To the Power Born: A Tale of the Slayers

Part 24: In Pain, We Are Lost

I woke up the second time after losing Royal still wanting to scream and cry— but I didn't. Aunt Dawn was asleep in a chair next to the bed, Daddy was asleep in a chair by the door, and something warm was on the bed with me— warm and furry.

Richter lay on the bed, pressed against my side. He must have sensed me waking up, because he lifted his head on put it on my stomach. Automatically, without thinking, I stroked his head— and it was different enough not to hurt. Warm fur, not cool scales, that made it… possible to pet him and not hurt. His tail started swishing gently, thumping lightly against my calf on the backswing, and he just… let me pet him and scratch his ears.

For a while, that was okay. But my traitor body made it necessary to move, to find a bathroom— and that woke Daddy and Aunt Dawn up.

"Jocelyn, you shouldn't be up yet," Aunt Dawn said, sitting up as I swung my legs off the bed.

"It's either get up or wet the bed," I said. I went to the bathroom, ignored her, ignored Daddy, and did what really needed doing. I must have been out a long time.

I came out to find Daddy and Aunt Dawn standing and watching the bathroom door like a pair of falcons ready to stoop. As soon as I was out, Daddy laid a hand on my shoulder… and just like that, I was gone again, crying like a baby, clinging to him and crying like the world had broken— because it had.

Look, even if you've got a pseudo dragon of your own, even if you've lost a pseudo dragon… I don't know if you can understand what it felt like to lose Royal. I don't think you can.

Royal had bonded with me while I was a baby. I had no memory at all of a time when he was not there, in my mind, a part of me as much as my own thoughts, loving me, caring for me, helping me, and never, ever asking anything but that I love him back. As far as Giles knows, has been able to find out, no pseudo dragon has ever bonded with a child younger than four or so, before or since.

Nobody knows how long pseudo dragons live, not here. None have ever died a natural death, not yet, and some of those who came here almost fifteen years ago were five and six years old, then. They show no signs of aging, of getting infirm, none of them. Glitter says on their own world, those not bonded to a member of another sentient species tended to live around twelve or fourteen years. Those who bonded with someone, human, elf, half-elf, Halfling, dwarf, centaur, whatever— they tended to live as long as their bond-partners, die shortly after their partners did.

Oh, sure, there were cases of the dragon being killed before, or the bond-partner. But natural causes tended to take them within hours of each other.

I didn't go to sleep again, not this time. Instead, Daddy sat me down on the bed, held me, and had Aunt Dawn call Mom in. They held me while I cried, and Richter flopped across all three of our laps.

When I finally calmed down some, I managed a question. "Have you… have you b-b-buried him yet?"

"No, honey," Daddy said. "Willow… she did for Royal what she did for Chief and Alex, then she stopped time around him so that you could be there when we bury him."

"How long…?"

"It's Thursday night, sugar," Mom said. "Long about eight o'clock."

"Two days!?" I said, gaping.

"You were hurt about as bad as you could be and still live through it, Jocelyn," Daddy said. He looked a mix of frightened, sad, relieved and angry and said, "Warren… he nearly got you. I will remember Royal as long as I live, Jocelyn, I swear to you I will— because if he hadn't knocked you aside the little bit he did, that bullet would have hit your heart."

"I know," I whispered. "I knew— I saw the gun and the whole throwing things knack, I guess… I guess that lets me see things backwards, too. I could tell where Warren's shot was going to hit. And R-Royal… he s-s-saved me, and oh, GOD, I want him back!"

I was gone again, sobbing and hurting, and my parents held me. When I stopped, maybe ten minutes later, Aunt Dawn came in with a meal tray. Soup, sandwiches, a pile of chips, a big glass of apple juice, and she said, "You need to eat. I know, you probably aren't hungry— but you need to eat, Jocelyn. Healer's orders."

"All right," I said. Aunt Dawn took the tray to the small desk in the guest room, and I managed to remember to say thank you before I sat down and ate.

I couldn't tell you what the soup was, or the sandwiches— it tasted like water and cardboard to me. Mom and Daddy sat together on the bed and watched me. I could tell they were worried, and I got why— but it didn't have any impact, you know? I got it— but I didn't care.

Once I'd finished, I said, "Mom, could you get me come clothes, please? I need to talk to Giles, and going to him in panties and a T might send him into apoplexy."

"All right, sweetie," Mom said, standing. She came over and hugged me, said, "I'll be right back."

I expected Daddy to ask why I needed to talk to Giles, but he didn't. He just put an arm around my waist and held me when I sat back down next to him, petted Richter when my puppy got up on the bed and lay across our laps again.

After a few, Mom came back with clothes for me, and I excused myself to shower and dress. When I came out, Mom helped me brush out my hair, then followed me out to the main part of the house.

Belinda, my ten year-old sister, sometimes psychic, always cool, hit me in a hug as soon as I came out of the guest room. She hugged me, wept some, let me cry on her, then let me go. I got four steps and Colin was there, wrapping me up, holding me against another storm of tears. Then Mi Kyong and my little sister Danielle together….

It took me a half an hour to get to Giles's house, because everyone hugged me, and I hugged back and I cried a lot more.

I never saw a pseudo dragon. Not at our house, not when I got across the yard to Giles's house. They knew. They understood, even before I did, that I couldn't bear seeing them, not then, not so soon. True to the nature of the species, they made sure I didn't have to see them, to be reminded.

Once I'd stopped crying on Giles, I sat down next to him on the couch in the study. Only seven of us in the room, me, Giles and Kelly, Mom and Dad, Buffy and Xander. Once I'd gotten my post-cry hiccups under control, I looked at Giles and spoke.

"I need a favor, Giles, please," I said.

"Ask, my dear."

"You know that little glade back by the stream where I go to think and be alone, sometimes?" I asked. "The one over here, on your property?"

"Yes, I know where you mean," Giles said.

"Could I… could I b-bury Royal there?" I asked. "He— he loved it there, as much as I do, and I think— I think he'd be h-h-happy there."

"Of course you may, Jocelyn," Giles said, and hugged me. "Of course you may. Would that it were not necessary— but if it will make you feel better, if you feel that he would like it— yes, of course."

"You show me where tomorrow, and I'll help you dig, Jocelyn," Xander said.

"No, thank you, Xander," I said. I hesitated, trying to work out what I needed to say, then gave up on being fancy about it. "I don't want help. It needs to be me. Just me. I'll dig the grave, I'll fill it in, and I'll make a— a m-marker for h-him. Just me."

"Okay, Jocelyn," Xander said. He came over and hugged me, held me for a minute, and said, "I get it. Will you need tools for the marker?"

"A chisel." I gulped air, clung to the comforting solidity of Xander and said, "And a hammer. Maybe… different sizes."

"I'll put them out on the table on the patio before I go to bed," Xander said, and squeezed me one more time before letting go.

"Thanks," I said. I turned back to the others and said, "Warren. Did that bastard— did anyone else d-d—"

"There were no other casualties, no," Giles said gently. "Thanks to Mi Kyong's dream and Ballard's understanding of what it meant, we were able to prepare the other teams. Warren did attempt other strikes, expecting to have the element of surprise, thinking we would have told everyone he was dead, but I was able to warn everyone in time. Five more of Warren's bodies have been destroyed, though there are at least twenty-nine more."

"All right," I said. I didn't add that this meant that I could maybe kill him twenty-nine more times, but I know that everyone knew I was thinking it. "I need… where is Royal? I need to… to s-say g-g-goodbye."

"All right, honey-girl," Daddy said. "Come on, I'll take you to him."

I followed, half-blinded by tears. No one ever faulted me for not saying thank you or goodbye to everyone— they understood.

Daddy had put Royal on the balcony off of my room, over in the corner where he'd always loved to lay, because the sun hit that spot more than any other. Maybe you think that was morbid or ghoulish— but I didn't, and it wasn't. He'd loved being there. It was right for him to rest there until I could bury him.

I knelt next to Royal, who lay curled up like he usually was when he was out there, but it was… different. Like a person is different after they die, no matter how natural they look, Royal was different, too. I stroked him, just once— it felt too different to be able to stand it.

I didn't say anything, just went inside and grabbed a book— the Sleeping Dragon, the book that had given Thomas the name his dragon, Ellegon, had adopted, Royal had loved that story more than any other— and stopped at the balcony door to hug Daddy again.

"I need to be alone, please," I said. I didn't know if he'd give in to that without arguing, and I didn't think he was going to— but he did.

"All right, Jocelyn," Daddy said. "If you need company, any of us will come— or you can come climb in bed with us."

"I know," I said. I looked up at the mostly-full moon, just rising in the early evening sky, knew it wouldn't last long enough, and said, "Leave the light on in there, please."

Daddy left me alone with Royal's body, and I sat next to him on the balcony floor, opened the Sleeping Dragon, and began to read it aloud for him, one last time— for him.

I read until almost six in the morning, finished it, put it away, and ran my hand over Royal's cool scales once before going inside.

I went downstairs, then to the garage and got a shovel. I went to the patio behind Giles's house, found that Xander had indeed laid out a selection of hammers and chisels for me, and took them and the shovel to the clearing near the stream.

It took me three hours to dig Royal's grave. Maybe it shouldn't have— but I went deeper than I had to, and I had to stop and cry several times. Once that was done, I waded into the stream and found a rock that would make a good tombstone, managed to get it out— it was about eighteen inches wide, two and a half feet long, six inches thick, almost a perfect oval, and buried pretty deep in the mud at the bottom of the stream— and cleaned it off.

I took five hours to carve that rock into a grave marker for my friend. I practiced first on another rock, to get the feel of the tools, and it's a good thing— not easy to use a hammer and chisel, I came away with a new respect for sculptors who work in stone— then carved what I had to say on Royal's stone.

I finished, sat back— and a voice in my head said, *It is right, Jocelyn. Thank you— it is right.*

I jerked in surprise at that unexpected mental voice, cocked the chisel I still held back to throw it— then relaxed when I saw Glitter, Aunt Rose's pseudo dragon friend, the first pseudo dragon to come here and Royal's mother, sitting on a branch just over my head.

I didn't say anything, couldn't say anything— but I held up my arms, and Glitter almost dove into them, pressed against me, and we wept together for her child, my lifelong companion whom we'd both loved.

After a half an hour, when I could think clearly again, Glitter climbed up on my shoulder, and I walked back to the house. No one said anything about me being gone all morning. Mom had saved my lunch, asked me to eat, and I did, feeding Glitter, who stayed with me, little bites of pork roast and rolls.

When I finished, I rinsed my plate, then said, "I'm going to shower and change clothes, then… then I'm going to bury Royal. If anyone wants to come say goodbye, they can."

"All right, sugar," Mom said. She hugged me, and I hugged back so hard that I think it's a good thing she's a Slayer, too.

Glitter curled up on my bed while I showered and dressed— casually, clean jeans and a button-down blouse, because I'd be working again, and Royal wouldn't care what I wore— and picked Royal up to take him to the glade where he'd be resting forever.

Everyone came. All of my family and friends, and that includes the pseudo dragons, now that I could take seeing them.

I as soon as I entered the clearing, the pseudo dragons, as they had at Alex's funeral, made a column of counter-rotating flying circles above the grave. In the first layer, ten feet above the grave, Glitter, Charm, Sunset, Neon and Joyce's Leia (who had been among the first batch of hatchlings that Royal had fathered). Above that, the rest, some forty-plus pseudo dragons (there were guests who didn't live there present, accounting for the larger numbers), all flying a memorial to my friend.

I tried to say something after I'd laid Royal in his grave and climbed out, tried to make people understand. All that came out was a sobbed, "I love you, Royal— and I'll miss you forever!"

Aunt Sh'rin spoke for me, gave a short service like she'd given at Alex's funeral— then I started filling in the grave. It didn't take near so long— less than half an hour— and no one left.

Once the grave had been filled and smoothed, I went to where I'd left the stone after carving it, lifted it— and drove it into the earth at the head of Royal's grave, hard, almost viciously. The others looked at it, nodded— and slowly, people started drifting off.

Here lies Royal, one of the first pseudo dragons born on Earth.

He died that a friend might live.

Always, he will be missed.

I stayed there at his grave until suppertime, with only Richter and Glitter for company— then I went and started trying to pick up the pieces of my life.

Royal would have wanted it that way.

It wasn't easy. I hurt, and I had to almost constantly remind myself not to let the hurt do my talking at first.

I hadn't been in any shape to notice him while burying Royal, but I wasn't too surprised when I walked into Graham as I came around the corner of my house— his pseudo dragon pal Neon had been in the memorial column, after all. He hugged me, and we just stood there for a long moment, holding onto each other. Finally, I backed up some, took his hands and said, "Thanks."

"Anytime," he said, his voice soft and serious. "Anything I can do?"

"Yes," I said, and he looked surprised. "Graham… START has a lot of funky experimental weapons, right?"

"Yeah, the armory guys are always tinkering around with new stuff," he admitted. "Why do you ask?"

"You know my taste in weapons," I said., locking my eyes on his. "If you have anything that I can use well that's electrified— I want it."

He stared at me for a long moment, looked sideways to his shoulder at Neon, then back at me.

"Well, no electrified swords, I'm afraid," Graham said slowly. "And crazy-discs, no shockers there. Best I can do for that is a nightstick. But… Jocelyn, how would you feel about some crazy-discs that could be set to explode, either on impact or from one to five seconds after being thrown?"

"That'd be great," I said. "Warren… he's a complete bastard who hates to be beaten. He'll be after me, too, me and Mom, not just Buffy and her family, now. He won't… he's so messed up he won't be able to understand how much he's already hurt me. It won't be enough. So… I want an edge."

Graham's jaw dropped and he said, very softly, "Holy shit. Holy freaking shit!

"Jocelyn— damn, girl! I never saw that! I've read the profile on him, I knew all the bits that make what you said absolutely right, and I never even saw it! And you saw it, even in the middle of hurting like hell? I'm impressed!"

"Don't be," I said. I looked up at him and gave him the one thing I had to give him right then— the truth. "Don't be impressed, Graham. I saw it, and it's true— but I went and looked for that. I looked for an excuse— because I want to kill him as many times as I can!"

He hugged me, really hard, and said against my hair, "No blame from this quarter, Jocelyn. But… promise that you'll be careful, please? That you won't… get reckless."

"I promise," I said. I tried to smile, couldn't quite make it. "Graham, I have to be careful— because if one of him kills me, that means I won't get to go after however many more of him are left.

"I'm not going looking for him, Graham— I swear it, I swear it on— on Royal's grave!

"I'm not going looking for him— but that scum-sucking toaster-rapist isn't killing anyone else that I care about, not if I'm around to stop him!"

Graham looked at me, snorted a tiny laugh at the "scum-sucking toaster-rapist" part, then nodded at me.

"That's good enough for me, Jocelyn. I'll get you the stick and the discs— some of those for you and your mom both— but I'm going to have to tell your folks."

"I know," I said. "I know, Graham. It's fine. I meant what I said, and I'll let Willow in to look if they need that. I'm not chasing him, looking for him— but if Warren comes around again, I want to be able to blow him to smithereens before he so much as touches someone I love."

He nodded, and we went inside together.

I ate supper, enough to fill me, though I didn't enjoy it much. Then I sat with Colin, watched a movie with the family. I went to bed very early— I'd been up all night the night before and worked hard that day, remember— and asked to sleep alone that night. Colin accepted it, didn't seem upset by it— he understood.

Friday, I showed up for training, and got included. I worked until told to stop, ate when told to eat, went to Royal's grave for a bit after lunch and before training started again. After the afternoon training session was over, I went to find Diane Hodges to get back to work on getting past my issues with not having been Chosen. She seemed surprised to see me, and didn't try to hide that.

"I need to get past this," I said after she admitted she hadn't expected to see me yet. "I need to be… the Slayer I was. More. I… Diane, Royal said that as often as— more often than— anyone else. So… I'll get past it. For him, mostly— but because I need to, too."

"All right, Jocelyn," Diane said, her eyes almost glowing with approval. "Then let's get to work."

Friday night at supper, I had to leave the table for a bit, come back after I'd calmed down. Not like it was her fault, but my sister Danielle, all of eight years old, felt absolutely awful over saying what she did.

She came in last of all, and she was almost bouncing off of the walls when she ran in, without her electric-green pseudo dragon (named Muppet) with her for the first time I could remember in a long, long time.

Danielle stopped between Mom and Dad's chairs, and said with a huge grin, "Guess what! Mom, Dad, everybody, guess what!" Before anyone could even start to guess, she near-yelled, "Muppet laid EGGS!"

I froze for a moment, then stood up, mumbled, "excuse me," and left the room.

I went to the nearest bathroom— we were eating at Giles and Company's house that night— sat on the toilet and cried for a couple of minutes, then washed my face and went back out to the table. Danielle got up and ran to me as soon as I came in the room, almost crying in her upset at having upset me.

"I'm sorry, Jocelyn!" Danielle almost wailed, and flung herself into my arms. "I didn't think, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it hurt again!"

"It's okay, Dani," I said, and hugged her. "It's okay. I think— well, around here? I'd better get used to it."

"I— okay, but I'm still sorry," Danielle said, and went back to her seat.

I sat down, I ate, I helped clean up— my turn in the rotation— then I took Richter out for a walk, put him on the leash to start him getting used to it, and went around the block a time or two. He didn't like it at all, but I knew he needed to get used to it. Once we got back to our yard, I let him off the leash and we played chase for a while. Good, silly fun, and I needed it.

I didn't ask to sleep alone that night, but I didn't start anything sexy, and neither did Colin.

Saturday was Friday all over, minus the time with Diane, and with the addition of me riding with Spider Robinson and his pseudo dragon, Willis, up to orbit in the pressurized chamber that Uncle Ballard had commissioned so that the pseudo dragons could join us at Asimov Station. Aunt Elaine and Charm came, too, and I have to admit— watching Spider's excitement at finally getting into space was a joy.

Just before he got on board the shuttle to Asimov, after Colin had found it and mated the locks of shuttle and chamber, he hugged the stuffing out of me, then hugged Aunt Elaine even longer and harder— then once more, asking her to pass the second one on to Colin for him.

"I'll see you next time you come up," Spider said. "I'm not coming back down— I got a job here that includes living space, writing a column about life in space for the United Press Syndicate. So when you come up to dance again— and you'd better come up to dance again!— I'll be here to see it live."

Colin took us home, then, and I went off to find Uncle Ballard for some extra Capoeira lessons. He was amenable, though he kept it down to an hour, mindful of not working me too hard. After that was over, he asked me if I wanted to join a super hero role-playing game that Thomas was going to start that night.

"I… no," I said. "Not yet, Uncle Ballard. Too… I'm still too subject to hurt to try something like that."

"Okay, that's fair," he said. He hugged me, let go— then his eyes lit up. "Oh. Wow. I don't think we ever told you…."

"Told me what, Uncle Ballard?" I asked.

"Your psychic little sister had a vision while we were up on Asimov Station," Uncle Ballard said. "Mostly about other stuff, but there was a bit about helping Colin. And it occurs to me, thinking about super hero games, that you could probably help us help him on that."

"What was said?" I asked.

"I don't remember the wording, exactly— I'm not your dad or Giles, my memory isn't that good— but in essence, it said that Colin will have to reclaim his identity as Starpulse, that he is Starpulse, and he'll have to admit that to save lives." Uncle Ballard gave me a little grin and said, "Now, the best way I can think of to do that is for you to design him a new costume, Jocelyn— something that calls to mind his original outfit, maybe, but is still different.

"If it comes from you, he's less likely to shy away from putting it on."

"I can't sew at all," I pointed out.

"No need," Uncle Ballard said. "I said 'design,' not 'make,' kiddo. I've got character blanks for the game we're playing— and they come in two kinds, one for the character's stats, the other for the costume. It's a blank body, male or female, that you can draw the costume on. I give you a couple of the blank male body sheets, you tinker, we have someone else make it when it's done."

"Oh." I thought about that for a minute, then smiled a little. "That sounds… neat. Yes, please. A couple of blanks, a bunch of colored pencils, and the net, that's what I'll need."

Uncle Ballard got me the blank-body-drawings— just a male form with rudimentary muscle lines on it— and we found some colored pencils. I sat down at a computer in the study, started an image search for "super hero"— and went to work.

Colin's original costume had been snug black jeans, bloused into black boots, and a snug white pullover shirt with a golden eight-rayed star— two long rays vertical, two horizontal, four short ones on the diagonals— on the chest, and a tie on white mask that covered his hair and upper face. I thought about just swapping the colors here and there, decided that wasn't quite enough, and went further. Uncle Ballard came to find me just before supper, and I'd just finished.

I showed him what I'd come up with, and a slow grin broke out over his face. "Hey, you don't want to play Thomas's game right now, I get it— but can I get you to design my character's costume?"

"You like it?" I asked.

"It's great," Uncle Ballard said. "Acknowledges his old costume, but it's different enough that I think he'll be able to wear it without feeling hurt. Can I have this to show Kelly? If she can't make it herself, she'll know where to take it to get it made."

"Betcha," I said. Then I said, "But when the time comes, Uncle Ballard— I want to give it to him, and I want Mi Kyong there with me. Comes back to that thing about him accepting stuff better from me. From me and his adopted little sister, I bet that will work even better."

"Oh, good point," Uncle Ballard said. "Okay— come on, supper time."

I followed Uncle Ballard to the patio (we were all eating outside, it was a beautiful day for it), and this smell hit me. Knowing that I still hurt, that I hadn't yet gotten to eating for more than the necessity of fuel, Daddy, Kelly, Xander, Sh'rin and Thomas had cheated, and fixed my favorite foods.

Butterfly pork chops marinated in Xander's own secret marinade sauce, then cooked to slow, tender perfection on the grill, slathered in tons of barbecue sauce for the last twenty minutes of so of cooking, Daddy-made barbecue sauce, with a special addition to the sauce for me, Xander and Mom— about a ton of hot sauce, cayenne pepper and habanera juice to make it nuclear hot barbecue sauce. Then add roasted potatoes from Kelly, with this perfect blend of seasonings, Daddy-made rolls, a Sh'rin-made salad and a dressing made by Thomas… my appetite finally pushed through my pain and made itself known. Hell, it ROARED to announce its presence!

I ate until I just couldn't eat any more— then I hugged each of the cooks and thanked them.

That night, as though waking up my appetite for food had woken other appetites, I pretty much attacked Colin as soon as we were in our room, and we made love until neither of us could move.

Sunday went well. Lots of playing, and I went to a movie with Colin and Mi Kyong and Riley Giles, came home and found out from Aunt Rose that the shooting had started on the third movie based on one of her books— and that a big-name producer for Hollywood movies had come to her to ask about her feelings on him buying the rights to Chosen To Stand with the intention of making it a sixteen or-twenty-hour mini-series on HBO.

"He said he won't do it if I'm not involved," Aunt Rose said, looking delighted. "I've talked to most everyone who'd be represented in it, and they're all in favor, so I told him I'd need to see a script, first. He said I should have it in my email tomorrow!"

I loved the idea almost as much as Aunt Rose did.

Over the next week, not much happened. I trained as much as the Watchers would let me, spent time with Colin, time with my family, my friends… I recovered a little from the hole that losing Royal had left in my life. Richter helped a ton— training a puppy is a great distraction, and playing with a rowdy, cuddly, playful, snuggly puppy an even better one.

It didn't keep me from being sort of a bitch the next Sunday afternoon, though.

Friday afternoon, a week after she laid them, Muppet's eggs hatched. I didn't go see the babies, and no one faulted me for that. But Sunday at lunch— again outside, with all the newbies joining us— Danielle brought the babies out to play on the table under Muppet's watchful eye (and Danielle's, too), and I… well. Okay, I was a bitch.

At first, it was okay. Six little dragons, all cute (okay, that's obvious, baby dragons are ALWAYS cute). I even petted a couple who came over to meet me, one who was the most INSANELY BRIGHT shade of yellow that I've ever seen, and one who was a very mellow, relaxing shade of blue. They came over, begged a bite of hamburger, let me rub their heads, and wobbled off. No problem.

I watched three of the others— brick red, party-orange and a sort of electric teal— wrestling in the middle of the table, and wondered idly where the sixth had gone— until I looked back down at my plate.

Sitting in front of my plate, staring up at me with eyes of liquid brass, was this slightly-larger-than-average baby pseudo dragon with scales that were so dark a red that they almost looked black. You could only tell that they were red near the edges of the wings, the joints of the legs, the places where foot and claw met and the tip of the tail. I reached down to rub its head, and immediately knew that it was a she.

That… upset me. I hadn't gotten that much, even, from the yellow or the blue one, and getting it from this little darker-than-dark red thing… it upset me.

"I think you need to move, or you'll fall," I said. Mi Kyong, sitting next to me, looked at me oddly, and I realized that my voice had come out… dry and harsh. I hadn't meant for that to happen, but it had.

"Sorry," I said to both Mi Kyong and the dragon. "But really, you should move. Please."

The dragon peeped, a rising, questioning sort of noise, and moved to one side. I did my best to ignore her as I went back to my food— but she sat there, a couple of inches from the plate and watched me.

I tried giving her a bite of hamburger, and she ate it with relish— but didn't go away.

I ate quickly, then got up and walked away from the table before the little pseudo dragon could edge closer again. As I stood, I heard a sad little sound from the dragon— and I almost ran into the house.

I went out the front of the house, rather than go back out the back, and went to sit by Royal's grave— where I wept for most of half an hour before I got up and went to take Richter for a walk.

I spent the next week trying to ignore that pseudo dragon. She'd come to me at meals, sit as near as I'd let her, watch me, try to come close enough to touch me, try to get me to touch her. Sometimes I'd feel this little feathery touch on my mind, and I'd start thinking in limericks, or about multiplication tables or reciting stuff I'd memorized for school in my head.

I kept that up— right up until Mi Kyong showed me that I was being an idiot.