned, staggering behind a loaded wheelbarrow. With an exaggerated sigh, Zenor upended it near the fire.

“Thanks, Zenor, I appreciate your help.”

“Can you let me see the hatching, too?” Zenor asked wistfully.

“It’s nothing like a dragon Impression,” Kindan replied, rather wanting that moment to be private.

“Which I haven’t seen anyhow, so please, huh, Kindan?”

“Well, I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything, especially as you may be on shift.”

“If possible, please, Kindan? I’ll bring all the coal you need.”

“All right,” Kindan said, relenting. Zenor was his very best friend. “Would you stay in the shed while I make another batch of porridge? I like to keep it as fresh as possible.”

“Sure, sure,” Zenor said.

Kindan had to scour the pot to remove the brown bits that had stuck to the bottom before he could start a fresh batch. He thought he’d be wasting a lot of oats, but he wanted to be sure he had porridge ready and waiting when the egg cracked. He knew how important it was for the hatchling to be fed as soon as possible after it emerged from its shell.

Three mornings later, he was startled awake from a restless sleep by a loud noise. He sat up, momentarily confused, then opened the glow and carefully pulled the straw off the egg. A large crack almost bisected the center of the egg. He put a hand on it and felt something beat against his palm. He stroked the egg.

“Lemme get the porridge,” he said, struggling to disentangle himself from his sleeping fur and dashing barefoot across the short distance to the Harper’s cothold. He got the pail of fresh blood he had acquired that afternoon from the cooler, hauled the cookpot to the front of the range, and carefully poured in the blood, mixing it with the stiff porridge. He tried not to wake the Harper, but Zist heard the clink of the spoon against the side of the pot and, holding his fur about him, came into the kitchen.

“It’s hatching?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes and finger-combing his hair back.

“It’s got one great crack across its middle,” Kindan said. Carrying the pot, he returned to the shed, the Harper following him.

Kindan did remember his promise to Zenor but didn’t dare leave the shed. Nor could he consider the effrontery of asking Master Zist to wake his friend.

The crack had widened, and a chip of the eggshell lay in the straw.

“I believe a watch-wher is born light-sensitive,” Zist remarked, half-closing the glowbasket and turning it to face the back of the shed so as not to blind the creature on its emergence.

The oval rocked, and Kindan wondered if he should move it away from the bricks. Would they be too warm for the hatchling? He compromised by pulling his sleeping fur over as a carpet.

The egg gave one more lurch and fell into two sections. The hatchling reared up and tumbled out, landing on its nose on the fur.

Kindan chirruped encouragingly and reached out to touch the watch-wher. It managed to raise its head, open its mouth, and squawk.

“Feed it,” Zist urged, and Kindan inserted his hand in the not-too-warm porridge mix and offered it to the watch-wher. Or, to be specific, dumped it on the hatchling’s tongue. It gulped back the offering, swallowing instantly and opening its mouth for more.

Kindan used the spoon this time. Considering how the hatchling seemed to inhale the porridge, he could see why feeding it cubes of meat might cause it to choke to death. He continued feeding it until the pan was empty. The watch-wher cocked its head as if surprised its feeding was interrupted.

“I’ll make another pot,” Zist said, leaving the shed while Kindan stroked the hatchling and crooned encouragingly. Kindan guessed by the dim light that the watch-wher was green. Female, then. Wanting confirmation, he examined her carefully to be sure all the necessary parts were there. Yes, there were, and she was.

He worked the stumpy wings to be sure they functioned, and stroked the eye ridges and scratched her ears. The watch-wher butted at Kindan, squawking urgently and trying to take his fingers into her toothless mouth. Kindan remembered that watch-whers teethed, not unlike human babies, and with the same pain and discomfort. He made a mental note to get fresh numbweed, or some of the distilled spirits human mothers resorted to for teething infants. Not that any mother he knew would find the watch-wher lovable. It had a really misshapen, ugly kind of dragon face. Like its stumpy wings, which were sort of draconic, but not quite, so was this watch-wher, with eyes that blinked furiously until Kindan dimmed the glow to a thin sliver of light, earning a purr of pleasure from the hatchling.

Master Zist stumbled back into the shed, holding the pot in front of him. The hatchling made a snarling noise, smelling the proximity of food, and lunged in the right direction. Luckily, Kindan was able to seize the pot, grab the spoon, and dump a big glob into the watch-wher’s open maw. This time, the moment Kindan felt the spoon scrape the bottom of the pot, he asked Master Zist to prepare a new batch. As Zist obeyed, it occurred to Kindan that maybe it wasn’t proper for him to order his Master about like this.

When would this creature have eaten enough? Her belly was well rounded, and she still opened her mouth or nudged Kindan’s body when she felt she had been unfed too long. Finally, though, she gave a monumental burp, emitting a sour, bloody smell, and crawled to a spot of straw that seemed appropriate, curled up, laid her head on her forepaws, and started to snore.

Zist got wearily to his feet and scrubbed at his mussed hair.

“I shall get properly attired and announce the arrival of...” He looked down at Kindan, who was lying back in the straw. “Did it give you a name?”

Kindan shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”

“Is it enough like a dragon to know its own name?”

Kindan shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish we knew more about watch-whers.”

“Is it male or female? Though I don’t suppose it matters.”

“It’s a green. They’re like dragons that way, so she’s a female.”

“Then I shall report that to Natalon.” He reached over and tousled Kindan’s hair. “You’ve done very well, lad. Very well indeed.”

Master Zist left and wearily Kindan gathered up the odorous porridge pot and took it inside to the sink to clean. Then he started a new batch on a back burner, not knowing how long the current feeding would stave off the pangs of hunger in his new charge. While the pot simmered, he went back to the shed and settled down to await developments.

He roused somewhat to the sound of Zist’s soft voice and Natalon’s pleased remarks.

“And no idea what its name is?” Natalon asked Kindan.

“She didn’t say ... she was too busy stuffing her mouth and swallowing. Next time she’s awake, I must blood her,” Kindan said, giving a convulsive shudder.

“Is that essential?” Zist asked, wincing slightly.

“It’s how watch-whers know who they answer to. And that tradition has already served me well.”

Zist held out his hand. “Do you have a belt knife? I’ll sharpen it for you. That way you won’t feel the cut as much.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Natalon said, giving Kindan a sympathetic wave in farewell.

Kindan handed over his belt knife, murmuring a thank-you. He hated to tell the Harper that he was going to ask him to make the cut, as he wasn’t brave enough to slash his own hand. He shuddered again as Zist left the shed. With nothing to do, Kindan settled himself on the warmest spot of straw he could find ... and then remembered that he hadn’t let Zenor know about the hatching. His friend would be topside by now from his shift, and maybe still awake.

Zenor was still awake but yawning mightily when Kindan called at his window.

“You were on shift, when the shell cracked,” Kindan said apologetically.

Zenor muttered under his breath but slipped back into his tunic and joined Kindan.

“You actually didn’t miss much. One single big crack woke me and then, it fell into two pieces. It’s a green, so it’s a female.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

“I wanted a live, healthy watch-wher ... and I suppose a female is as good as a male. Shards, does she eat!”

Zenor grinned. “My mother says my sisters eat more than I do.”

“C’mon,” Kindan urged, quickening his pace. “I don’t know how long she goes between feedings and I still have to blood her.”

They entered the shed, Zenor with a properly respectful attitude. He looked around.

“Where is she?”

A head rose instantly from the straw in which it had burrowed, the wide eyes blinking.

“She’s not as big as I thought she would be,” he murmured.

“Big enough to have the appetite of nine dragons,” Kindan said, almost proudly.

The hatchling worked her way across the straw to where Kindan stood and, opening her mouth, made a noise that he instantly interpreted as a demand for food.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, giving the watch-wher a reassuring chirp.

When he got to the cothold, Master Zist had just put down his sharpening stone, and the new knife-edge glistened in the sunlight. Kindan gulped, thinking of that edge cutting into his hand, and stirred the simmering porridge.

“Hungry again?” Zist asked.

“Would you mind coming with me now so I can blood her?” Kindan asked. “And then start another batch?”

“Is there enough blood left in the pail for more?”

“I think so. I’ll get more as soon as she’s asleep again.”

The Harper followed him out to the shed and greeted Zenor, who hadn’t moved from the spot in which Kindan had left him. The hatchling had been trying to crawl up his legs, her hungry bleek more insistent.

Kindan put the pot down and turned to Zist, holding out his right hand. He pointed to the original scar, barely visible in the dimly lit shed. “Here, please.”

He turned away so he wouldn’t have to look as the Harper steadied his hand in his.

Neither had realized how quickly the hatchling would react. Just as the dizzying pain shot up Kindan’s arm, a wet tongue was licking the blood from his hand—even before Master Zist had released it. The watch-wher mumbled a happy sound as she sucked at the wound.

“Isn’t that enough?” Zist asked just about the time Kindan thought it was more than enough. The thin wound ached. Kindan disengaged the watch-wher and held her away from him as he lobbed a spoonful of porridge into her mouth. That did the trick—she was immediately diverted from Kindan’s still-throbbing wound to sucking down the blood porridge.

“Here, Zenor, wrap this around Kindan’s hand before the creature savages him,” Zist said, passing Zenor the bandage roll. Kindan could feed the creature as easily using his left hand while Zenor wrapped up his right.

“You’ll need some numbweed on that, as well as a healing salve,” Zist said. “I’d no idea the hatchling would be so voracious.”

Kindan hadn’t either. “I wish we knew more about them.”

Zenor gave his friend a surprised look. “You mean you don’t—”

Kindan shushed him. “Not a word to Natalon, Zenor,” he said imploringly. He exchanged looks with Master Zist, then continued with more assurance than he felt, “I’m sure I’ll get it all sorted out when the time comes.”

“Well, I’ll help all I can,” Zenor promised stoutly. Kindan grinned at him.

“And I,” Master Zist added. “First, however, I shall get your things.”

Kindan’s brow puckered in surprise. “My things?”

Master Zist nodded. “Yes, you’ll sleep here from now on. You’ll need your things here, too.”

“Here?” Kindan looked around the shed. It had not been built for warmth; Dask had had a notoriously thick hide that kept him comfortable.

“You need to be around the watch-wher,” Master Zist declared. In a lower voice, he added, “And there’s some that might not wish it well.”

Zenor and Kindan both looked toward Tank’s house—not more than a dragon’s length from the shed.

With a sigh, Kindan nodded. “But—”

“I’ll have someone check on you regularly to see if the watch-wher needs food,” Master Zist said.

“But—”

“I understand that it will be a hardship for you,” the Harper went on. “But you made your choice when you agreed to raise the hatchling.”

Kindan bit off any more objections and nodded dejectedly. “I suppose I’ve made my nest, now I’ll have to lie in it.”

Master Zist let out a hearty guffaw, drowning out Zenor’s softer laugh. “Good one, lad! Good one.”

“I could come and stay with you for a bit, after my shift,” Zenor suggested.

“Thanks,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “But I can’t ask you to stay too long, you’ve got your own work and—”

“It’ll be no problem,” Zenor declared. “Especially if you let Miner Natalon know that you asked me.”

The new arrangements left Kindan exhausted by the end of the first sevenday. He was constantly fending off visits by the camp’s children, the camp’s miners, and Tarik, with his constant sour prophecies.

“It’ll eat more than it’s worth,” was Tarik’s first dour comment. Later, it was, “And how long before it’s ready to go down the mines?

“When does that ugly creature reach its growth?” was the next snide remark. “Not much use as it is now, is it?”

And yet again, “Natalon paid how much coal for that bag of bones?”

Kindan’s hatred of the head miner’s uncle grew steadily greater with each return visit and insulting comment. He found himself afraid to leave the watch-wher unattended, not only for fear of what Tarik might do, but also for fear of what the watch-wher might do out of its own fright. The poor thing had already nearly bitten Zenor once when he arrived early one morning and threw back the heavy curtain draped down behind the door to protect the watch-wher’s delicate eyes.

Kindan was frazzled and bone-tired every day, wondering how he would survive the watch-wher’s fierce and frequent pangs of hunger.

Day by day, he grew more and more red-eyed, less able to stand the least cheerful comment and barely keeping himself civil in his dealings with the Harper. He found himself having the deepest respect for Zenor and could not understand how he could ever have been so thoughtless as to tease his friend when he had complained about losing sleep dealing with his younger sisters.

One morning, near the end of the second sevenday, Kindan woke groggily. Something was different. He looked around in the darkness.

Someone was in the shed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said. “It’s about time. I think she’s getting hungry. Why don’t you go get her breakfast while I stay here?”

“Nuella?” Kindan said in surprise.

“Who else?” she replied. “Go on, get. She’s stirring. Ahh, the lovely thing.”

Kindan rushed out of the shed and up to the Harper’s cothold. It was still dark, although there was a hint of dawn on the horizon. He let himself in, stoked up the fire, and began to heat the porridge.

“Who’s there?” Master Zist asked irritably from the room beyond.

“It’s me. Kindan. I’m just making breakfast for the watch-wher.”

“Oh.” Kindan heard the Harper rumble about in his room for his robe and slippers. “Wait a minute! Who’s with the watch-wher?”

“Nuella,” Kindan said.

“Ah,” the Harper responded abstractedly, clearly still not entirely awake, “good.”

Kindan grinned and rooted about the cabinet for klah bark. “I’ll put on some klah,” he shouted.

“Good idea,” Master Zist boomed back, entering the kitchen. Then he blinked. “Did you say Nuella was with the watch-wher?”

Kindan nodded.

“Mmm. That’s not good. What if something happens?”

“She can hide in the shadows,” Kindan suggested.

“But what if she has to raise the alarm?” Master Zist returned.

Kindan started to make a number of different replies before he finally stopped and shook his head. “I see what you mean.”

“I’m glad you do,” the Harper replied testily. “Go get the blood from Ima, the porridge is nearly hot.”

Kindan was nearly frantic by the time Ima delivered his pitcher of blood. He raced back to the Harper’s cothold, nearly spilling the pitcher in his haste. Panting, he made the mix and ran down to the watch-wher’s shed.

“Where were you?” Nuella asked testily when he returned. “You took forever.”

“Sorry,” Kindan gasped.

“You sound as if you’ve been running all over the place.”

“I have,” Kindan replied, pouring the noxious mix into a bowl for the wakening watch-wher.

Nuella crinkled her nose at the smell. “You know, it’s really surprising that something as pretty as her would eat something as awful as that.”

“Pretty?” Kindan exclaimed.

“Yes, pretty,” Nuella repeated emphatically. “You see pretty with the heart, not with the eyes, you know.” She paused, giving Kindan a chance to argue and, when he didn’t, reverted to her original topic. “Wouldn’t meat scraps make more sense?”

“But Master Aleesa said—”

“She’s the one you got the egg from, right?” Nuella asked.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed.

“What did your father’s watch-wher eat?”

“Well,” Kindan considered, “mostly meat scraps. But Dask was much older, and she’s still young.”

Nuella cocked her head at the watch-wher, who had already begun to eat, and stroked the soft neck gently. “Hmm,” she muttered to herself. She clucked at the watch-wher, diverting the creature’s attention long enough to dip a finger into the bowl. Nuella sniffed at the blood-porridge mix on her fingertip and then, much to Kindan’s astonishment, licked it clean. She made a face at the taste and then said, “If I were you, I’d try meat scraps. It’d be much easier all around.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Kindan admitted.

“And what are you going to call her?” Nuella asked impatiently.

“Well, I was hoping her name would suggest itself,” Kindan said.

Gingerly Nuella ran her hands over the watch-wher. Kindan was surprised and a little abashed to realize that he had not yet done so himself.

“She’s beautiful,” Nuella said.

Kindan grinned. “She is, isn’t she?” The watch-wher was an ugly lump of muscle scantily clad with skin, her oversized eyes looking even bigger in her young head—but she was his and he wouldn’t trade her for anything.

“So what’s her name?”

“I’ll tell you this evening,” Kindan promised. “Or the next time you come here.”

Nuella nodded. “It might not be this evening, but I’ll see what I can do.” She rose, feeling her way toward the curtain and the shed door.

“The sun’s up,” Kindan told her warningly.

“That’s why I borrowed Dalor’s clothes, silly,” Nuella replied. “Help me put his hood on right. It’s cold enough this morning that no one will think it odd if I’m wearing it.”

Kindan rose and helped her settle the hood on her head. Nuella pushed her long hair back out of sight and rubbed her face with her hands, dirtying it.

“How do I look?” she asked him.

“Dirty,” Kindan told her.

She frowned at him.

“You don’t look like Dalor when you take on that sour look,” he commented. “And you won’t be able to play at being a boy too much longer.”

“I know,” she said softly, lips downcast. “I’ve heard Father talking to Mother late nights when they think I’m asleep, wondering what will become of me.” She raised her head and gave Kindan a determined look. She was about to say more when they heard voices outside the shed.

“You’d better go,” Kindan said. “Do you know the way?”

Nuella snorted. “Kindan, I’m blind, not stupid.” And before Kindan could apologize, she slipped through the curtain and headed out into the early morning light. Spurred by the watch-wher’s alarmed squeals, Kindan hastily pulled the curtain back in place.

After his eyes readjusted to the darkness, he returned to his watch of his watch-wher. Sated with the morning feed, the little green had curled up again, but she was happy to lay her head in his lap before falling asleep once more.

Idly, Kindan used the width of his hand to measure her length. She measured about ten hands-widths from nose to tail—slightly more than a meter—as near as he could make out, and she would stand about three hands high at the shoulder. He grinned down at her sleeping head, feeling full of pride and a little awed that she seemed to trust him so much.

“What are we going to call you?” he murmured to her as he stroked her ungainly head. The small watch-wher raised her head and peered straight at him intently. Kindan stared back, feeling as though he could almost hear her talking to him. After a long moment, the watch-wher let out a little murfle and laid her head on his lap again.

“Kisk,” Kindan said. The watch-wher opened one eye, shook her head, and closed the eye again. “Your name is Kisk.” The watch-wher shifted her weight, once more oblivious to everything around her. But Kindan felt Risk’s acceptance of her name.

Kisk was quite happy to try some meat scraps with her next meal. Master Zist fretted that it might be too soon, but Kindan made sure the scraps were all small and contained no bone or gristle, and he could feel how happy Kisk was with the new diet. Her rubbing her head against his leg contentedly and making small merrble-ing sounds only confirmed his opinion.

Certainly Ima was much happier to be asked to make ready a supply of scrap meat instead of fresh blood “at all hours of the day.” Supplying the growing watch-wher with scraps was much easier on everyone than the time-consuming blood-porridge.

In fact, as the watch-wher reached her first month, Kindan found himself wondering how much Master Aleesa really knew about the raising of young watch-whers—or whether the whole blood-porridge idea had been a joke on the part of the cranky “WherMaster.”

Master Zist came down to the shed every spare moment he had. He insisted that Kindan learn all the songs there were about dragons on the principle that because dragons and watch-whers were related, the songs about dragons would provide insights into raising watch-whers.

“But there’s not all that many songs about raising dragons, is there?” Kindan said after several days.

Master Zist frowned, shaking his head. “You’re right. Most of the songs are about fighting Thread and chewing firestone.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “And there’s the bit about how they grow—”

“And when a dragon’s old enough to ride,” Zenor, who had joined them earlier, added.

“Well that should be about the same for watch-whers, shouldn’t it?” Nuella asked.

Nuella, Zenor, and the Harper had established a routine of meeting in the shed just after the end of the day shift. Zenor would arrive at the Harper’s, and he and Kindan would escort Nuella down to the shed, keeping her well hooded and away from probing eyes.

“That seems likely,” Kindan agreed.

“That would be a Turn and a half,” Master Zist said. Kindan groaned.

“That long!” Zenor exclaimed.

“But how long until you can start training her?” Nuella wondered.

“I don’t know,” Kindan confessed.

“Well,” Master Zist said consideringly, “she’s too young to start training right now. It’ll be months before she’s ready, I’m sure.”

“Is it just me, or is she more active at night?” Zenor asked.

“She should be, she’s nocturnal,” Nuella snapped before Kindan could respond.

“I wonder if I should take her out at night,” Kindan said.

Master Zist shook his head. “Not yet. I think when she’s ready to leave her lair, she’ll let you know.”

Nuella cocked her head thoughtfully. “You might want to put a collar on her, with bells. I’d hate for you to be asleep the first time she decided to go for a stroll.”

“Isn’t that what happened with you?” Zenor asked Nuella. “I mean, when we first met.”

Nuella smiled impishly at him. “I wasn’t wearing a collar, but I did manage to go for a stroll.”

“You’re lucky Cristov didn’t catch you,” Kindan remarked.

Nuella shook her head. “I’d smell him at least a dragonlength away—he wears that awful scent his mother likes.” She frowned in thought. “I wonder how good Kisk’s sense of smell is.”

The others considered her comment silently.

“I imagine we’ll find out,” Master Zist answered finally. He rose and stretched. “But not tonight. Nuella, it’s time for your lessons.”

“We could do them here,” she suggested hopefully.

“No, Zenor’s got to get some sleep,” the Harper replied. “I can’t ask him to stay here the extra hours it would take to finish your lessons before he walks you home.”

Zenor grimaced. “Master Zist is right. Mother needs me even now that Renna’s gotten big enough to look after the others some more.”

“She’s doing most of the work Kindan used to do, isn’t she?” Nuella remarked. Master Zist cleared his throat warningly. Nuella frowned at the noise and turned back to Kindan. “It’s not as though you could do all your old work and look after a new hatchling, too, you know.”

“I suppose,” Kindan agreed morosely. “But it seems that all I do is look after the hatchling.”

Zenor gave him a commiserating look. “She’ll grow up before you know it, Kindan. And then you can help us in the mines.”

With that bit of encouragement, they left. Kindan curled up in a warm spot, and Kisk draped herself over and around him with a series of chirps and squeals. But she didn’t sleep. First she twitched one way and then she twitched another way. Kindan moved away from her, but Kisk moved back toward him and curled up again.

Kindan was finally drifting toward sleep when a warm tongue licked along the side of his jaw. Kindan blearily opened one eye and saw that Kisk was lying next to him, her head raised to look him in the face. He made a soothing sound and closed his eye.

He was licked on the other cheek. He opened both eyes. Kisk cocked her head at him and, with a chirp, darted her tongue out to lick him on the chin.

“Hey! Stop it!” Kindan shouted grumpily. Kisk recoiled at his tone and made a sad click. “I’m tired, it’s time to sleep—oh, no! Don’t tell me that you’re not tired!” Please don’t tell me you’re not tired, he thought to himself.

Within five minutes Kisk had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t tired at all. In fact, she wanted to play. She found one of his shoes and grabbed it in her mouth, tossing it in the air and catching it with a claw, and then tossing it back to catch it with her jaw again.

“Hey, that’s my shoe,” Kindan complained, grabbing for it. In a moment, as the little watch-wher tossed it out of his grasp, he realized that he’d made a big mistake. He had taught Kisk the fun game of finders-keepers. It took him ten minutes and a handful of scraps to get his shoe back.

And still Kisk showed no signs of sleepiness. Instead, she started rooting around the shed. She grabbed the curtain with a claw and played at flipping it back and forth, pausing at first when the outdoor light startled her. She hissed and turned her head away hastily, but after a moment, she turned back to the dim night light and stuck her head under the curtain.

Kindan found himself leaping to his feet to grab Kisk’s tail before she could dart out. As it was, it took all of his effort to get her to hold still long enough for him to hastily rig a halter out of some old rope before she tugged him outdoors—no mean feat for a creature that was barely up to his kneecaps.

“Okay, okay!” Kindan said as the watch-wher pulled him down toward the lake. “We’re going to the lake, Kisk, is that what you want?” He remembered how Zenor had talked to his littlest sister, always telling her what she was seeing and what was happening. So he began a narration of their journey down to the lakeside where Kisk sniffed at the water and, after a few daring darts of her tongue, lapped up a good several mouthfuls of fresh water.

“Were you thirsty, then?” Kindan asked. “Did you want to get a drink?” Kisk looked up at him, blinked her big eyes, and gave a little cheep that Kindan couldn’t interpret.

“Apparently not,” he muttered to himself when the watch-wher yanked her head around and nearly pulled Kindan off his feet.

“Those are the cots, Kisk, you don’t want to go there,” Kindan told her. “People are sleeping and they aren’t much fun.”

But Kisk wasn’t interested in that; what had caught her attention was the forest just beyond the line of cabins. She sniffed about at the smaller plants, tried and spat out any number of bushes—fortunately Kindan knew of none in the vicinity that were poisonous, or he would have been more worried—and worked her way up alongside the pathway that led back toward Kindan’s old, now Tarik’s, house.

“Are you ready to go to sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice low and soft in hopes of inspiring his charge. Kisk looked up at him and gave him a wide-awake chirp which was anything but reassuring. She started sniffing toward Tarik’s cothold, and Kindan grew alarmed at the notion of attracting Tarik’s attention and, doubtless, wrath.

Somehow Kisk must have guessed his feelings, for she made another little inquisitive noise, sniffed at him, snorted at the house, and turned her attention elsewhere. She bounded toward a bush and hissed angrily at it.

It was then that Kindan realized they were not alone.

“She won’t bite, will she?” whoever was hiding behind the bush asked nervously. It was Cristov.

“She bit me,” Kindan said irritably, lying to impress him. Kisk looked back at him and snorted. “But that’s because I was blooded to her, you see.”

Cristov stepped out from behind the bush. “She’s pretty small,” he noted. “Were her teeth sharp?”

Kindan held out his bandaged hand. “See for yourself.”

“You’d better leave it wrapped until it’s healed,” Cristov said, pushing Kindan’s hand away.

“Suit yourself,” Kindan said brusquely. He and Cristov had barely said two words to each other in the past Turn, and before that they’d either fought until dragged apart or ignored each other contemptuously. “What are you doing out—skulking?”

Cristov’s hands balled into fists and he looked angrily at Kindan.

Kindan frowned. “I’m sorry. That was mean. But honestly, what are you doing out tonight?”

“I—well—” Cristov found himself tongue-tied, searching for an answer. At last he blurted out, “Mother says that watch-whers are nice. I wanted to see for myself.”

Kindan’s eyes widened in surprise. Kisk gave a surprised noise herself and craned her neck up to peer at Cristov, pointing her tail nearly straight back for counterbalance. Kindan was surprised to see how high she could lift her head on her long, sinuous neck—it almost reached his neck.

“I know my father doesn’t like them,” Cristov continued breathlessly, holding out a hand palm up to the watch-wher, “but my mother says we should respect them. She says, ‘A grown-up makes their own decisions.’ ”

Kisk darted her tongue out and licked Cristov’s outstretched hand before he could pull it back. She made a sad, don’t-you-like-me noise at Cristov.

“She gets scared by sudden moves,” Kindan warned him. Honesty compelled him to add, “I think she likes you. I haven’t seen her try to lick many people.”

Kindan forebore mentioning Nuella’s tart remark about the scent Cristov wore.

Encouraged, Cristov put his hand out again. At his sudden move, Kisk ducked her head behind Kindan’s back, but slowly she peered around again. In short order she licked his palm, muffled a sneeze, and darted her tongue quickly around the boy’s face.

Kindan smiled at Cristov. “She likes you.”

“Cristov!” a voice shouted from inside the house. It was Tarik.

“I’m here,” Cristov shouted back. Before Kindan could back away, Tarik appeared.

“What are you doing?” Tarik demanded, his lips pursed tightly.

“I just wanted to see the watch-wher,” Cristov replied, but Kindan could hear the fear in his voice.

Tarik stepped out of the house and joined the boys. He looked down at Kisk, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“So this is the watch-wher that will save us all?” Tarik said derisively. “It’s smaller than a wherry. Ima’s been saving her best scraps for this}”

“She’s nice,” Cristov responded quietly.

“She’s a waste of time,” Tarik said with a snort. “They all are.” He gave Kindan a dismissive look. “And so are those who care for them.”

Kindan stood up to his full height and glared at Tarik. “Miner Natalon thought her worth enough to pay a whole winter’s coal for her.”

Tarik barked a laugh. “My nephew’s a fool. A winter’s coal! What a waste!”

“Tarik!” Dara called from inside the house. She peered out the door. “You’ve found Cristov. Good. Now the two of you come in for dinner.” She saw Kindan and smiled at him. “Ah, Kindan! Good to see you. Is that the new watch-wher?” Kindan caught the narrowed look she gave her husband. “A green? Has she given you her name yet?”

“Kisk, ma’am,” Kindan replied politely.

Dara nodded. “A good name,” she judged. Then she said, “You’ll have to forgive my men, their dinner’s ready.”

“It’s quite all right,” Kindan replied using his best Harper-trained manners. With a frown he added, “I think Kisk has gotten bored again, anyway.”

He was right: The watch-wher had started tugging on her lead. However, to Kindan’s dismay, Kisk was not ready to return to her lair. In the end, he was certain that he had heard the first of the dawn chorus before Kisk emitted a huge yawn and nearly curled up where she was. It took all Kindan’s charming to get her back to the shed, where they both fell into a deep sleep before the first cock crowed.