Laverne

It was her turn to organize the hunting parties for the next few days, and it being a brisk yet sunny late morning, Laverne decided to partition the assignments outside the lair entrance. The cleared area’s grasses ruffled with the breeze, lifting the ends of Laverne’s mane and sweeping her with the scent of her homeland.

Laverne shivered, a few petals shaking loose of her branches—only a few blooms held on, this late in the seasons—and called herself to attention as clanmates wandered out of the lair in a trickle of pairs and small groupings. Many had just woken up, fur or feathers still rumpled, yawning, or crunching down the leftovers from the morning meal. Yet even as Laverne watched, the dragons perked up as they stepped outside, murmured conversations bubbling into ringing laughter and playful calls as they greeted each other and finally roused for the day’s work. Younger dragons romped out to the side of the group, “sparring” by jumping on each other and rolling around in the grass.

At the very dregs of the group, a small black shape slipped out of the doors. He didn’t slink necessarily, but came up only to the edge of the crowd of now-boisterous clanmates, nodding and exchanging polite greetings to anyone that approached him, but no more. He sat down and waited.

Laverne clicked her jaw ruefully, but moved it from her attention. Maybe Ribacci had just come out to sunbathe, take a nap.

And snappers could fly.

“Everyone!” Laverne cleared her throat and twitched her wings, launching herself up at about eye-level for most dragons, and hovered in place. “Gather ‘round, if you will, and let’s get on with today’s tasks. First and most importantly, good morning!”

A chorus of cheerful greetings washed back over her as the dragons formed a loose half-circle around her, their conversations winding down and the wrestling youngsters dragged in to be a part of the proceedings.

“And before I break you up,” Laverne said, pitching her small voice to be heard well and clear as she turned in mid-air to address them all, “just a general reminder of the presence the Matron’s been made aware of within the Grove. We’re not sure what it is, but it did break down the wall on a cistern, so remember to be cautious. So!”

Laverne began the divisions, stopped to answer questions, and listen to concerns, and appease complaints, and eventually, patiently, made it to the end where everyone was satisfied. Her clanmates split off in their decided pairings, discussion and jokes and arguments swelling once more even as they went their separate ways, some down meandering paths into the trees, others back inside or staying in the clearing. Laverne watched them go in satisfaction, dropping back to the ground to roll out her muscles. She was joining the gatherers today, and wanted to be loose and fit for wiggling through prickly bushes. They had only a halfmoon at most until the last bounty of berries and nuts were either taken or rotted, and—

She didn’t notice the small black shape approaching until he appeared at her side. “Princess.”

“Ribacci!” she squeaked, jumping just about above the grass level. “Hoo, you gave me a startle!” She forced pleasant nonchalance to her voice. “Good morning to you.”

“And you.” Ribacci’s voice was calm, measured, but Laverne saw the tension in the lines of his face, the very slight buzz to the edge of his injured wing. His yellow eyes, so stark against his scales, pierced hers intently, focused sharp enough to cut. “Where would you like me today?”

Laverne closed her jaws around an irritated noise. Patience, calm, she reminded herself in a light scold, taking a breath before responding. “No worries there. The queue’s filled, with some extras on wing if anyone gets tired or hurt.”

She paused, then pressed, gentle, “And you already worked two nights in a row.”

Still he said nothing, though he’d looked away, squinting at the sunlight.

“Ribacci,” Laverne said, low and soft, “it’s alright to rest—”

“If you’re sure, Princess,” he interrupted, brisk and formal, “then I’ll be on my way. Just . . . Call me if you need anything.”

He inclined his head and walked away before Laverne could say anything more.

“Oh, Eleven,” she sighed. She could have handled that better, couldn’t she. Unfortunately, all she knew was to extend more patience to a dragon struggling. Yet when presented with kindness, Ribacci became stiffer and more closed-off, not less. Anything Laverne tried failed to breach his walls.

Sure, progress had been made, Laverne mused as she took to wing, flying quickly to catch up with her group. Ribacci joined the clan for meals, even the evening celebrations that made the main chamber reverberate with their humor. He was friendly, courteous, and hardworking, which gained him the admiration of the clan—but he didn’t have friends, he hardly ever peeked out from behind that polite mask, and Laverne suspected the word “relax” didn’t register a definition in his brain. And that, well, maintained a barrier between him and the rest of the clan, one they could all sense. They weren’t distrustful of him, not exactly, even if some of his odder behaviors caught a few side-eyes, but sometimes the clan treated Ribacci with a similar level of uncertainty and respect they normally reserved for the Matron alone. Laverne knew what a lonely place that could be.

He’d come around. Vallaki had told her one of his jokes the other day had almost—almost—startled a true laugh out of Ribacci. “More an involuntary wheeze,” Aki admitted, “immediately transformed into a cough. I fetched him a cup of water and that killed the mood, actually. But it’s something!”

It was something. They’d have to settle for it now, and wait for Ribacci to come to them.

Oh, Laverne just hoped it was soon!

~

. . . Well, she hadn’t meant come to them quite so literally.

Laverne, wrestling with a thorny blackberry bramble that had already tangled her mane filthy, almost didn’t spot him. The damned veilspun could be so quiet—She really did think he took amusement from sneaking up on her, she’d catch him at it one day!—but even after moons, he just wasn’t as accustomed to the Wood as she was. So the flicker of movement in the corner of her eye, off the usual path her clanmates took, grabbed her attention. She saw Ribacci, Ribacci that scoundrel she’d told him to stay away, creep carefully down a tree root, only to miss a spiderweb nested in the bark at an angle he couldn’t see and—yes, he walked face-first into the web and startled right off the root.

Laverne sucked in the breath to call out, but even without being able to fly, Ribacci handled it. Though blinded by dusty silk, he twisted as he fell, somehow hitting the ground in a neat roll that popped him right up to his feet. He was still clawing the web off his snout as Laverne flitted down to him.

“Are you alright?” she asked, reaching out to pluck silk wads out of his mane. “Your wing?”

“Yes, yes,” Ribacci muttered, probably embarrassed but hiding it well. He didn’t even shy away from her help. “The wing—”

His head jerked up, nostrils flaring as he drew in a sudden breath. He narrowed his eyes at something over Laverne’s shoulder.

She twisted her head around, wondering, “What—”

Ribacci launched forward, throwing his whole weight against her, and they rolled to the side, beneath the network of gnarled tree roots. Laverne lay stunned a moment, catching her breath, but Ribacci stayed crouched. He didn’t flinch as a massive clawed paw slammed down into the ground where they’d stood a moment before.

“—is that?” Laverne finished in a cough.

“I’ll find out,” Ribacci said grimly. A knife was suddenly in his claws, and he held his healthy wing at an unusual slant. Only then did Laverne see that the metal filament adorning his wings had a bright, sharp edge to them.

She stared, brain rushing to catch up, and Ribacci took a step outside the roots. The paw withdrew, only for the broad striped face of a brilliantly furred tiger to replace it. Its yellow fangs glinted with saliva as it snarled at them, furious amber eyes boring into its thwarted prey.

Ribacci hissed back, and raised the knife??

“NO,” Laverne yelled, lurching forward. She caught the tip of his tail just before it almost whisked out of reach, and yanked.

Ribacci was jerked back a step, and swiveled in angry admonishment. “What are doing—”

The tiger lunged and Laverne loosed a fearful cry, grabbing Ribacci by the shoulder and dragging him deeper inside. The tiger bashed against the roots, teeth missing Ribacci’s wing by a whisker. It pulled back only to ram its paw back in, curved claws longer than Laverne’s body slashing at them. Ribacci stabbed his blade down between its toes and it flinched back, only a little but enough for Laverne to haul Ribacci back and up into a tiny burrow surrounded by more roots. It was at too odd an angle for the tiger to reach with its giant paw, though it continued to try, snarling and spitting as it wrestled to reach them.

“Why won’t it stop,” Laverne whispered, panting, as she and Ribacci crouched down together, wedged in as deep into the burrow as they could go.

“Why did you stop me,” Ribacci growled, cold and angry, and Laverne’s frayed patience snapped.

She rounded on him. “You! You terrible idiot! You lousy overworking little flea! You are supposed to be back at the lair soaking in the sun and snoring like a godsdamned old codger! You should not be out here, sneaking around, worming into the party and making yourself so damned useful, and you should not be flinging yourself at an enormous predatory cat as fulfillment of some awful self-sacrificial impulse! Do you have a death’s wish, for the Shadowbinder’s sake!”

Ribacci looked so astonished it was almost worth it. Laverne blinked back angry tears and demanded, “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

He opened his jaws to speak, when a dragon’s roar sounded nearby. The tiger whipped around to meet them, but the guardian crashed into it with enough force to bowl it over completely. A lash of claws down its flank and it fled yowling into the woods. The rest of their gathering party swooped in, a few hollering and chasing after the cat, the others pacing around and sniffing for more threats. They congratulated the guardian, slapping wings against their sides and cheering, while the guardian ducked their head and grinned proudly.

“Princess?” one called out. “Did it get you? Are you safe?”

Laverne threw Ribacci a sharp look, then squirmed out of the burrow and clambered out atop the roots. “I’m here, I’m alright! We didn’t get hurt.”

Her clanmates gathered around, exclaiming in relief and chattering excitedly. “We?” one asked, and the talk hushed as Ribacci climbed up beside her.

“Ribacci, what are you doing here?” Gazes flicked between the two of them, confusion in their expressions and tones, and Laverne waited in stony silence. She wasn’t going to make excuses for him, not any longer.

Ribacci’s head hung a little, reluctant to meet any of the inquisitive stares. He actually seemed shy, and chastened as he admitted, “Getting my head chewed off for being, ah, an idiot.” He shuffled his feet, looking sideways at Laverne. “I’m sorry.”

There was a surprised pause, then their clanmates burst out in laughter.

“She’ll do that, oh yes!”

“That’s our princess!”

“What’d you do this time, eh?”

“Don’t you worry, we’ve all been there. Say, one time, Arnie here—”

“We do not have to bring that up!”

“—and it won’t be the last!”

“Better Lavi than the Matron!”

Laverne stepped back as dragons clustered around, chattering a dozen different sympathies, advice, and stories as they brushed wings over him—the milder version of friendly whacks, for small dragons like them—and held out claws to bump against his. Ribacci took it all in the best he could, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of attention, his demeanor sheepish but grateful, relieved, Laverne might dare say. He actually sat down, wings loose and drooping, and smiled as their clanmates joked and asked after details on the tiger.

The pursuers returned and Laverne flit over to meet them, getting their report. She’d take it to Biela, and see what she wanted to do about it. Cisterns were one thing, attacking dragons, especially ones too small to make for a filling meal, was another. But that was a problem for later.

She turned, smiling to see Ribacci hoisted up onto a clanmate’s head, startled but chuckling, and called for the party to get their baskets and buckets, they were headed back. There’d been enough excitement for the day.

As they flew home, Ribacci caught her eye and dipped his head. She nodded back, accepting his apology. That was one problem, not solved, but.

Progress!