Dragonskin Slippers by Jessica Day George Read Free Book Online

wing. “
Dog
dogs? Live dogs?”
    “What other kind of dog is there?” Feniul’s face had reappeared. “Azarte is altogether too fond of treats,” he said in the tone of a harried mother whose favourite child has got into the jam again.
    “Er, yes, that must be a great trial to you,” Shardas replied. “That’s why I
don’t
collect living things,” he murmured to me, and I stifled a giggle.
    “What was that?”
    “Nothing, Feniul. What did you want to ask about the migration?”
    “I didn’t know dragons migrated,” I put in, fascinated.
    “Little human, what you don’t know about dragons would fill my cave,” Feniul said nastily. “
We
don’t migrate.
Your
species does.”
    “Humans don’t migrate,” I argued, more puzzled than offended.
    “Then explain why flocks of them clog the roads and paths to your king’s city every summer,” Feniul huffed at me, rippling the water of the pool.
    “He’s speaking of the Great Fair and the Merchants’ Ball,” Shardas explained. “We try to keep out of the way of the humans travelling in the forest in general, but at that time of year there are so many that we must plan our hunting even more carefully.”
    “What would happen if some humans
did
see you?” I looked from one dragon to the other. “A farmer travelling to the fair with his prize pig is hardly in a position to slay a dragon, by accident or on purpose.”
    “So
you
say,” Feniul muttered darkly.
    “Since the unpleasantness with Milun the First, it is not our habit to allow humans to see us if at all possible,” Shardas told me in his patient way. “It is better like this. For both our kinds.”
    “You let me see you,” I pointed out. “You rescued me from those bandits.”
    “You did what?” Feniul shook his emerald head with a rattle of scales and horns. “I will never understand you, Shardas. Never.”
    “Nor I, you,” Shardas responded, giving a significant look to the brown puppy that could be seen squirming between Feniul’s forelegs. “And yet we remain friends.”
    “I suppose,” Feniul said in his prissy manner. “Shall we simply keep to the same schedule as last year, then?” He was giving me the eye, as though he didn’t trust me, which he probably didn’t. But then, I could hardly blame him.
    “Yes. If you would be so good as to inform the others?” Shardas folded his legs and gazed down into thepool more intently. He, too, was watching the puppy, his long, forked tongue protruding from the corner of his fanged mouth in what I took to be a sly grin.
    “I would be happy to –” Feniul turned his face away sharply, looking at something neither Shardas nor I could see. “Azarte! No! Bad dog!
Bad dog!
”
    We both stared into the enchanted pool in fascination. Feniul had turned mostly away from us, so that all we could see of him were part of his massive hindquarters and his long tail. The fat brown puppy, released from his master’s grip, was happily scrambling among the spiny ridges along Feniul’s tail. Other dogs could now be seen tumbling around the rush-strewn floor of Feniul’s cave or napping on piles of blankets. Large bones that I hoped were from sheep or cattle were scattered around or in the process of being chewed by various dogs.
    “Do a lot of dragons collect live animals?” I whispered to Shardas.
    “Not really, but Feniul’s always been a bit odd.” Shardas sighed. “He’s a cousin – a very distant cousin, mind you – but I still have a clan obligation to him,” he told me in a mutter.
    I recoiled from the pool as a long narrow head suddenly came into view. A lolling red tongue framed by sharp yellow teeth made a startling contrast to the sleek black-and-white fur and backswept ears.
    It looked like a hairy dragon.
    “Yipe!” I squealed, much to my embarrassment. “What is that? Are baby dragons furry?”
    “Of course not.” Shardas snorted. “That’s Azarte, I believe.”
    The dog grinned at us and then backed away from