Chapter 4

"It's Somewhat Great to be Back!"

"Mighty little force is needed to control a man whose mind has been hoodwinked; contrariwise, no amount of force can control ... a man whose mind is free. No, not the rack, not fission bombs, not anything — you can't conquer a free man; the most you can do is kill him."- R.A. Heinlein, If This Goes on...

The concept of dragons and Toothless sure does not belong to me.

Once again, I descend into Heinlein madness in this chapter. If you read my other story, you'll know about the Dream Paths and the Healing Waters. I tried to explain them here without repeating myself, but it can be confusing if you have not read my other story. Basically, dreams can be a powerful way for beings to communicate (a la Heinlein), and a big step to healing the body lies in healing the mind and giving someone the will to live, to help the body heal.

There's also an important HTTYD character who shows up here, and a foresight that the dragons and humans in this story will have a different type of bond from the one Hiccup and Toothless have- but I dearly hope I write it so you see that it is just as close and loving, in its own different, crazy way.

Also, fair warning: this chapter describes some graphic details about cruelty to innocent creatures. I tried to tone it down, but there might be some things that come up that are hard to read. I wanted to show that the Vikings our protagonists fought were very cruel to their victims, most of whom were weaker than the Vikings.

Just remember, these are not the Berk Vikings, and there were also Vikings like Hiccup, who were very kind and creative and compassionate while still being brave and protective. That's why he's a big hero in my book.

This chapter is also written from two points of views, and you may see this in other chapters, too. I hope you like it, but let me know what you think.

You'll also see Sarmatian culture in all its glory. My intent was to spoof the over-the-top morbid artwork and "glorified violence as a way of life" writing style you can see in barbarian sword and loincloth comics/ Hyborian age novels like "Conan the Barbarian," "Red Sonja (She Devil with a Sword)," "Gor," "Kull of Atlantis," and even aspects of TV series like "Hercules" and "Xena: Warrior Princess". If you Google any of these titles, especially the Conan and Red Sonja comic book covers and fantasy art by Frazetta, you'll know what I'm spoofing.

This is the Great Steppe.

It's vast and offers a charmingly tree-free atmosphere with a high visibility of pretty much nothing. It's so huge it stretches across two continents and has an amazing ability to be located squarely between where you are and where you want to be. This opportunity to enjoy the Steppes, of course, endears my homeland to many Firemakers who are not Sarmatians, and they have praised its many virtues in words that would turn a pirate's ears blue.

But it's my home, and I love it.

Really, it's not the end of the world, but you can see it from here. Another benefit: in the morning, we Sarmatians can look at the horizon and see who will be coming to visit us at the end of the day.

We have hunting and herding and fishing and hawking and a breathtaking view of the sunsets.* (*= sunset viewing void during rainstorms, tornadoes, blizzards or plagues of locusts. Subject to availability.)

So now we were heading over the bluffs and descending to the river valley, approaching our caravan. My home village. In a word: non existent (well, actually that's two words). See, we're nomads. Barbarians. Gentlemen of the Road and Ladies of the Unblazed Trails. We follow the herds and flocks and never let the grass grow too high on our wagon wheels. It's who we are: humans and horses and hounds and hawks.

The only downside to all this is the irony. Other places have something we wish we could have, they have lots of it, and all they want to do is destroy it .

Instead, we get pests like Red Deaths and Slithereens and Too-Many-Teeth and Kobolds and Wolf- Louts and Spitting Strigas and Giant Man eating Cockroaches and lots of other gate crashers that invade our Steppes.

We have... no dragons.

Well, technically, we have one, now: a little dragon kitten curled up and sleeping in an improvised bed/basket tied behind my saddle.

I did feel a sense of warmth and joy as I began to pick up on the location of our caravan. There always is something wonderful about coming home again. True, home for a Sarmatian tends to change constantly- we're hopping all over the map. However, for us, home is not based on a geographic location. Rather, it lies in the heart of our caravan. Home is made of the love we share with our Firemaker and Turkmene brothers and sisters. It's evident in the scents of the cooking fires, the sweet herbs of the steam baths, the ringing sounds from the blacksmith wagon and the melodies of the songs and musical instruments that always seem to fill the air among our Firemakers, who dearly love an improvised love song about decomposing skulls, fresh blooming roses and new-born cobras.

I could feel Gatalas' joy, as well, as each of my hoof beats took us closer to our people. He was sleepy from nursing a sick dragon kitten. He also was sucking on his left hand where said dragon kitten had attacked him this morning.

When we had stopped to take a water break for us horses, Gatalas had lifted the blanket from the improvised kitten basket so he could medicate our little guy. (Yes, by this time, we had seen the natural dragon plumbing to know our kitten was a male.) The kitten had regained consciousness by now, but he was still sick. Still, he had a sense of preservation about him and was probably terrified he had, again, been taken hostage by what he thought to be Vikings.

So, when he saw Gatalas, he launched out of the basket and laid into my Rider with all the feeble strength he had, snarling and spitting and hissing. Suddenly, Gatalas was wearing a most interesting, hissing, spitting, bracelet. He yelled and spat out some Sarmatian swear words as the kitten sank its teeth into his hand. He instinctively flipped his wrist, hard. When you are an archer, it really is annoying to have your hand bitten off by a dragon you're trying to help.

I can totally understand his motives.

The kitten was thrown from his arm. The little guy tried to fly away, but his wings would not unfurl completely. They dangled like flattened bellows in the blacksmith wagon, so the dragon was instead dumped to the ground. He rolled to his feet, staggering in dizziness. He may have been breathing better, but he was still one very sick little dragon.

He growled in a snarl that was probably cuter than he intended, and he lashed claws at Gatalas, spitting. If he was trying to breathe fire, he was not doing a good job of it- the only thing that came out of his mouth was saliva and bad intentions.

Then he hunkered down, wobbling dizzily, spitting at us for all he was worth.

The annoying River Rat stallions now both were laughing the equine way.

::He plenty mean for little punching bag.:: one of them suggested.

::He squeak better, though, when me kick him against the long boat sides that time Guðbrundr Blackteeth put him on me back to surprise me::

::Me remember! He fly so high, then, when you kick stupid little dragon-toy. You help him much. He no fly, now, unless we "help" him. We have fun. He fly.::

::Neeeeighh! Everyone wins::

Saddled and packed down as I was, I could still move, and soon both stallions were nursing sore muzzles from my roundhouse kick.

::You boring, ugly mare. You no fun.::

I realize I come across in these "How to Train Your Dragon" stories as a sweet, gentle mare, but outside of the Sarmatian community and my friendship with dragons, and my friendship with Toothless and Hicuup, most Firemakers and their horses who have met me have quite another opinion.

Basically, I am a nasty, warrior horse who takes no guff from my enemies. I may be an auburn haired, skinny horse, but I am determined, and I show no mercy to my enemies.

I am considered extremely scary looking and very ugly in appearance. I am a warrior and a fighter, and I will fight to the death to protect those I love. And I have wounded many, many Firemakers who tried to attack my Rider. I've broken bones with my kicks and bites, and I've dragged more than a few Firemaker enemies out of their horses' saddles to be brought down by a Sarmatian sword or arrow.

I am still young, but I have many scars and burns, and I wear them all with great pride. Therefore, like most Turkmenes, I am known to Firemakers who are not Sarmatian as being foul tempered, uncontrollable, vicious, high strung, stubborn, difficult, nasty, even a bit of a bitch.

And I consider it the highest of praise.

Gatalas was able to pinpoint the attacking dragon's location by his noises. My Rider sucked on his now bloody wrist and snorted out an, "O-o-o-o-o-kay. I am so getting tired of this invisible gratitude. I think I'll have a heart attack the day someone we help actually is grateful for it."

::Awww, Gatalas.:: I nuzzled my Rider's hair, mussing up his already sleep tangled warrior's braid, ::I'm still grateful you saved him. Don't fret it. This is a dragon we're dealing with, remember? They don't seem to be fond of us Firemakers, overall.::

"Bale," Gatalas muttered in agreement, "And those Lie-Bitten River Rats really hurt the poor little guy. We're only scratching the surface of what they did to him."

I watched the little dragon trying in vain to blast us into the next universe with his squeaks and spits and flashing fangs, and then I looked at my Rider.

Tallish man- a bit on the thin side, but many Sarmartian archers are. He still has the wiry, corded and very tough muscles of an archer. Long, pale blond hair, now hauled back in the tangled warrior's braid Skuda had plaited. Long head with high cheekbones. Battle scars on his face and hands and the part of his arms not covered by his short sleeved kaftan and the long sleeved, woolen shirt worn under it for winter travel. . Dragon tattoos spiraling up his hands and one side of his neck. Loose, woolen riding trousers embroidered with geometric patterns up the sides. Fur lined calf-length, embroidered boots tied to his legs with cross gaiters. A Sandspitter-shaped ear-ring in each ear. Close cropped blond goatee but with stubble sprouting along his square jaws as he let his beard come for the harsh winter period. While unseeing, his eyes still shining a pale silvery gray.

If I were a sick, hungry, terrified dragon, my RIder would look just like a Viking River Rat. It did not matter if his clothes had the designs of the Steppes rather than the North Lands. It did not matter if his narrow, hawklike nose, winged blond eyebrows and almond shaped eyes showed his heritage was Central Asian rather than North European- he still could be taken for a Viking.

Of course, it didn't help that the dragon's eyes were still cloudy with discharge from his sickness.

::Gatalas, no offense, friend, but the dragon thinks you are a River Rat.:: I told him, sadly. Gatalas hates River Rats, and the comparison would hurt.

My Rider graced that thought with some splendidly eloquent Sarmatian curses. He does so adore Vikings!

He hissed through his teeth and felt his way along my harness until he found what he was looking for. He pulled the sheepskin bota from my harness. He had stored the unused jerky broth from his and the dragon's breakfast in it. He located the wooden drinking bowl from my left saddlebag and poured some broth into it, sprinkling some herbs from the medicine bag on his belt pouch into it.

"Then, I guess I can't help him, Horsebutt. It's up to you. I look too much like a River Rat, obviously. And those black stallions look WAY too River Rat like- hells, they probably joined right in with laughing at his misery. You are the only non Viking-looking thingie creature here at the moment. You're going to have to be the one to talk to him."

He held the bowl in his hands for me to grasp in my teeth. I met his blind eyes and felt a renewed sense of admiration for him. He had just been bitten and rejected, but he had taken the Sarmatian way to deal with it and did not sulk on it- rather he wanted to do what he could to help an injured dragon kitten who hated him.

Oh my Rider. You look so cruel and mean and barbaric and feral. But, underneath that, your heart beats so warm. Why do so many dragons and Firemakers not look beneath your appearance and your blind eyes to see who you really are? Ah, but then I can answer that. Most living creatures seem to like being deceived by appearances. They won't take the time to look beyond them if they don't have to.

I approached the shivering dragon, now collapsed into a puddle, but he still managed to give me one defiant spit along with an unintentionally cute squeak.

::Strong, but cute. You're going to bowl over the dragonesses someday,:: I thought-sent unintentionally.

The little dragon looked back at me with a :: ? ? ? ? ?::

::Permission to mind-link. Open your mind, if you will:: I asked him, though I knew the answer, already.

He stared back, now with a ::? ! ! ? ::

Poor kid. He had been stolen so young he had no idea how to mind-speak. I felt my heart sink a bit lower. How lonely the little scarred dragon must have been. Every day tortured by Vikings for fun. Screaming in pain and wanting to be saved, but unable to able to call for help to be saved.

::It's food. For you. Eat. Drink. We want you to. We will not hurt you. You are our friend:: I tried every phrase I could, but the little dragon hunched lower. As he did, I could see the light pick out a whole web of burn scars and puncture wound scars spiraling along his sides and his wings. (I guessed that dragon hide does not develop its fireproof qualities until they get older) .

The left front leg jutted at a horribly awkward angle. It had been broken brutally and allowed to heal improperly. He could not put any weight on it and had to list sadly to the right when he stood. He compensated for it by coiling a very long, beautifully-segmented tail around himself.

Every few segments looked like they had some chunks gouged out of them with River Rat knife or dart blows. Even if his tail would heal so he could balance with it, his tail would always have deep craters and gouges and burn marks for the rest of his life.

Tiny ribs jutted out along his streamlined sides like the staves on a barrel. Obviously, feeding the dragon hostage had not been an important priority- not as important as torturing the dragon hostage.

I decided that, in spite of Toothless' Hiccup, I now officially hated all Vikings/River Rats.

The dragon kitten again spat at Gatalas and I . He turned away from us, hissing.

I set the wooden bowl down, ::It's there. Do with it what you will, dragon. We will leave you to decide.::

I trotted back to Gatalas who now leaned against me, tired, patting my neck, "In the end, it's up to him, I guess."

As he checked the girths on my saddle and the stallions' pack saddles, I heard a lapping sound and grinned inside to see the little dragon was now drinking up the broth in the bowl with the intensity of a starving creature- which he was. Leaving him alone to decide had been the right thing to do.

The nutritional broth hopefully gave him energy. The herbs definitely put him to sleep. As he finished the broth, he tried to wash himself by combing a front paw along his muzzle. It put him off of balance. He wobbled with the effect of the herbs and his fever, then toppled over on his side, passing out.

My Rider picked up the limp dragon kitten and cradled him against his chest, "Heh, Horsebutt. He must be out of it on the sleeping drugs. He's purring. He's kind of cute when he's not trying to take my skin off."

His hand shifted on the neck of the dragon, fumbling. After a moment, he removed a cord that had been tied around the little kitten's neck. It was a light chain, now crusted with dried blood. It was quite well crafted, even to my untrained eyes, and it looked to have once been a beautiful piece of art. At the base of it was an elliptical plaque with Firemaker writing on it. Horses don't read, but I could identify the styles of the writing, and this looked like Broomhead runes.

::Nice way to keep the prisoner in place:: I thought sent as Gatalas used a free hand to deposit the chain in a saddle pouch ::I hope to the gods I never become a RIver Rat's prisoner. I'll take my life first::

Gatalas nodded grimly, in total agreement with me.

So, now we were approaching home. We crested the hill and I ambled down, a stallion walking at each side of me.

Of course, they both smelled the horse herds on the borders of our caravan, and they both called off challenges along the line of ::Me here. Come be my love slave, mares in heat!::

A powerful, silvery call echoed from the hills, ::Intruders, again, is it? Listen, you two! I am the head stallion here! And I sense a Turkmene! What is the password? Who are you? Who is your Rider?::

I neighed back the code ::"Let us Dance with the Red Death under a Moonless Sky". I am Eyeful, out of the mare, Red WInd, by the stallion Dragonfang. I am born of the Roxalani tribe, but now am Bonded with Gatalas of the Iazyges. We serve under Scepter Holder Banadaspos. I bring with me two mundane stallions who could be good brothers, I believe. Even if they have no manners.::

A dark liver chestnut stallion with a wide blaze on his face and four white feet floated over the hills and neighed back at us. The stallion of our caravan herd was thin, like all Turkmenes. But there was power in the crest of his neck and chest and hindquarters, and his hooves were as hard as an iron axe. He had bonded with no Rider, but he still appeared among Dragon warriors to fight when Gate crashing invaders attacked, and few enemies ever survived meeting him.

::Welcome. You know, then, Eyeful, my name is Deathblood:: the stallion snorted, :: Ah, of course. You two so rarely come here, you are mostly roaming the steppes. You are the mare with the ominous Evil One's coat color, and your Rider is blind Gatalas::

I snorted in irritation but was too respectful to say more to Deathblood. No one means it personally, but they always identify us the same way: the horse with the evil coat color and the blind rider. Well, guess that means Gatalas and I just have to work harder to change some viewpoints.

The black River Rat stallions tried to pull rank on our herd stallion, but, skinny as he was, Deathblood was agile in horse negotiation tactics. He slipped in among them, kicked out, bit out and belted with his iron hard hooves. In minutes, they backed away, nickering that our Turkmene stallion was the boss.

The herd stallion let us trot past , and his mares and foals called greetings to me.

Soon we were walking among a temporary settlement of caravan wagons. As always, we had drawn the wagons into a circle for the night, oxen and mundane cart horses munching on their hay rations. Turkmenes rested by their Riders´ wagons, but they did not wear hobbles like the cattle and cart horses. It would have been an insult to us and our Riders, both.

"Hoy, Gatalas!" an older Sarmatian rode by us on his Turkmene mare, hand raised in greeting, "You're back, lad! And you're looking very feral and savage, indeed."

Gatalas nodded his head at the thoughtful compliment, "Thank you, Kasagos. May the worms be kind to your corpse."

"You always were such a polite fellow, Gatalas."

I nickered in happiness. I have no idea why non Sarmatians think we are savage barbarians. You couldn't find a more courteous, gracious people than we.

The River Rat stallions were gawking in surprise at this world of brightly painted wagons, cook fires, and colorfully-dressed, chattering Firemakers. Someone was playing a flute, and its melody imitated the call of a steppe bird, its notes floating out over the encampment.

Sparks belched out from a fire near a rather blackened wagon/junk-filled cart and we heard hammers ringing on hot metal in the canopied work area set some distance from our wagon circles. Sarmatian blacksmiths are amazing. It's no easy feat to practice your craft as part of a migrating caravan, but they've developed a mobile forge. What's even more amazing is they have not set fire to the steppe grass.

As usual, the blacksmiths had their audience of children gawking at them while they worked. And it truly was quite a show for most of us. For little kids, it was seeing metal transformed into something of deadly beauty. For young women, it was the opportunity to admire muscular young men without their shirts on. Art appreciation all around.

We Sarmatians are known for our weaving, but we are especially known for our metal work for weapons and jewelry. Banadaspos' tribe is probably the most famous on the steppes for "growing" blacksmiths who leave to serve in other Sarmatian caravans. Indeed, our work is praised in the Settled Lands (though non Sarmatians still find it a bit on the morbid side, the pansies).

All of our Firemaker boys - and a few girls, also- take a turn at serving the blacksmiths with working the bellows as part of growing up. It's a source of easy labor for the blacksmiths and they can use it to gauge who of the next generation might have the Calling. For the younglings, it's a great opportunity to play with fire and hit things without getting scolded, plus a good way to develop the muscles for sword fighting and archery. Also, more than a few fist fights have broken out among boys over who gets to help the blacksmith next, so it's also good training for warfare too, I guess)

We Sarmatians are also maybe the only people in the world whose blacksmiths also happen to be priests. I told you we were weird.

Children ran past us on foot. They were holding up wooden dragon toys and pretending their dragons were fighting each other. The children were getting quite loud, "RAWWWRR!"

"You two, tone it down!" a mother's exasperated voice cut over their shrieks and growls, "Or I'll send you to the Great Prison."

The two kids silenced immediately and now just whispered their roars, rrrawr. To a Sarmatian the worst punishment in the world is to be forced to be indoors- also known as a prison. The worst prison of all is the Great Prison, which sits in the Greek speaking lands. It's called Biz-Ant-Yum or some horrific name like that. It sounds like the perfect name for a detention facility.

Traders we've met tell us we Sarmatians are sorely mistaken, and this Bizzy-whatever place is supposed to be the center of cultivation, and it's a city not a prison.

"Really," Gatalas would often say to tease them, "I always thought a city and a prison were the same thing, at least by Sarmatian standards. So Byzantium has a bunch of people forced to sleep in locked down stone wagons surrounded by a great wall with River Rat guards on the parapets shooting at them How is that not a prison?"

As we rode along, I saw Hounds trotting behind their masters, the large and lean sight hounds of the steppes, loyal and loving but also fierce protectors of their Firemaker owners. We also passed by areas where hawks perched, waiting for the hunt.

"Gatalas! Gatalas! You're back, you wild and wooly savage!" a young woman's voice floated past the flute music.

"Darya!" Gatalas leapt off me, a grin splitting his bearded face, "I greet you! My heart leaps in terror at your bone chilling, screeching voice."

I could hear the love they have for each other in those eloquent words, and, indeed, Gatalas and his little sister lovingly hugged each other.

Just right after she hauled back to hit him on the shoulder and he hauled back to hit her on the shoulder. The blows resounded in unison, and they grinned at each other.

It is considered a perfect, auspicious Sarmatian greeting when you can hit each other at the same time before you hug or kiss each other. Even more of an accomplishment for Gatalas, who often had trouble hitting targets without being contact with me.

Darya was a rare dark-haired Sarmatian, her thick brown hair now flowing loose to her waist, held back from her scorching blue eyes by an embroidered head band depicting alternating rose, apple and blood-tipped dagger motifs. Gatalas' sister had quite the skill as a weaver, and many of her carpets decorated wagons in several caravans. She also had made my winter weather horse blanket.

"How are the herds?" Gatalas walked by his sister, an arm around her both for affection and for her guidance. I walked by him, freely. He held one of the stallion's lead ropes in his free hand. Darya took the other horse's lead rope. The stallion showed her his yellow teeth and snapped at her.

She just flicked him on the jaw her fingers and stared at the Viking stallion with a calm but determined gaze. She said softly, "Hoh, hoh, ooosssss," soothing noises that work wonders to calm mundane horses and cattle.

The stallion calmed down and let her lead him, realizing that this slip of a girl was not going to take any guff from him.

"They are well, my disgusting brother. The roan cow had her calf, and the little one will be as pretty as her mother. I was a bit worried since it's late in the year for calving. The sheep are accounted for, and no lambs lost over the summer. We've been lucky. I think we will get a good profit in wool this year- Dad would have been proud."

Gatalas nodded, and I could pick up the pride in his sister. He and she were the only members of our family who survived the Thundering Victory invasion, and Darya had stepped in at a young age to take over their father's sheep herder profession, "Indeed. You're the best, mean little badger. So, have you met a Turkmene yet?"

Darya shook her head, her eyes sparkling, "Nope, butt head. I'm still riding a mundane steppe pony out to check on the flocks. But the Horse Trainer says there will be some colts and fillies who are interested in Bonding. I just have to hope we can convince a Turkmene who wants to be a Herd Master's mount. Of course, you know most of them have their hearts set on being war horses."

::Well, duh.:: I thought, ::We're Sarmatians. What's life without a battle or two to liven things up?.:: But I did hope Darya Bonded. She was a bouncy, happy soul of a girl, and would make a fine, caring Partner for a Turkmene.

They continued chatting away happily as we unpacked the stallions and gave the supplies they carried to the elderly woman who maintained our supply storage wagons. Then Gatalas and Darya turned the stallions over to the Horse Master, who did indeed comment that the stallions would make good cart horses if they could be trained to forget their Viking upbringing. Either that, or they could forget about being stallions.

Then we were at the wagon that was Gatalas' home when he was not guiding on the steppes. He shared it with three others of our azatani, who were now all out on the mission with Banadaspos. It was painted light blue and red and featured a gracefully delicate depiction of two stags fighting a bloody battle to the death in a serene field of wildflowers.

Darya chatted away with lively stories while helping Gatalas to unpack me and take off my harness and saddle. She squealed in joy over some jeweled earrings and bracelets Gatalas had received during our last merchant caravan guiding, colors that would go well with Darya's skull-and-raven pendant. He'd also brought back a considerable amount of supplies for Darya, his contribution to supporting our family, as tiny as it now was.

A certain covered basket was set gently near the wagon steps.

I never turn down an opportunity for a dual massage, so I leaned into their brushstrokes as they groomed me, cleaning me of the dust and sweat of the journey. Darya asked Gatalas to join her friends and she for dinner at their campfire. Then she had to move along to get a carpet finished and wrapped for delivery to a neighboring caravan.

Gatalas and I had our own special delivery to make.

Some candlemarks later, as the sun began to sink in the sky and the cows began to come back to the wagons for milking, my Rider and I were positioned near the Healer's wagon. He sat on the steps while I dozed a bit on my feet, my left back leg cocked a bit in sublime laziness.

He had used the chance to visit the steam baths and was sighing in pleasure at being clean again and wearing clean clothes that were more colorful than what he usually wears on his guiding job. He was combing his freshly washed hair, working out the last of the tangles.

The door of the wagon opened and the Healer came down the steps to sit next to Gatalas, "Greetings, Gatalas, and greetings to your mare."

The Healer had been carrying a woven basket like what we use for carrying young puppies. In it was a blanketed bundle. The gentle old healer pulled the top of it aside to reveal a well-dosed, sleeping dragon kitten, "There you go. Sleeping like a baby. I think his fever has broken now, thanks to your medicine and broths you gave him earlier. But I also gave him some solutions that helped."

I snorted and Gatalas turned his head to mine. We both often wondered about these "solutions." One time Gatalas had picked up a fever and the healer had pressed a damp pad on the young man's arm. It had stuck to him and fell off later on its own, but something in the cloth had caused Gatalas to get better quickly. After that point, both he and I had started paying careful attention to the procedures we saw among the healers and the blacksmiths and the star priests. Everything seemed appropriately Sarmatian, but yet these priests were able to accomplish some pretty amazing things that barbarians should not be able to accomplish.

"The fever was the worst of it," the Healer continued, light brown eyes gazing over to see where some of the dairy cattle were being milked, their bells around their necks clanking as they moved slightly." All the other injuries are old. I did have to break and reset the dragon's front leg, so that's splinted up. Now he just needs food and rest and to be as far away from humans as possible."

"So, we'll let him go when he's recovered?" Gatalas asked softly, winding a loose strand of pale blond hair around his left fist, "If he ever would recover completely from the way he was treated."

"I highly doubt he could be released into the wild, young man. I would guess he's been in captivity since he was very young, and he probably has no idea how to hunt or get by in the wild," The healer sighed and ran a hand down the blanket covering the sleeping dragon, "It's so wrong when humans think they can keep a wild animal like a pet if they get it as a baby and bring it up. The poor creature is usually never be able to go back into the wild. It lives always like a cripple: too wild to live with humans and too tame to survive in the wild. And a dragon is not a wild animal, anyway. We all know they are very intelligent and can communicate with humans when they wish to."

::That dragon was no pet.:: I reminded Gatalas, ::He was more like a toy doll that some brutal children could bash around because he could not fight back.::

"So what do we do with him?" Gatalas said softly, "We're responsible for him, now, and after all he's been through, he deserves a chance at life."

I whickered softly in agreement and the healer laughed softly at me.

"Your mare agrees with you. I guess it depends what Banadaspos plans for you, lad, but if you go back on the Steppes as a guide, I'd think this little guy would take to that quite well, at least to begin with. He can ride in the basket you used until his leg heals. He'll hate your guts for a while, I would guess, but you have always been good with creatures, Gatalas. He'll certainly stick around, at first, for the food, and he may come to tolerate you. And it's better for him to only be around one human rather than a whole caravan. Ultimately, though, it would good if he could find others of his kind who would adopt him."

The dragon kitten gave a snorting sigh and shifted a bit, settling into a deeper sleep.

"I know some dragon types move in herds, like the Magnesium Breathers and Sticky Fire Breathers. I have no idea what type this little guy is, he's very different looking from anything I've seen. And he's still too young to really know what type he is. But I hope his people are flock dragons rather than lone wolves," the old man cocked his head like a bird waiting for a worm, "What's that in your hand, Gatalas?"

My Rider handed over the little chain he had carried in, along with the dragon, "This was tied around his neck."

The Healer hissed through his teeth, "Bloody River Rats," he then balanced the plaque with the inscription in his hands, "It looks like something from a Settled Lands monastery- the River Rats do enjoy helping themselves to the items from there. It probably was part of a candle holder- maybe one of those candles they hang from the ceiling. The inscription says, 'Lux denique longe alia est solis et lychnorum'. The sun shines with a light greater than this candle's."

Most of our Sarmatian Firemakers of higher ranks know the Broomhead language. And, actually, Gatalas knows Latin quite well simply because of his work- it's often the only language that he and the people he guides speak in common.

But, like most Sarmatians, he's illiterate.

And he was onto what just happened the same moment I was.

"Sir, where did you learn how to read?" Gatalas said.

The Healer looked back at Gatalas and I saw a look of wonderment cross his face. A spark danced in his eyes, one of humor.

"You ask good questions, youngling, and you can observe a lot, even without eyes. That's a good skill. But just hold that thought, for now, and keep it to yourself. I've heard said you are a good one to keep secrets."

A tone in his voice was a clue to my Rider who grinned back, "Of course, what was I thinking? Everyone knows all Sarmatians are illiterate"

The old man laughed with soft, slow irony, "Sad that such a chain with a beautiful inscription about light could have been used to hurt a beautiful creature of fire. It was meant to bring peace, not pain. Poor dragon. I only wish I could give him some peace of mind as an herbal cure But I think there is a place where he can get that. He's deep in sleep, so it should be easy to bring him there."

Gatalas and I knew what the old Healer meant, but we were both skeptical, "He doesn't trust us, so I don't think it would work."

"Well, he doesn't trust you, Gatalas, you just happen to be too human. But, based on what you have told me, I think there is someone who he might trust just enough."

The healer reached out a hand and placed it on my head, looking into my eyes, "It's worth a try, anyway."

Darkness. Dark is good. Dark means no pain. I hate the light because it means pain. First the pain when the light hits my eyes, then the pain because I know the Monsters are

awake and want to make me hurt.

They make pain come out of their hands. They breathe it. It comes out with fire and iron teeth and iron stingers. They have so much pain in them that it spills over , and so they have to make me hurt. Then they make sounds of happiness because they give me their pain and they don't hurt. Instead, I hurt.

They are big. They smell of old blood and iron and dead animal hides. Their breath is hot and smells of rotten meat. They laugh and they do things to make me hurt and I scream and cry tears and they laugh some more. They hit me with iron sticks and sting me and press burning hot iron teeth against me, harder and harder. Sometimes I fight back- not as much as I used since I am not so strong, anymore. When I fight back, they subdue me, and then they really give me pain. Eventually ,it stops when the darkness comes to me and I don't feel them hurt me anymore.

Then I wake up. Then it starts over again until I scream loud enough that the darkness comes back.

And then sometimes I wake and it is dark all around me. The world seems to rise and fall, up and down and up and down until I feel dizzy. I hear water hit against something, but I don't get wet.

Well, at least late at night, they are not hurting me. Sometimes they even leave meat for me to eat and stale water. I hate the meat since it is rotten, but at least the worms in it are fresh.

I think of my life now like layers of leaves on the ground. Each time of pain covers the time before it. Deep down I know there is a layer where there was no pain and light meant something good. Sometimes I even remember things like a vibrating voice that sounds of peace. Or I see someone who has feet like mine and a tail like mine who has a worried voice- I listen to the worried voice and I run.

Yes, I think I actually was able to run at one time before the Monsters dropped me from a high place. I hit the ground, my leg bent out of shape and stayed that way.

But I did not run well enough, for some Monsters reached from the sky and took me and put me in this place of dark and pain where I have been for so long. I think I was not long out of my shell when the Monsters took me. I have been here for a long time, now. I am not an eggling anymore, but something in me says I am still a child and I should not be alone like this. Maybe the creature who looks like me was supposed to protect me.

I figured out long ago why I am here with these Monsters. I think I did something to make the creature who looks like me angry at me, and it must have been something very bad and evil. So this is my punishment. It must be so. Otherwise, the creature who looks like me would have found me and helped me. I just wish I knew what I did wrong so I could fix it and be left in peace.

I no longer remember each thing the Monsters do to me during each period of light. The pain just falls like layers on each other. It is just a blur of darklightpaindarklightpain.

But now something has changed and I am confused.

It started when a Monster rubbed muddy clay all over me, sealed me in an egg of clay. I felt heat as the Monster stuck me in a fire and I heard laughter. I don't know what I am- I know I am no Monster, but they seem to find it funny that a creature like me is put in fire. I picked up some of their words, to my shame. I heard someone grunt something like: "Th´ torture o' th' day. Cookin' the little hostage like food in a clay pot"

They must think fire does not hurt me, but it does, and I screamed and hissed. When it became unbearable, I felt a Monster scoop me out with some sort of metal tool and I felt myself thrown. There was a crack as my body hit against what I think was a tree trunk, and the clay egg broke open and I dropped to the ground, still covered in clay and aching from the fire and the impact, and blood now ran from my nostrils.

Before I could move I was suddenly thrust into a cloth container. I was in the dark again and going up and down, but now I heard deep food thuds. It was one of the four legged black Brute Monsters who have big feet and big teeth. They step on me often and bite me, and they laugh at me, too. Now I was sitting in the cloth sack on top of one of them, and I could not see what it was going to do to me. This was a scary dark.

Now I must fear both dark and light!

Lots of noise. Screaming, thundering sounds without rain. Then, the unthinkable happened

My dark place suddenly ripped open like an egg and I was thrown into the air. I didn't hit against something like when I am usually thrown in air. Instead, I drifted free. There was a part of me that had never moved before that started to move-the usually limp things that come out of my shoulders. But something was not right about those limbs and I screamed in pain as wind blew me backwards.

I let the wind carry me until I fell to the ground. Then there was a blur of memories. Sometimes the wind carried me. Sometimes I dragged myself along the ground while light dug into my eyes. I felt steadily more tired and hot. Finally I found some cool clay near a place with water I and buried myself into the clay. It felt so good for a moment, but then a deep numbness came over me and I realized I didn't care anymore about anything.

I was free, but I had no idea where I was ,and I could not move. Just so tired. So... sick. I wanted darkness again forever.

But I still must be paying for a bad thing I did, I think, because then a new Monster picked me up. I looked at him, but I did not care. He could eat me or make me hurt. It was too late anymore.

Instead, something dripped into my mouth. Thirsty, I started sucking and water slid down my throat. It felt so cool and good. Then hot liquid was dripping into my mouth, and there was a lovely scent to it, something I had smelled long ago and it made me think of that lowest layer of memory, the one that seems good.

I slept.

I woke up to the unpleasant realization that the Monsters had found me again, but I felt a little stronger, so I bit and fought until I was too weak to fight back. Then I cringed down and waited for the blows and iron teeth and iron stingers and hot iron.

But, an amazing thing happened. They did not give me pain. They gave me food. The Monster stayed back, and the Black Brutes stayed back. Instead a creature I had never seen before came to me and laid down a hollow wooden rock filled with food. I was so hungry now and my eyes were blurry with some thick liquid that ran out of them, so I could not really see how the creature looked.

One thing I knew: this was not a Monster. This was something... good.

Oh, food! Real food! It was lovelylovelylovely, warm meat-water. I lapped it up fast to show them I was not afraid of them, but deep down I was surprised. And, even more amazing, it was not wormy carrion food. It was good and rich and filled my stomach with warmth. My stomach was so warm that I went to sleep.

My sleep got deeper and deeper, then I felt as thought I were having a dream.

I felt myself shift and then was aware of flying again, but I was not being thrown. Instead I was hovering over the ground, swaying up and down. I felt achy, especially in my left front leg. It felt like something stiff and heavy was on it. I heard beats on the ground like the Black Brutes' feet, but these were lighter, softer.

Then I felt teeth on the back of my neck and realized I was being carried. I was still a prisoner.

I snarled and spat and jerked, but pain went up my left leg, and I chirped sharply.

Then suddenly warm water closed over my head and the teeth left my neck. I sank down and down and down, but then my body floated to the top. My head broke the surface, warm drops of water flying off of it.

Oh, this was good! I was lying in a natural lake or pool of hot spring water. Pleasant tingling burst along my sides as a sense of relaxation came over me, a peace I had not felt in my life. It did make me wonder more about that first layer of memory. Maybe my life had been like this.

The water was a strange light purple in color, and the smells that came from it were clean and sweet and good. It was light here, but the light was, strangely, a clean and warm light. A good light.

Is it possible for light to be good?

I let the tiredness drift over me. For a long time, I just lay in the water on my right side and dozed. Eventually I became aware I was not alone.

I stirred and raised my head, my nostrils flaring.

A large creature sitting on its side near the edge of this natural pool. It looked a little like the Black Brutes, but yet it was longer and leaner with less hair. Its ears were longer and its large eyes were not as round as theirs were.

It looked like a large, hornless antelope. Wait! Where did that term come from? How do I know what an antelope is? I've never seen one.

All I usually remember is pain and dark and Monsters who stink of death and blood.

The creature's head had turned so one of its eyes fell on me, but the gaze was calm, not white ringed like the Black Brutes' eyes often were. I felt safe here, and that, somehow, this creature was guarding me.

No one had done that for me before. This creature had given me meat-water to drink. It had put me in this special water that made me feel peaceful. Now it was watching over me.

All I could think was it was probably trying to get me to relax so it was easy to hurt me later on.

Even as I thought that, the thought slipped from my head. It was though the water was somehow washing it away.

Then I felt stronger and I wanted to see more, even though I also wanted to stay in this hot spring. I paddled to the edge of the water, and my left foreleg seemed to have no pain any longer.

The creature stood up and shook itself, scattering blades of sweet green grass. (Grass! Another word I thought I did not know!)

I saw now it was a weird color, like a new-born flame, a glowing pale yellow orange. It was a darker reddish-brown color on its face and legs and tail, and there was a white marking that ran down its face, between its eyes. A red- brown stripe ran down its back from shoulder to tail, and lots of small stripes marked its neck, shoulders and legs. I could not help thinking that I, also, have stripes on me, too, but not red-brown. I glanced at my legs and saw they were now very dull in color. I saw no stripes. But a part of me knew that I was striped. Or had been before the Monsters took me to punish me.

The creature made a quiet noise to me, something that sounded like purring. Wait! Purring- where did that term come from? How do I know what purring is? All these things are jumping from my head. I guess now the pain is going away, there is room for other things to come out of my thoughts.

The creature looked like it wanted to talk to me, but I had no idea what it was trying to say. I did not mean to, but I hissed in irritation at it.

I hunched into myself and slid back into the water, whimpering, waiting for the blow of anger and the laughter at my pain.

Nothing of the sort happened. Indeed, nothing happened. The creature just waited, large nostrils moving. It was a strange creature, thin and weird. Not ugly, but not beautiful, either.

The creature showed its teeth and gestured with its head. It wanted to pick me up out of the water, but it wanted me to agree.

I barked at it, a quick yip. I wanted to stay in the water, but I also wanted to see more of this place, so this time I would let myself be carried.

The creature lifted me out of the water in its teeth, using the loose patch of skin on the back of my neck. It did not hurt, so I did not mind to be carried this way. I got the sense I would not be able to walk well on my own for long, anyway. I let the creature carry me and stared at this world of green beauty we walked through. Words I thought I had forgotten came to my mind: grass, clouds, feather-singers, sun.

But then things began to get darker around us, not in a bad way, but more like night was coming to this place. I smelled a crisp clean scent I remembered from a very long time ago. I think it comes from a... tree. That is the word, yes. A tree with strange spikes that fall to the ground and smell so good. And the tree's top never turns brown.

The creature stopped suddenly, and I heard a sharp intake of breath rattling through its nostrils. It sounded very cautious, and I felt dread rise in me.

The creature lowered me to the ground. I was now sitting curled up between its front legs. Confused, I looked up at it. It was big enough to stomp on me, yet I sensed that it would not hurt me. The creature seemed more worried about another creature that I now saw lying in front of us.

My creature jerked with its head, indicating I should go forward.

Wha-? And let this blue-black creature curled up in front of eat me? Are you crazy?

My creature stomped softly on the ground and made that purring noise, its nostrils fluttering. I realized it wanted me to go forward, that this creature in front of me could help me,but this creature in front of me would not help my creature.

Maybe it would even attack my creature? Had my creature hurt it? It looked like it was missing part of its tail. Maybe my creature had bitten the tail part off?

I resolved to fight with all my power if my creature betrayed me or if this creature attacked me. But there was also something about the creature in front of me that intrigued me.

I thought it looked like me. I had never seen myself, but I did know I walked on four legs and had a long tail and those strange limbs that came out my shoulders. Just like this creature did.

Curious, I approached the sleeping creature, glancing back to see my creature. It remained standing, but then it took a step and melted into the darkness. I got the impression it was still there, watching over me. But it wanted to hide from the creature before me.

I limped forward, hobbling on three legs, my useless left front leg held stiff in front of me. My tail slid out to keep me balanced. It was good I was not far away, since I felt so awkward and that I could not walk for long before collapsing in exhaustion.

The creature in front of me let out a rumbling snort and opened its eyes, as though it were waking from a sleep. Well one of its eyes. The other eye looked swollen shut, as if the blue-black creature had been in a fight not too long ago. I could see, now, bruises scoring its hide and a white cloth tied tightly around one shoulder.

Its gaze locked with mine. The working eye seemed to be a deep green color with gold flecks in them. There was no emotion in the gaze, just curiosity.

I would have dropped onto my front legs in submission if I had a working set of legs.

The creature growled at me, lifting up its lips to show a powerful set of jaws with strong, white teeth.

I snarled back, trembling. Something in me wanted to roll over and show my stomach, but something in me also was ready to fight.

The creature was sitting up now, and I could see now a beautiful world behind it, a place rich with clean smelling trees and a large body of sweet water. High rock walls stretched into the air, and the moon seemed to hang low in the sky.

The creature was very dark, and it had several things jutting from its head- things like ears. Huge, long limbs were folded up on its sleek back, and a tail almost as long as mine waved slowly back and forth. I saw that what I had thought was a missing tail part actually did have replacement on it: a strange sort of hide that resembled a real skin and bone tail part.

And one more thing. This creature smelled like a Monster had touched it, but the creature was still alive.

That is why I was growling! I smelled a Monster.

The dark creature now looked puzzled at me and then gave a very long toothy grimace like it was pleased in an evil way. Probably thinks it's amusing to watch little me try to fight back before he casually leans over and eats me in one gulp.

I felt an odd pressure in my head, as though something were pushing from the inside out. I snarled even louder and hissed long and hard.

The creature gave a sharp growl that silenced me. It looked intently at me, eye narrowed not in anger but in concentration. It gestured sharply with its head and snorted. Somehow I got the impression it was telling me to remain still, that it needed to talk to me, and I had to stay still for that.

I hunched down and growled again, but I remained still. I felt the pressure against my head. It grew stronger and stronger, like someone was trying to remove something from my skull. It did not hurt; it just felt odd.

I felt my head drop forward on my neck and a sense of dizziness, then a thread of drool dribbled from my mouth.

Suddenly there was a great crack inside of me and a flash of light behind my eyes. I snarled and shook my head.

Something seemed more airy and, well, brighter in my mind. It felt natural, like everything before this moment had been blocked in a cave behind a rock.

I barked in surprise. What did you do?

::No. Think it. Otherwise, I won't understand you. Think it. Like I am, right now:: a voice suddenly echoed in my skull.

That's you? You're talking in my head?

::No, no, no. Try again. Think it.::

Okay, whatever you suggest.

So I thought it. ::It::

::Oy. Well, I did ask for it, didn't I::

::I just said "It". You want me to say "it"again? Actually, I just said it again. That's three times now, I've said "it." Whoops, four!.::

::Smart ass, aren't you?

::What is an ass?::

The creature in front of gave an exasperated groan and sank to its original sitting position, ::I must have done something really bad today, and I am paying for it.::

It shook its head until the strange ear-like things on its face rattled, ::Just go to a lake and look at your reflection. You'll have an answer to your question::

I had the feeling like I had just been insulted, but I was not about to try and fight with something who looked like this strong and fierce fellow. Hmm. Yes, this was a "He" creature, I decided. The thought speech seemed rather masculine.

::Did you do something to make me... talk... like this?::

::Of course:: the creature snorted, ::For some reason, you've never had your memory stone opened, so you could not do thought speech. It's something your parents should have done for you. I assume something happened to your parents.::

I shook my head, dazed by all this new way of communication ::I don't know what happened. I... think I had parents. Yes, I am pretty sure I had parents. Whatever they are.::

The creature actually started laughing. I snarled a bit in warning.

The creature still laughed, but I sensed it was from humor, not viciousness ::I should hope so. Most of us tend to have parents. It's a bit hard to enter the world without them.:: the creature's one working eye narrowed, again, ::You're sure a weird one, aren't you, Junior? You're very young, but you're obviously not a baby even though you are tiny in size. And you never learned the basics, not even how to communicate with thought speech. What happened?::

::I... don't know. I don't even know what I am, let alone what happened to me or my parents. Am I ...a ...smart ass?::

The creature in front of me was now on his back in what I could only describe as laughter. He kicked his legs in delight, tongue lolling out.

::Hey, you're being mean!:: I snarled, ::I honestly don't know. I've been captured by some sort of Monsters and now I am finally free. There's so much I never learned. It's NOT FUNNY!::

Something in my new found thought speech must have made an impression. The creature now had rolled to its feet, its shoulder limbs out. It snorted hard, like it was trying to keep from laughing, ::I do apologize, youngling. Your words were just were so funny I had to laugh. And, I thank you for that. As you can tell from my black eye and this bandage on my shoulder, I've had a bit of a rough time lately. Your questions are so refreshing in their innocence that I had to laugh.::

He took a closer look at me and then his working eye filled with sadness, ::Oh, Sky Lady. You really look like you took some hard blows there. I do apologize, kid. I did not realize... you really have been through something horrible.::

I kept my head lowered and lips peeled back, not sure whether to snarl or not, ::I'll live. But can't you tell me what I am and what you are and why am I here talking to you?::

::You deserve that ,at least. Well, kiddo. You and I are both People, also known as "dragons." You know: big creatures, fly with wings, breathe some sort of fire. Talk with Thought-speech::

I had no idea what "wings" were, but the thought that I could breathe fire seemed kind of amazing, and I could not help feeling a bit happier.

::And you are on the Dreampaths. I know, it sounds dumb. I am just getting used to this myself. Apparently, when you link up with Firemakers, you get this ability to communicate with other Mind speaking creatures in their dreams. ::

::Firemaker- but, that's a dragon, right?:: I tilted my head.

::No. Firemakers are the only other creatures besides us who can... well, make fire. They look like this::

He projected an image of a Monster to me. I don't remember the details of how the vile beast looked, but I know a Monster when I see one!

::Uh, you can stop screaming now, junior, unless you want to wake up.: the dragon said to me, worry in his thought speech.

::No way! No way! There is no way I bonded with a Firemaker! They are the Monsters who hurt me! I HATE THEM!::

The dark dragon leaned back as if I had blasted him with really foul smelling breath, ::Easy on the thought speech, kiddo. Do you want to crack your memory stone?:: He shook his head and scratched his jaw with a front paw.

The dragon continued, ::Look, I just bonded with a Firemaker not too long ago, so I am new to all this. I'd guess from those scars on your body and the way you just screamed, you are not Bonded with one. Maybe you're here as a guest, like you needed to meet another dragon to open your memory stone? Who knows. You're kind of weird, so maybe the rules don't apply to you. Anyway, here you are, and here I am. Any other questions?::

I forced myself to breathe slower, ::We're both dragons, but we seem to look different from each other.::

::Yes, well, we are a diverse People. Many tribes exist. I am a Lightning Person... or, at least, I used to be one:: the dragon´s tone became sad and heavy, and he was silent for a moment, head lowered. Then the dragon looked me over again, wincing in sympathy at my collection of scars, ::I honestly have to say I have never seen a Person like you. But, then, again, there are many tribes, so it's not surprising. It would be nice if you could find one of your kind::

I sat back on my haunches and thought it would be nice, too. But a deep part of me felt it was not likely. I know the Monsters who had imprisoned me had been traveling Monsters. How far had those Monsters taken me on their journeys? Maybe I was so far from my original home I would never know who my People were.

Except for the strange creature who had helped me with the healing water, I seemed to be all alone.

Oh, and also this nameless black Lightning Person.

Said nameless, black Lightning Person-dragon yawned, deeply, ::I think I am drifting into a deeper sleep, so you'll have to excuse me. I... believe.. that happens sometimes. You dream many dreams in the night, so I think this one may not be my last. I... probably will not remember this dream.:: another yawn, ::But, I hope I meet you again, young one. And good luck::

::Thank you for helping me! And... what is your name?:: I asked, but I never heard the answer. I felt like everything was fading away, like I was waking up.

Instead I was suddenly aware of sunshine in my eyes. I shook my head, snorted, and then realized I was now awake. I was lying curled up in a warm woven grass nest with a warm woven sheet wound around me. It smelled of Monster, but it felt also smelled of sweet herbs and was soothing in its warmth, too. Too soothing for me to try and throw it off.

I felt clean and dry and safe.

I still felt weak and dizzy, but there was an edge of energy in me that had not been there before. More of the warm meat-water was placed next to my nest in that unusual wooden container, just close enough so I could lean over and lap it up. I did so, feeling warmth travel down to my stomach.

Ah, how wonderful to not feel the pains of hunger or thirst!

I lifted my head, broth dripping from my muzzle. The world that greeted me was... beautiful. A golden field stretched until it met with the bright blue sky. I saw grass waving. I heard birds singing. I felt crisp air blow past the side of my face, yet the basket and sheet kept me warm.

There was no sign of Monsters, but I did hear a swishing noise. I turned my head to see the same pale orange creature from that strange experience that had just happened to me... while I was sleeping? The creature nodded its head and then went back to nosing at the ground for grass, its reddish brown tail swishing in the air behind it.

::Open your mind, if you will?:: Now I heard the voice, a female one.

I hesitated for a moment, not quite comfortable with all this, but then I nodded my head, ::Yes.::

::Good.:: the creature seemed to smile with its voice, ::Be welcomed. Now rest. The sun is good for you.::

The creature would not let me answer, but instead moved further away, leaving me. But she still remained close enough to be watching for me, all while eating grass.

I yawned and realized I was still tired, and I would probably fall asleep again. So, until then, I just lay with my head on my paws and watched this new world in front of me. This land of grass may have seemed dull and featureless, but at the moment I think it was the most beautiful landscape I had seen in my life.

My new life.