around her shoulders, placed her harp in her lap, and drew her hands across the strings. The dragon watched her warily all this time. His teeth bared warningly as she came nearer to him. His tongue flickered from between the front fangs.
At the sound of the music, the dragon blinked. Gythe ran her hands over the strings and then began to sing. Stephano recognized the song, one she frequently sang softly to the Doctor.
The dragon did not appear to know what to make of all this. He tilted his head to one side. His eyes narrowed again, but not in anger. He seemed to be enjoying the music.
“When we were invited to visit the houses of the noble dragons, they always loved to hear Gythe sing,” Miri said with quiet pride. “As I was about to tell you, the old stories relate that this is how humans and dragons first came to trust each other. Dragons love music, but they cannot make it. Music brought dragons and humans together.”
The dragon drew nearer to Gythe. Dag tensed, his hand clasping his musket. Miri rested her hand on his arm.
“Trust me,” she said softly. “Trust Gythe.”
The young dragon was quite close to Gythe now. His head hung over her. He could bite her in two with a snap of his jaws. Gythe appeared to take no notice of him. Her eyes were half-closed; she was lost in her music. Her fingers plucked and strummed. The harp strings quivered. Her voice-never used for speaking, only for song-rose in a melody, haunting and sweet and sad, that told the story of some long ago Trundler maiden, mourning her lost love.
The dragon lowered his head to the ground, stretched out his body, fixed his shining eyes on Gythe, and listened.
Stephano relaxed. Sweat ran from his forehead and trickled, stinging, into his eyes. He dared not move to wipe it away lest he break the spell. Of course, the time would come when Gythe would have to quit singing and there was no telling what the dragon might do then, but Stephano wasn’t worried. The dragon trusted them now. They had to continue to reinforce that trust and show the dragon that they trusted him. Time and patience would be required. Fortunately, Stephano had a lot of both.
Stephano could guess that gaining the trust of wild dragons would not be easy and that training them to carry riders would be more difficult still, especially after working with the civilized dragons who had been flying with humans for centuries.
The young dragon lay at Gythe’s feet and did not stir.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Miri, eyeing Stephano, who laughed, albeit softly, so as not to disturb the dragon.
He had hope again, he had a job again, he was going to fly again. Life suddenly looked much, much better.
“All I’m thinking is that we can change the name of our group, friends,” he told them. “From now on, we can call ourselves: ‘The Cadre of the Not-So-Very-Lost-After-All.’”
Chuckling to himself, Stephano left his friends standing on the deck of the wounded Cloud Hopper and, moving slowly, he walked down to take a seat beside Gythe. The dragon was clearly aware of Stephano, but the beast kept his gaze fixed on Gythe.
Rodrigo and Miri and Dag looked at each other in bemusement, seeing what lay ahead, not sure they liked it.
“Welcome to the Dragon Brigade,” said Rodrigo.
