“I didn’t want him having yours.” He pauses. “And he should have a weapon.” He pulls the dagger from his side. “Wilmot gave him a spare, so I got mine back.”
He runs a finger along the blade. Is it conceited to say it’s a beautiful weapon if I’m the one who gave it to him? I didn’t make it, so I think that’s okay. It’s Berinon’s handiwork—he kept up his blacksmithing as a hobby and makes the best weapons in the castle. The design was mine, though, with a jackalope on the side, to thank Dain for saving Jacko. It’s also to remind him that if he wants monsters to like him, he needs to admit he likes them. I glance at the dropbear and smile. It seems Dain might have been listening.
“She needs a name,” I say.
He sighs. “I know.”
“Droppy? Droppo? Bearo?”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Remember when we first met?” I say. “I was trying to convince you that Jacko was my companion, and you said if he was, then I should tell you his name. Only I hadn’t actually given him one.”
Dain’s brows arch.
I pull my knees up on the submerged rock. “Like you and the dropbear, I was uncomfortable admitting he was mine for good. Worried that as soon as I said I liked him and wanted him to stay, he’d leave and I’d feel bad. So I hadn’t given him a name. I just called him ‘jackalope.’ When you challenged me, I said his name was ‘jacka…’ Then I stopped myself, and you heard ‘Jacko,’ so that became his name.”
He sputters a laugh. “Seriously?”
“I would have changed it, except you said it was a dumb name, so I had to keep it. Just to be contrary.” I glance at the dropbear. “You have to the count of ten to name her, or she’s going to be ‘Droppy’ forever.”
Genuine panic lights his face.
“I’m kidding,” I say. “Take all the time you want. Just do give her a name, Dain. Admit you want her to stay.”
“I…I don’t know. I mean, yes, I want her to stay, but names? I don’t know how to do that.”
“How did you name toys? Or pets? Did you have…?” I trail off and my cheeks heat as I see his expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I never do, do I? I’m always…” I flail my arms, water splashing. “Saying insensitive things that I don’t mean to be insensitive. I forget that your…your experiences might not have been the same as mine. I’m sorry.”
His lips quirk. “I did name my stick once. It was a very special stick that I found and carved myself. I called it ‘My Special Rat Stick.’ ”
“MSRS? Em-ess-ar-ess?”
“Like Doscach? Nope, I’m not even that creative. It was just My Special Rat Stick. I may have mocked you for Jacko, but that’s exactly what I would have called him.”
“How about names from stories? Some maiden you admire in a bard song.”
He snickers. “Name my dropbear after a girl I liked in a song? That’s just weird. You’re way better at names. You pick one.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“Pick one, or she’s going to be Droppo forever.”
“Being female, it should probably be Droppa. Or Droppy.”
“Nope, Droppo it is.” He rises. “Come on, Droppo. Time to go. Remember, if you hate your name, it’s the princess’s fault. She refused to—”
“Fine, just hold on. How about…Desdee?”
He hesitates. “That means something, doesn’t it?” He sounds it out. “DSD.” A mock-glare my way. “Dain’s Special Dropbear?”
“You asked for a name. That’s what you get.”
He looks at the dropbear, eating fish. “Dez, then. I’ll call her Dez.”
“You can, but we’ll both know her real name. It’ll be our secret.” I glance at her. “Right, Dain’s Special Dropbear?”
He shakes his head and sits back down, and we keep talking, enjoying this rare time together, with our monster companions.
Mount Gaetal looms above us.
We are near the foot of the great mountain, and we’ve barely seen a monster. All right, that’s not entirely accurate. Since the khrysomallos and the nekomata, we’ve seen more monsters than we would hiking through Tamarel proper, but they’ve all been the harmless sort. A couple of mountain-dwelling jackalopes, not much bigger than Jacko, yet fully grown, and gray-black to his brown coloring. Some colocolos in the river valley. A few more khrysomallos, who barely lifted their heads as we passed.
It would be immature of me to admit disappointment, wouldn’t it? I’d really hoped for a chance to study new monsters as they dragged my companions away for dinner.
It’s good that we don’t encounter any serious threats. Yes, I did hope for more non-dangerous monster encounters, but at least we aren’t being slowed down by mini-adventures. Yet what truly bothers me is the fact that we aren’t seeing anything except small predators and prey, and very few of those. We shouldn’t even have dared get so close to the great mountain. It should be far too dangerous. Yet it is not, and that is troubling.
If the monsters aren’t here, where are they?
“What has it been like since the Michty dried up?” I ask as we walk along what remains of the river, now nearly twenty feet wide.
Wilmot shrugs. I glance at Dain, who gives the exact same response, though he adds, “I’ve never been here.”
“Neither have I,” Wilmot says. “Not since the river disappeared. The last time I was anywhere close, I was still living inside the castle walls. Jannah was preparing for her trials, and we concocted a mad scheme to sneak up here together. I decided we’d reach the mouth of the Michty and stand at the foot of Mount Gaetal, and after that, her trials would be easy.”
He shakes his head. “We stopped about a half-day back. By then we were both injured. We escaped two pairs of
