The next two weeks passed in a haze of lessons, lectures, and obligations. Taowren spent them either doodling, fidgeting, or wistfully staring out of the window at the mountains, testing the mental connection with his new friend.
The nights he snuck out to the forest with the dragon were altogether far more interesting. Together they danced like excitable polecats beneath the moon and stars, spending hours exploring the steep mountainsides searching for caves, or chasing rabbits and hares. Some nights Taowren would bring a small knife, and the two would hunt fish in the streams. Others, he would sneak scraps of meat from his meals and conceal them in his handkerchief, only to delight the young forest spirit by bringing them out to share.
No-one seemed to notice his nighttime excursions, not Tomar or Tomei, nor his aunt and uncle. In these few weeks, Taowren found a kind of peace within himself that he hadn’t realised was possible. The restless energy that constantly drove him to seek new experiences, new sensations, finally had an outlet that he felt he would never tire of. Every morning after returning to the Residence to tumble into bed for the scant few hours of sleep that would usually leave him panda-eyed and yawning, he instead woke feeling energised, and found himself eager for every day to end so he could once again frolic with Ettore under the light of the moon.
The dragon was a fast learner, picking up the language Taowren used to speak far faster than the youth could have expected.
Is there more fish?
The question lanced into Taowren’s mind from above as he strolled through a cluster of maple trees on the north face of the mountain, a telltale golden blur zigzagging between the branches above him as his new companion leaped from one to another. The leaves were still green with summer, even this high above the ocean, and Taowren breathed deeply of the fresh clean air that surrounded him.
“Not right now. We can catch more later.” Taowren’s dark eyes followed the streak of gold-and-brown that danced through the wide maple leaves, trying to pick Ettore out amongst the foliage. “It will get light soon, though. I have to go back now.”
Then Ettore will hunt alone! The dragon dropped to the ground with a thunk, short legs landing expertly on the soft earth. His back arched disconcertingly as he stretched out his front legs and opened his wide mouth in a yawn, revealing his needle-like teeth; on any other animal the contortions of his body would have seemed unsettling, even alarming, but in Ettore it was as natural as breathing and full of draconic grace. Taowren will come again tonight?
“Of course!” Taowren’s heart filled with warmth as he watched the juvenile dragon flip in the air enthusiastically, and then dance in a figure of eight through his legs.
Across the scattering of large bushes, there was a rustle. Ettore’s glowing amber eyes brightened as he instantly flattened himself to the ground, Taowren’s presence seemingly forgotten, the fur on his tail suddenly rising to stick out in all directions.
What is it?
The dragon deigned not to reply, instead slowly snaking forward on his short clawed legs, ears pinned back as he wound his way around the tree. Taowren held his breath and sank into a crouch, readying himself as Ettore disappeared from view.
Hare! He called, tail swishing in excitement. In an instant the dragon had pounced, but the hare was too quick and bolted away up the hill. Ettore scrambled after it, eager and hot on its tail, while Taowren followed as best he could, human legs no match for spirit or beast. Just as he began to reach the top of the slope, Ettore’s voice rang in his head, loud and furious. Taowren could feel his hackles raised as the dragon stamped his feet and lashed his tail behind him.
No! NO! That is Wrong! Cannot eat!
Taowren jumped over the top of the slope to see what was the matter. The hare was caught in something, a piece of thin grey metal barely visible through the twisted, bloody flesh that used to be one of its hind legs.
“It’s just a snare, Ettore.” Taowren said, crouching down to run his fingers along the line and find where it ended.
Do not touch! Evil! It is evil! Ettore was adamant, hopping around on his clawed feet and gnashing his teeth. Taowren’s hands were already on the thin line when he looked up at the little dragon. Ettore’s amber eyes were so wide, he almost looked like a baby deer. Has evil on it! To touch, to eat, is death!
Poison?
Taowren’s fingers stopped a hair’s breadth from the snare. He crouched down on all fours and brought his face close to the ground, eyeing the wire and giving it a careful sniff, but his all-too-human senses clearly were not as refined as the dragons. Nevertheless, he took the handkerchief he used to carry meat from his pocket and wrapped it carefully around his hand, before finding the fastened ends and gingerly unravelling them from their anchor at the base of a nearby sapling. As soon as the hare was free it sprang up and tried to bound away, but was severely hindered by its injured leg. Taowren had expected Ettore to immediately pounce upon this easy prey, but the dragon only stared at it with troubled eyes.
It is dead meat. It just does not know it yet. Cannot eat. Ettore shook his fluffy head, the little antlers shining in the morning twilight, and shivered. His fur stood out on all ends, making him look twice his usual size. Evil line. Used to hunt spirits. Spirits are not easily caught, so they poison our prey, make us sick.
Troubled, Taowren carefully wound the line around his cloth-covered hand and rolled it up, tucking it into his pocket. Who would hunt and poison spirits? Especially here of all places? He may not have paid much attention in his lessons, but all knew that injuring spirits was not only illegal, but viewed as a terrible spiritual violation, and was punishable by death in the Okan province. If a spirit was tormented enough it could fly into an indiscriminate murderous rage, or worse, risk corruption into a vengeful demon. It was terribly dangerous and short sighted, and simply not worth the risk, whatever the gains could possibly be.
Why would someone do this? What would they gain?
Don’t know. The little dragon shivered once more. This one wants… I want to leave.
Okay.
Taowren knelt and scooped the dragon into his arms, before straightening and turning back towards the Okan Residence. He had a hike of at least an hour ahead of him, but he didn’t know who had placed that line and he certainly didn’t want to be around when they found it had vanished.
“How often do you come across those lines?” He asked, but Ettore only blinked up at him confusedly.
The dragon’s concept of time was not like that of a human. The moon meant it was time to dance, and the sun meant it was time to sleep. How many moons had passed through the sky since Taowren and the dragon had met? Ettore wouldn’t even be able to answer that, and Taowren honestly wasn’t sure he could either.
“Never mind. If you ever get tangled in one, call to me. I will come immediately.”
Ettore bobbed his head in response, having learned the human meaning behind a nod from his companion.
Okay.
The pair separated at the outer walls of the Okan residence, with Taowren scrambling over a crumbling section that had been formed by a heavily leaning maple tree. He paused halfway up the trunk, turning to peer through the dim light of the pre-dawn. His eyes scanned the forest edge before alighting on twin glints of gold returning his gaze from the base of a huge oak tree.
See you tonight!
Yes! We shall dance once more.
Catlike, Taowren darted back home and clambered in through his open bedroom window. After the excitement and exertions of the night, he felt even more exhausted than usual and having wearily stripped off his outerwear, he fell asleep almost as soon as his body hit the bed. He slept heavily, so heavily in fact that it took Tomar smacking him with a pillow to get the boy’s eyes to open.
“You sleep like the dead.” The phrase had become Tomar’s daily greeting to him, and today was no different. Cushion in hand and the sour plum scowl on his face, Tomar had all but dragged the covers off of Taowren’s bed. “Sometimes I think one of these days will be the day when I can’t wake you up.”
Taowren groaned in reply, stretching himself out like a starfish before surprising Tomar by rolling out of bed and straightening the covers.
“What time is it?”
“Time you stopped lazing every morning away!” Affronted by his cousin’s alacrity, Tomar regained some of his dignity by throwing the pillow at him, then moved to open the drapes in front of Taowren’s windows. “It’s sparring again today, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Training had become an almost daily occurrence. If it wasn’t practising with a sword, it was running laps, or practising mana manipulation, which Taowren was somehow even worse at than sword techniques.
In between these tedious diversions, there was calligraphy (dull), cartography—when would Taowren ever need to draw a map? He was no explorer, leading expeditions to faraway lands—and history. Gods, so much history. The Okan clan had more dusty old books on history than Taowren had hairs on his head, and if Taowren wasn’t sneezing or peering at faded, spidery writing through streaming eyes, he was inducing paralysing cramp trying to copy out the ancient words onto fresh parchment.
“Get dressed, come on! Clip clop, as you like to say.” Tomar badgered him away from the bed, having already fully dressed and preened himself an hour earlier that morning. “If we’re late I don’t want to end up sparring with Brayandli again.”
“You say that, but doesn’t he usually end up sparring with me…?” Taowren harrumphed. Brayandli had sparred with Taowren almost every time they trained together, favouring his left hand to give Taowren “a fighting chance”. He had seemingly taken Willow’s advice on that matter. It was apparently good practice for honing Brayandli’s left hand skills, but Taowren was about ninety percent sure that he had just taken pity on him and wasn’t even expelling any effort in it.
Taowren rushed to dress himself and the pair set out towards the training grounds.The day was bright and sunny, a stark contrast to Taowren’s mood by the time the session was over. Taowren had not only been soundly beaten by Brayandli wielding a sword in his non-dominant hand, but had lost four times in a row to Willow, too.
“I think I’m dying.” He groaned aloud, dropping down to crouch next to the water fountain that they used to cool themselves between bouts and soaking a handkerchief to cool the back of his neck. Tomar stood smirking down at him—he too had lost to Brayandli in his three matches, but had bested Willow in their two and was looking unflatteringly smug about it. Despite her reserved nature and slender stature, Willow had the speed of a diving falcon and was considered a tough nut to crack on the sparring grounds.
Taowren felt the tenderness of a forming bruise on the back of his elbow and winced. Eight parts bruised, two parts exhausted.
They had spent the entire day in the field hitting each other (or in Taowren’s case, being hit by) the blunt but tough wooden swords. It was almost enough to make Taowren long for the placid boredom of the classroom, but there had been no lessons that day to provide any respite from his repeated losses. This was apparently a monthly occurrence to keep all clan members in fightinging shape - the Okans called it a’ Spar Day’, although it was a far cry from the steaming pools and fragrant oils that were on offer during a similarly named occasion at Nightingale Manor. Taowren called it ‘Torture By Wooden Battering Ram.’
At least Yan didn’t show his stupid face, Taowren thought savagely as he pressed the cool fabric against his forehead. After their last encounter on the field, Tomar had taken the initiative and spoken to his father, and Lord Tanno had then quietly asked Scout to ensure that his wards did not share further training sessions with the Hanlen lordling. Spar Days, however, were open to all, and Taowren had been even more distracted than usual with the worry that Yan would make an appearance. Not that the primped and preened little viper would risk messing up his hair by swinging around a sword all day.
“How can you be exhausted?” Tomar huffed, causing Taowren to raise his head with a start. “You slept all of the morning away and then you only sparred with four people! Everyone else went through seven or eight!”
“I’m meek, and fragile!” Taowren lamented in dramatic tones. “Not all of us spent our entire childhoods practising swordplay, you know!”
“No-one in their right mind would ever call you meek.” Tomar shook his head in exasperation as Willow ghosted over, her hands laced behind her back.
“Well with this many bruises, I definitely feel fragile!” Taowren slumped back against the stone fountain and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“Our hot springs are good at soothing muscle pains, Taown.” Willow’s voice was musical, and several boys turned their heads.
“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Mobai, the eldest of the Tien clan’s scions said as he returned his practise sword to the weapons rack. His phoenix-red hair was pulled back into a neat and high ponytail, and his bronze eyes turned their gaze in the bickering group’s direction. “I could do with a good soak.”
“I’ll join you.” Tomar said, rolling up his sleeves to scowl at his own various marks and bruises. “Today was a long one.”
“Too right.” One of the Inyue youths echoed the sentiment and a handful more young men and women murmured their agreement, and quickly it seemed like there was an entire troupe going.
“Bray,” Willow beckoned the elegant youth over with a smile, “will you join?”
Brayandli had made a move towards her at the call, but came to a halt and hesitated, motionless as a silver birch on a calm day. His gaze roamed from one face to the next, passing across Taowren’s down on the floor. There was a pause, and slowly he shook his head.
“Too many people,” he muttered, then drifted soundlessly away to place his training sword on the rack.
“What about you, Taown?” Willow asked.
“Nope.” Taowren jumped up, rolling his shoulders before bending backwards to stretch himself out. “Not my thing.”
“Oh?” Willow had been giving Brayandli a sidelong look, but hearing Taowren she turned back and blinked in genuine surprise, “Why not?”
“Eh, that many people all naked in a pool together?” Taowren said, turning to splash water on his face. “No privacy? No, thank you!”
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