The smell of the fog in my dream.
The dream that was not a dream.
Narcoleptic breath.
The phrase comes from deep in my memory. I know narcoleptic has something to do with sleep. So “narcoleptic breath” would put you to sleep.
Is that possible?
When it comes to dragons, the most misunderstood lore relates to their breath. Some legends say dragons breathe fire. Others say they breathe ice. Or poison. Of the three, only the last is plausible from a scientific standpoint. Basilisks are said to be able to turn people to stone. The reality is that they spit a neurotoxin, which acts as a paralytic. The key isn’t the actual breath, but the droplets expelled, like when a human coughs or sneezes. With monsters—and with some reptiles and insects—those droplets can contain poison.
Did I read the phrase “narcoleptic breath” in some scientific paper on dragons—a passing reference that I didn’t quite understand, but which didn’t seem important because I never expected to encounter actual dragons?
Is that what happened when the dragon breathed on me in her cave…I inhaled the droplets and it felt like cotton encasing my brain, making me fuzzy and sleepy?
Is that what happened last night? My dream that wasn’t a dream?
An inky shadow passing over us, big enough to blot out the sky.
A black dragon drifting past.
The fog settled over us, making my brain fuzzy and dopey. Putting Wilmot to sleep. Keeping Malric from hearing me when I wandered off. And I wandered off because I was just dazed enough to think I was only dreaming, with Doscach apparently not being affected, either because of his amphibious nature or because he hadn’t been close by at the time.
But does that make sense? The dragon is furious at humans. Would she just drift lazily over our camp?
Unless she wasn’t “drifting lazily.” She was spying on us. Checking us out. Investigating. And putting us to sleep so she could do it.
I remember Geraint saying that harpies recognized human faces, like ravens. They knew who’d harmed them and would retaliate against those specific people.
If harpies were that smart, then surely one could expect the same of dragons.
So the dragon sees us camped near the base of Mount Gaetal. She could knock us out and kill us, but she only investigates. When she realizes we’re not the humans who’ve been threatening her offspring, she leaves.
I remember that moment in her den, when I thought I was about to die. When she’d seemed to be assessing me.
Recognizing me as one of those humans camped below her mountain.
And then?
Had she held back, considering what my presence in her den meant? Considering whether I was a threat?
I don’t think she planned to let me walk out alive. But she did pause. She did try to sedate me rather than kill me outright. Sedate me while she thought it through? While she checked on the rest of my people to see whether they were also invading her home?
Idle speculation. What’s important is that she did not kill us in our sleep. That she did not decide we should die “just in case.” Humans don’t always wait to see whether a nearby wolf pack threatens their livestock before they hunt and kill it. If their livestock is attacked, they don’t always make sure that the wolves they’ve hunted down are the ones responsible before killing them. The dragon doesn’t see all humans as dangerous, which is good. She acknowledged the possibility that we were not a threat.
And then I invaded her home.
I can’t fret about that. I should talk to Wilmot and see what he thinks of my theories. As soon as I rise, though, I remember Wilmot doesn’t have first guard shift. Alianor does. No matter—I can discuss it with her first.
I pull on my clothing and walk over. She turns, rubbing bleary eyes.
“Please tell me it’s the end of my shift,” she says.
I hesitate. She looks exhausted, certainly not alert enough to discuss the science of dragons.
“I can’t sleep,” I say. “I was going to offer to take over early.”
I’m hoping she’ll say no, that she’s fine, and then I can talk to her.
Instead, she exhales loudly. “Thank you. I owe you one.”
We talk a bit after that, as she prepares for sleep and I settle in with Malric at my side and Jacko on my lap. Then she’s in her sleeping blankets, and it’s just me and my beast companions.
“Anyone want to talk dragon theories?” I murmur to them.
Malric yawns. Jacko curls up, purring, clearly ready to go back to sleep. And so I sit there, wide awake and on guard, until something crashes deep in the forest. I leap up, listening. It’s the crash of someone running. Or something. At first I think of Dain, but he isn’t supposed to meet us until midnight. Then I remember the rompos and pull out my sword.
A second sound cuts through the first. A thunderous flap of wings.
My gaze shoots up. The moon shines bright, covering the forest in waves of light. Waves with one dark spot.
When the dark spot moves, stars appear behind it and disappear in front of it. A massive black shape gliding through the sky. The dragon is hunting.
I glance at the fire. Should I put it out? For now, she seems intent on her quarry. I can see her shape more clearly, great wings flapping as she tracks something on the ground.
If she catches her prey, we’ll be safe. She’ll take it and fly back to her den. The problem comes if she misses it and then spots our fire. I should probably extinguish it.
A thud in the forest. A thud and then a curse. A human curse.
I freeze. The dragon is chasing a person. Chasing one of the poachers.
Should I interfere? My gut says yes, but that risks my companions. I grip my sword tighter and strain to listen as the voice continues muttering, the person having obviously tripped and recovered.
It is not the voice of a panicked
