“Aye!” Then, when he launched into the air, she squealed with delight.
He flew a lazy loop around the lake. They had plenty of time. “How ’bout a swim?”
Einin shouted toward his ear, but the wind whooshed by too loudly for him to hear her as he dove for the water, then under the lapping waves. Her arms and legs tightened around his neck. The muscles of her thighs squeezed him. Pleasure tingled through his body. But then she gripped tighter and tighter, her body communicating a different mood from his.
He bumped back up to the surface and floated. “What is it?”
She gasped for air. Coughed. “I can’t swim.”
“All living things can swim.” Some might not like the water, but they could all paddle along enough to save themselves in a flood.
She coughed some more as if in distress, so he held her safe with one wing as he shifted to his back and stretched out on the water, plopping her back on his belly. At least they could see eye to eye this way.
She lay flat on top of him, all wrung out, holding on for dear life. “I never learned. The creek near the village is too shallow, and even the closest lake is too far away.”
Draknart regarded her with curiosity. Humans could not swim unless taught. Huh. They were weak as a species with many shortcomings. He had high hopes that someday, they’d disappear altogether. A heavy flood might help—the gods willing. They could all drown for all he cared.
He floated slowly around the middle of the lake. After a while, Einin’s death grip eased, and she relaxed against him. Then more time passed, and she turned onto her back, trailing her hand in the water that reflected the wispy clouds above.
“It’s peaceful here,” she told him.
“You like it, then?”
“I’ve never been this far from the village before.”
He heard the smile in her voice. Why it should please him to have pleased her, he couldn’t fathom. Yet a rare contentment came over him. Should the high floods come, he was glad she would be with Belinus. The god would keep her safe. And should Belinus have sent her back to her village by then, Draknart decided he’d swoop in. The waters could wash away all mankind, for all he cared, but not his Einin.
The sun warmed his belly pleasantly, but not as pleasantly as her body. When he could smell her light, sweet sweat, he splashed some cool water on her with a wing. And when she laughed, he did it again, playing like a dragon pup, a long-forgotten feeling. He only stopped when her stomach grumbled again.
“Was the rabbit not enough, sweeting?” He would have thought, as small as she was, a hare would satisfy her.
“’Twas, and I thank you for the meal,” she said, but scanned the water with a wistful expression as if searching for the fish he’d promised.
“You eat every day?” he asked. He was familiar with humans and their ways, but not with every little detail.
A fond look came over her face, as if reliving pleasant memories. “During the good times, even twice a day.”
Dragons ate but once a sennight, could easily go a fortnight, and would survive a full month without a feeding. While they slept the long sleep, they could go without food for years. For certain, as a species, humans were most ill-suited for survival. Draknart didn’t forecast them a bright future.
“Come and gone,” he muttered under his breath. “Mark my word.”
“Mark what?” Einin’s gaze turned to his.
“Never you mind.”
No sense in vexing her just when they were beginning to get along so nicely.
He floated to shore with her and let her off on the sand before turning back into the water. “I’ll see about some fish.”
He swam out and plunged into the deep, came across half a dozen pike, picked a lively one that gave him some sport, and brought it to her. She already had wood gathered for a fire. He dropped the fish, then used a talon to gut it.
“That’s a five-footer,” she said, wide-eyed, heaving to lift it by the tail. “And weighs three stone at least.”
So maybe he was showing off for her a wee bit. He found suddenly that he wanted her to see him as something other than an evil beast. Draknart wanted her to remember him well, after she went to the god.
He lit the fire, and she took care of the roasting, a piece so small, it was hardly worth bothering with. While she ate that, he swallowed the rest of the raw fish.
“I thought you said you didn’t eat every day,” she remarked.
