The following day, I actually got something from him. When I asked what kind of things he liked, I had the overwhelming sensation of looking out at a long stretch of sea, the water glimmering beneath a high summer sun. But just as soon as the image filled my mind, it vanished.
On the fourth or fifth day—it was difficult to keep track with the long hours I spent on my feet—I doggedly trudged along the path to the cave again. This time, Eldi was curled in the swaying grass that spread across the foothills beneath the shadow of the mountain. Butterflies danced around his head, and birds whistled in the distance. As his powerful breath blew the surrounding grass, I had to pause for a moment and bask in his majestic aura. His glimmering black scales. That proud glint in his eye. Even though I’d seen him several times now, the awe had yet to fade.
As I approached him, I tossed a few grains of sand into my mouth and washed it down with some water. Instantly, I sensed something different from him—somethingmorethan what I’d felt before.
It still wasn’t quite words, but I swore I could feel emotions pulsing from him, or the brush of his soul against mine. He seemed…sad. And lonely. And a bit lost, like he didn’t quite know how to turn his sadness into joy. Perhaps he didn’t even know what he wanted.
With his emotions churning through me, I decided I wouldn’t mention my own troubles today. Instead, I sat cross-legged nearby and brought out the snacks I’d packed in my satchel: a heel of bread, some dried meat, and a small chunk of cheese. I’d gone through most of what Arvid had given me.
I put together a sandwich for the dragon and tossed it to him. He caught the food in mid-air, his mighty teeth slashing downon it. Smiling, I ate the half I’d left for myself and considered my next steps. I was nowhere near winning Eldi over, but he seemed less outwardly suspicious of me now. Maybe all he needed was patience and a lot of time—time I didn’t really have.
“You have a lovely cave,” I called out to him. “And it’s lovely out here on the hills, too. Do you know where else is lovely?”
No answer, though I didn’t expect one just yet.
“Oakwater.” I let a beat pass. “The folk there are so kind and welcoming of outsiders. And wouldn’t you know it, they’re also very interested in dragons. I’m sure you know Lilia and her dragon, Reykur. He’s your brother, isn’t he?”
Again, no response, though another pulse of sadness brushed against me.
“Anyway, the folk of Oakwater love Reykur. I’m sure they’d love you, too.”
Over the past few days, I’d had no time to head into Oakwater to ask around about dragons, but Arvid and his daughter had been more than happy to oblige my curiosities. Apparently, both Lilia and her dragon friend were well-loved on the island. Here, they didn’t fear the beasts. Most of the villagers were even aware that Eldi lived nearby, but he was so reclusive, they rarely thought of him.
I couldn’t imagine how lonely he must be. According to every legend I’d heard, dragons weren’t meant for solitude. They suffered with loneliness just as much as folk.
Eldi huffed, and that aching sense of loneliness brushed against me once again.
I nodded. “I understand how it feels to be lonely. Before I came here, I lived alone for a very long time. Really, it’s how I ended up coming to this island.”
A dash of fear followed the sense of loneliness. I cocked my head, trying to understand what that could mean. Was the dragon afraid of the townspeople? But why? Surely they’d neverdone something to frighten him. If they had, I was certain I would have heard about it. In fact, there were rumors the villagers were considering starting up the Dragon Festival again tocelebratethe mighty beasts. Arvid and his partner, Mellor, were beside themselves with excitement about it.
“Should I swallow some more sand? I’ve still got plenty,” I said, lifting the burlap sack. “Would that help you tell me what’s wrong?”
The dragon rose, spread his wings, and gazed up at the clear cerulean sky. A wash of fear rolled over me, like angry waves at sea. And suddenly, I understood. Why Eldi was here. Why he remained hidden away in his cave. Somehow, against all odds, the dragon had succumbed to a fear of flying. He was stuck on the ground, as if his wings had been cast into stone.
I loosed a sigh of sorrow for him, but also one of resignation. Because as much as I needed him, I couldn’t bear the thought of forcing him to fly. I’d have to find another solution to my problem. What that could possibly be, I had no idea. But I wouldn’t cause terror in the heart of this gorgeous creature just to get what I wanted.
I sat with him for a while longer, regaling him with stories of my time back in the Kingdom of Edda. Even though I couldn’t hear his voice in my mind, his emotions remained with me. He seemed to take pleasure in listening to me talk, and by the time the sky bled pink, I realized I was reluctant to leave. I enjoyed his company just as much as he enjoyed mine. Being with him reminded me a lot of Stella, and out of everything back home, I missed her most.
After I climbed to my feet, I gingerly walked toward him. Dragons were known to burn anything that touched them, but Eldi had been sitting in the grass for hours, and the flames had yet to devour it all. Timidly, I reached toward him. With a lowrumble in his throat, he lowered his snout and brushed it against my fingers.
His skin was rough and hot, but painless. Smiling, I ran my palm along his scales. He leaned into me, and a deep, soul-settling sigh poured out of him, rustling my clothes. A sense of peace rolled toward me as we touched. The magic of the Hugur sand seemed to tug my soul toward his, filling my veins with incandescent hope and belonging. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. For a moment, we just stood there, taking comfort in each other in a way I never would have dreamed.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I whispered to him.
“How did it go?” Rune asked the moment I stepped through the door. He’d left it propped open, and the evening forest filled the cottage with its orchestra of chattering squirrels and buzzing insects. A soft breeze rolled in, and the hearth-fire’s flames lengthened and spit sparks into the air.
“The Hugur sand finally worked a little. I could feel some things from him,” I said, tossing my satchel into its regular spot beside the door and toeing off my boots. “Emotions only, though. Still no words.”
Tonight was Rune’s turn to cook, and he’d already set bowls of vegetable stew and platters of salted fish and bread on the table. Steam still curled from the food. He must have seen me coming and hurried to have dinner plated up as soon as I walked through the door.
A flame of affection burned through me.
“That’s good. It’s progress,” Rune said, settling into his chair at the dinner table.
I padded over to him, leaning down to scratch Moira’s chin on the way. “You might not say that when you hear what I’ve learned.”
As we dug into the food, I told Rune about my day. When I reached the part about the dragon’s fear of flying, an incredulous expression crossed his face. I hurried to tell him I’d figure out another solution, but he shook his head.
