From here, I can see how right she was. There are quite a few humans that must have seen us land that were on their way over to investigate or introduce themselves. They don’t look armed—not military. Just civilians, who now think we’re the big friendly dragons they always wanted.
Perfect.
It takes longer for her to fly us back there than it took me to leave, but it’s not such a long way. As we land, quite a few people turn our way, but Liz creates far less of a fuss by carrying me as a winged human than I draw as Azar.
“You were telling me how you were never going to be normal,” I remind her.
She chuckles. “I was, I guess.” She points at the stalls. “Shall we?” Only, she moves about twelve steps before she slaps her head. “Money. We have no money.”
“Do we need money?” I blink. “For what?”
“To buy things.” She points. “It’s a market. They’re all shops.” The shop closest to us smells quite enticing.
I sniff the air. “What is that?”
“They’re roasted nuts.” She groans. “Not that I can get you any. Dangit.”
“Für den Drachenreiter,” a woman at the small stand says. Then she holds out her hand.
“Drachenreiter means dragon rider in German,” I say.
“Thanks.” Liz rolls her eyes and shakes her head. But she takes the package of nuts.
And when she hands me some, they are very interesting. Warm, crunchy, but also chewy. Salty, and a little sweet. Very interesting indeed.
“My parents—my dad was very normal,” Liz says between bites. “He was a hard-working and smart lawyer who always had a great job. But my mom? She. . .was weird. She always had some cause she was crusading at the moment. She’d skip washing her hair for a week to conserve water or prevent the waste involved with the soap-making industry. She’d stand in front of the Houston Livestock show for weeks with signs about the way they treat chickens.” Liz snorts. “The list of social atrocities Mom fought just went on and on. By the time I was five, I was better at standing and holding protest signs than I was at riding a bike.”
There’s a group of people singing up ahead. All around us, in little stands and shops, people have wares lined up in bright colors and changing shapes. Scarves. Decorations. More food items. “I’m sorry I don’t have money.” I can’t help frowning. “How does one get this human money?”
She’s laughing again. “You earn it, by working, by providing value.”
“Hey.” A little girl pulls on my arm. “Ich möchte fliegen.” She points at Liz’s wings.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t really speak much German.”
“Ride,” she says. “Fly!” Then she points at Liz and flaps her arms. “Your girlfriend fly?”
“That’s not my. . .” I start to say she isn’t my girlfriend, but then a strange desire grips me. “She actually is my girlfriend,” I say. “Yes, ride.” I nod. “But you have to pay her.” I pause. “Money?”
“No money.” The little girl shakes her head, her eyes downcast.
Before she can walk away, Liz holds out her hand. “I’ll give you a ride for free.” She does glance back at the girl’s father—a man wearing all black and grey beside her. “If your father says yes.” She lifts her eyebrows.
When he nods, Liz tosses the girl on her back and takes off. She doesn’t fly far or fast, but you wouldn’t know it from the squeals of the little girl. I’m not the only person watching with fondness. After we land, the man tries to give Liz money, but she refuses it.
“It’s okay,” she says as we walk along. “Money is nice, because it allows you to do and try things, but mostly I just wanted to see all this and pretend my life was normal for a bit.”
A small boy pulls on my hand next. I find it a little curious that for the children, I’m the non-threatening one right now. My warrior with wings is the scary one. “Ride?” The little boy asks.
Liz sighs, but after a quick nod from his mother, she tosses the little guy up on her back and zooms him in a quick circle around the square.
When she lands, she says, “These little kids, they all seem to have a pretty normal childhood. Their moms and dads are bringing them here to a Christmas market and buying them nuts. My mom never brought us to places like this. She’d always research them first and discover that they were in some way promoting or padding the pocketbook of someone evil.” She sighs. “I could have been really embarrassed by her, I guess. She wore strange clothes, and her hair usually looked funny, but I was pretty young when I decided that I would never apologize for her or ever be embarrassed by her either.”
“I thought embarrassment was a feeling,” I say. “You can’t control your feelings, right?”
“Humans say that, but it’s not true. You can choose to sink into your feelings and let them grow, or you can trim them down and cut them off and never let them grow,” she says. “I chose never to be ashamed of my mom, no matter what other people thought about her. Once I made that decision, it was easy to accept that I wasn’t normal either. Sometimes it felt like my birthright.” She shrugs. “I discovered that most of the time, normal’s boring.” This time, she reaches for my hand. “So I’m your girlfriend, huh?”
For some reason, I feel. . .strange. I’m excited that she’s touching me, even though we touch all the time, and I’m also nervous. “In this form, I think it’s easiest to say that you are. Does that upset you?”
