4. Darian
Chapter four
Darian
Darian looked around the room after Celia left as he finished wiring the enclosure together,
It was obvious that Celia took pride in and took care of her home, but the baby dragons had taken their toll. Large portions of the room looked singed, the parts that weren't held traces of soot, and there was clearly damage to several things from overzealous baby dragons.
How many had she helped? With the three fire dragons and Sod, there were four at the moment, but who knew how many more had been through her home.
He looked at the charred curtains hanging almost to the floor, though the window itself was higher on the wall. Perhaps she left the fabric for better insulation, or she just hadn't taken the time to cut off the singed bits.
It wouldn’t be kind to do something as drastic as cut off her curtains without asking her, but the water bucket by the door was almost empty, and he could fix that.
Darian grabbed the handle and poured what was left into the pitcher on the counter before making his way out the door.
“Where's your water source?” he asked her.
She was sitting on the ground with the smallest orange dragon in her lap. She jerked her head to the north, and Darian nodded, making his way without saying anything else to her.
Perhaps he was a little too much for her. He'd heard it said that he was a little too much for a lot of people—not that anyone had said it straight to his face—but he'd heard the rumors in school.
His uncles had never seemed to mind, but she was not his uncles, and maybe she needed some quiet.
So he walked north, found the stream, and filled the bucket to bring back to her home.
“I’ll run it through the filter,” she said. “Thank you for your help.”
“I want to help fix your table and stools,” he told her, “If you don't mind.”
She only grunted, looking down at the dragon in her lap.
He would take that as a yes. “I'll be back,” he said, offering her a salute as he headed south through the blooming meadows. He would be back with supplies, and he would fix it for her.
Darian strode into the shop, and his uncles looked up with identical grins.
“How was your afternoon?” Uncle Bram asked.
“I need to help her,” Darian announced. “Do you mind if I take a couple of things and the horse and come back later?”
“Take as much time as you need,” Uncle Amos said. Uncle Bram elbowed him, but Amos shook his head. “We'll be fine without you. She seems like someone who could use all the help she could get, and I think you're just the person to help her.”
“I think so too,” Darian said, confidence welling up in him.
He grabbed a set of saddlebags from the wall and began filling them with a few things: a hammer, some nails, new curtains, and anything else he thought might work before making his way to the stable behind the store where their horse was waiting.
“Hey there, buddy,” he said to the horse. “Want to go for a run with me?”
The horse whinnied eagerly as Darian saddled him, and soon enough, they were headed back to Celia's house.
Once they were through town, Darian let the horse take the lead and run as fast as he wanted.
There was nothing that made Darian feel more free than being in the saddle with the wind in his hair.
It wasn't perfect, but it was as close to perfect as he'd ever felt.
“Let's go, boy,” he whispered as the horse hurried toward the north.
Something inside him wanted to get back to Celia as quickly as he could.
It was a strange urge. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but he knew that going north felt more right than anything he'd ever done.
When he got to Celia's house, he looped the reins to the edge of the chicken coop.
The horse wouldn't go anywhere—he was more than content to sit and eat his fill from the meadow—but it gave him a little peace of mind that he didn't have to tell his uncles he let the horse run free so close to the Gloaming Mountains.
He made his way to the front door and knocked. Celia opened the door, raising an eyebrow at him, and held out her hand with his knife resting in her palm.
“I left it here.” Darian tried to sound like he’d done it on purpose as he reached out to take it. Of course he did. He was always misplacing things. “I came back for more than just my knife,” he added, gesturing to the saddlebags he’d tossed over his shoulder. “May I come in?”
Celia nodded and opened the door wider before turning and walking back inside.
“Come say hi, hatchlings,” she called.
Darian entered and looked around for the baby dragons, who were all curled up in the hearth.
“You have a hearthful of hatchlings,” he exclaimed.
“They love it,” Celia said with a sigh. “They don't care that they're getting ashes all over my house when they get out. It's a good thing they're cute.”
Darian made his way over and said hello to each of them, rubbing their scales where it seemed they liked it best. The largest boy rubbed his head and nose along the edge of Darian's finger.