Chapter 28 #2
“Not a thing. She’ll manage all on her own.” Kjeld unwrapped one of the packages of raw meat. “If you want to earn their trust, you can feed the whelps.”
Caelian cringed, her nose scrunching slightly, but she held out her hand.
“Okay.” The waver of uncertainty in her voice clashed against the sharp line of determination set across her brow. “And they won’t bite my hand off?”
Kjeld laughed, passing another slab of meat to Sylvan. “No. I promise.”
“If you’re sure…” Caelian held out her hand to the whelp with blue eyes, revealing the bloodied piece of meat. “Here you go, little one.”
She sucked in a breath as the dragon snatched it out of her open palm, chomping and gulping it down in three bites. He sniffed and snorted against her skin, searching for more. Sylvan, however, tossed his in the air, applauding when the other whelp caught it easily without hesitation.
“Well done.” He clapped soundly.
Suddenly, there was a faint squeaking sound, and a tiny head poked out of the silver shell.
The final whelp, the female, with eyes the color of melted gold, focused on Caelian.
She stretched her iridescent, silvery wings, the tiny claw poking through the outer layer of shell as she struggled to break free.
Snapping once at the air, she crawled out of the remaining pieces, shaking them off her tail with annoyed sass.
Then she plopped right down in Caelian’s lap.
“Oh!” She stroked two fingers along the top of the dragon’s head. “Hello there.”
Kjeld grinned down at them. “She thinks you’re her mother.”
“Well.” Caelian stood, cradling the baby dragon in her arms, and started to sway back and forth. Then she bent forward and whispered, “I know nothing about mothering, but I promise to be better than mine was to me.”
It was a simple vow, but it caused something to wrench and tighten within Kjeld’s chest. He had two wonderful parents growing up, a devoted father and a loving mother.
He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the Starstorm siblings, to have their father taken from them so early, to learn their mother was the one who ended his life.
It must have been devastating. Not only that, but Trysta Starstorm had been notoriously unpleasant to her children as adults.
He didn’t want to think about how awful she was to them when they were young and impressionable.
Caelian peeked over at him, the female nestled and sleeping soundly as she continued to rock. “Now what?”
While their sister slept, the two brothers were climbing over one another, knocking broken shells everywhere, and making a general ruckus of their very existence.
“Now we have to name them.” Kjeld scooped up the one with blue eyes, and it attempted to roar. Pathetically adorable, really. “A dragon’s name should be symbolic. Empowering.”
Sylvan bent down to lift the one with yellow eyes. “Will they answer to them?”
“They will.” Kjeld nodded, giving each of the males another small chunk of meat. “In time.”
“And will you teach them commands in your native tongue?” Caelian asked.
The way she said the word tongue caused his blood to heat. He cleared his throat, thinking about all the things he wanted to teach her with his native tongue. “Yes, and I will make sure you learn them as well. Just in case.”
“Wonderful.” Caelian gazed down at the sleeping whelp, her eyes softening with love, completely oblivious to his innuendo. “I shall call you Lunaris, for you remind me of moonlight.”
“Fitting.” The one Sylvan held coughed and screeched, a trail of smoke pouring from his nostrils. He patted him gently on the snout. “I think Pyran for this one, he seems eager to breathe fire.”
“An excellent choice,” Kjeld agreed, hoisting the dragon he held. “And what shall we call you?”
The whelp with the blue eyes screeched and squawked, flapping his wings violently.
“Brohm,” he said decidedly. “An ancient Northernlands battle cry.”
Three healthy baby dragons had hatched successfully, and while he would never voice his concerns out loud, he had worried that all the travel and lack of a proper nest might in some way hinder their hatching.
Yet each of them looked fit and agile with sharp fangs, large claws, and impressive wings.
Once they were fully grown, they would make fine adults.
Maybe they would never have a need to see battle like those in Brackroth.
Maybe they could thrive in the Moonfall Peaks of Aeramere.
Or maybe, just maybe, they would stay here. In Wenfyre. Perhaps they would choose a realm of peace and stability, where gratefulness and connection to nature flourished. Maybe they would come to love this land with its sea of falling stars and river of memories and forest of whispers and dreams.
Try though he might, Kjeld couldn’t stop staring at Caelian. She looked as though she belonged here. Among the forests and flowers, barefoot and happy, with ribbons and roses entwined in her hair.
Yes, he thought quietly to himself.
Maybe they would make Wenfyre their home.