I’m crouching when I see the edges of rootlike shapes appear. A pile of them. Thrusting my torch toward the roots, my brow furrows.
Dirty and pale, brown and gray, I realize what I’ve found aren’t roots at all, but bones. Bones in an array of decay. I stop, listening to the sounds of the cave.
The naga’s den? Or something else’s?
I wave my light closer.
The bones are small, with only a couple unintrusive larger ones. Femurs, thighs, wing shards. Most look like bird bones with a couple of cockatrice mixed in. Maybe some reptilians. There are several spines I’m certain are lizards and one small crocodile skull. Nothing that would pose a threat to a predator, not even a small one.
The naga boy is small. This could be his home.
I pull away and wave my torch about the den to get a better look. There are more bones scattered ahead of me, and I carefully step over them. Deeper in, I see that the cave comes to an abrupt stop. It’s also much cleaner back here, even the ground is level and packed tight. There are shadows of things further in.
I crouch even lower to reach them. Stopping once to cautiously peer behind me before I do.
There’s a small nest of giant jungle leaves with large sticks walled around them. Dead flowers are weaved into them, probably with scents that repel bugs, as I recognize a few. There are feathers from the birds stuffed among the leaves, as well as poorly shorn hides of small creatures. Thankfully, the hides have mostly dried out, even if they haven’t been cured correctly.
It’s crude, but it’s a naga’s nest. A small one. There’s only one. The nest is only big enough for one.
He’s alone.
I don’t know why that makes me sad, but it does. He was no bigger than Haime, and his upper humanoid body was thin. What happened to his parents? There’s no sign of any other creature living here but him.
Nagas rarely nest this deep in a cave. They preferred the undercrofts of the giant jungle trees, and sometimes, they nest high up in the wider branches. But deep in a cave where they can’t easily lure prey or drag kills to their nest? It was strange.
Maybe he feels safer here, I wonder. If he’s alone, he probably is… as long as he keeps the cave entrance hidden.
Which it probably was before Haime barreled after him.
Beside the nest are clothes and old baskets—stolen from my tribe. I recognize the patterning. I rummage through the pile.
There’s shells and broken ropes, frayed bags, and plants. Plants, like the flowers in his nest, they all have medicinal or otherwise aptitudes. There are also some pretty rocks and stones, ones I know my more creative sisters would love to have for their jewelry and armor.
Up against the wall is a long, thick stick with a crudely sharpened end.
He’s making a spear?
Other naga’s use them, but not often. Most aren’t smart enough.
I grab the spear, pull out my dagger, and sharpen the end to a better point. Several minutes later, I place it back against the wall and retreat. It’s not much, but it’s the least I can do. He hasn’t attacked us…
Yet.
I debate taking the spear but shake my head, leaving instead. I wish I’d brought a ration with me.
I’ll come back later, I decide. Feed him.
We may need each other yet.
My newfound kindness to the naga surprises me. I hadn’t cared before—I’d feared he was with family—but now that I know he is alone…
A short time later, I find the roots I was looking for and hear the boy hissing just beyond my torchlight, having returned from wherever he’d been. I hesitate but he doesn’t step into the light so I keep moving. The hissing follows me. I wonder if it’ll follow me back to the camp.
He must know I hear him.
If he does follow me, I can offer him that ration. The campfire reappears in the distance.
Drazak suddenly steps in front of me.
I stop, lips parting as I catch my balance, and grab my dagger.
“Human,” he growls, glaring at me with such intensity it steals my breath. “You will listen to me now.”
12
Nothing Left but Embers
Milaye. Mil-aye. Mil-ay-e.
I test the strangeness of her name in my mind as I roll it on my tongue. It takes away some of the disgust of her human food, the tang of the cooked meat she has given me. I ate it because she provided it, and I know better than to turn away from something that might speed my recovery.
I prefer my meat raw and fresh. I glower at the burning roots, which are quickly fading out now.
My tongue snaps to the roof of my mouth. Disgusting. I hope I am not cursed to eat cooked meat for the rest of my days. I will do it if I must, but I will be fussy about it.
“Milaye,” I whisper her name aloud, wanting to hear it.
I enjoy it. The names we dragons give ourselves are rarely songlike. We choose what speaks to us as mighty beings of the land, what would threaten other dragons away—what might compel a femdragon to seek us.
My human’s name is not threatening.
She says she is a huntress, and I hear fierceness in her voice, but it does not make me comfortable—not anymore. At first, I was proud. If a human female could bind me, of course she would be a warrior. But now that I am moving again, feeling the tug of this bond, this mate—whatever it is—fear has crept in for her safety. I cannot lose her.
What if this is all a dream? What if she goes away and I lose everything? Again? I could not bear it.
I watch her scout the cavern, following her movements as she makes her way over uneven ground and around rocks. While my gaze trails after her, her body, her curves, I greedily breathe in the last remnants of her scent.
Nectar.
