Chapter Thirty-Three. When You Give Flying Lessons #2
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I wanted to try to help them.” Her brown eyes shine. “I mean just think. Maybe there are alloys dying at hatching because there is no crafter there to help. They might need basic care. Who knows how many golden dragons could be saved if a veterinarian was on-site.”
I never even thought of the possibility. Nity was the exception in my mind, the last of her kind. But who knows? Who’s searched every isle or every mountain? I wanted to try to help them. She’s infused the past tense into her statement as if she’s already abandoned the entire idea.
She turns hard on her heel, going to wash her hands in the barn sink.
“It’s such a na?ve dream. If they are out there, they should remain hidden.
So, it should be you. Your dreams don’t include outing a protected species to the world.
” She scrubs her hands hard, like she wants them to hurt.
But the last thing I want is for Farren Walsh to hurt.
“It’s not a na?ve idea,” I counter.
“I’d be sentencing them all to death.”
I place my hands over hers, turn off the water, and tuck them between mine.
She faces me, letting me hold her hands.
“If we find them, if we prove that Nity isn’t the last of her kind, she’ll become less of a prize everyone will fight over.
We could get endangered species protection laws put in place.
Set up sanctuaries like yours across the country.
Wherever a golden dragon nests or inhabits we could carve out a safe home.
Ethically source some of their gold and Revers, or hell, anyone, would fund us completely. ”
Her breath catches. “Us?”
My shyness flares at how I glued us together in this future scenario unconsciously. “I hope that’s okay.”
In a swift flash she’s hugging me, pressing her head into my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
I hold her against me before whispering in her hair. “There’s something else I want more than a Revers scholarship.”
“Me too,” she says.
Though I don’t know if she’s referencing what I am.
Next to being with her, my other goals seem to have faded in comparison.
Farren may want guaranteed safety before we can be together, but in this moment, I can guarantee I’ll do everything in my power to provide that for her.
Before I can confess just how deep my dreams run, Mrs. Hattish and Dr. Walsh’s boots echo from around the corner.
Farren jerks, panic painted across her face. Then because there is no time, she naturally decides pushing me is the best solution here. I fall back into hay as they step around the corner. Dr. Walsh gives a quizzical frown and a laugh. “Laying down on the job, James?”
“No, sir, I just fell.” As I look at Farren who has a hand over her mouth in embarrassment and I hope some regret for throwing me so unceremoniously backward, I don’t dare make the joke about falling for his daughter. Though it wouldn’t be a lie.
Two days later we leave under the cover of dawn. Farren’s parents ride their Sprinters. Farren flies Daphine, and I’m on Hort. Tucked into each of our arms is a hatchling. Bearing down on us flies Nity, not pleased we’ve taken her babies from their nest.
By morning’s light, we spot the island Mrs. Walsh scouted out days ago.
It’s a rocky crescent of land with a lagoon carving the island into a giant C.
Other smaller islands surround the area, but they too lay abandoned.
A perfect outcrop for a dragon to use for rest during long-distance flying.
Or in our case, if a boat were to pass, we would tuck ourselves away in various landforms. But the water shines into the endless horizon.
Dr. Walsh swoops closer to me on his Sprinter, Keen. “All set with the plan?”
I nod, as does Farren coasting on the other side of me with Daphine and Zilar.
We all bolt off of our saddles as soon as we touch down.
Oria, Zilar, and Electrum have no qualms being essentially kidnapped, especially Oria, who slept practically the entire way nestled in my lap.
Nity on the other hand, she’s furious. She lands with a wrath to rival bloodthirst, growling at us for our transgressions.
Dr. Walsh puts himself in front of us all, and when I go to do the same to shield Farren she pushes me out of the way.
I almost object. But I’m not a gold-crafter. She is. Together Farren and her dad reassure Nity, hands in surrender as we unleash her babies. It helps that each hatchling scuttles around unafraid, none of them even wearing metal.
Nity calms, her flaring wings turning into a cocoon of protection for the hatchlings.
She huffs at us before curling around her babies and laying down.
She hasn’t had to fly for more than a couple minutes in months.
And an hour of fury has driven her to exhaustion.
Guilt pangs at our methods. But this is why we must teach the hatchlings to fly on their own.
Nity doesn’t have the strength to carry them on her back across an entire ocean.
“Oh goodness.” Mrs. Walsh laughs off her stress. “For a second there I thought we were in trouble.”
“Farren and I were here to protect you,” Dr. Walsh says, hugging his wife, their affection open and natural.
“Mainly Farren,” her mom jokes and Dr. Walsh laughs in response.
“Mainly Farren,” he agrees. And they look at their daughter like Nity does her young, like if someone were to steal her away, that thief might lose a limb.
“You’re welcome.” Farren rolls up her sleeves. “Now for the hard part.”
“That wasn’t the hard part?” Her mom balks. “It sure felt like the hard part.”
Teaching hatchlings to fly has never been any trainer’s forte.
And that’s because hatchlings refuse to learn until they are good and ready.
We are speeding up the timeline, which means this is going to be damn near impossible.
Dragons take their babies on their back, let them feel the wind catch their wings.
So, trainers do the same thing. We fly with them, crafting them airborne until they get the gist of it themselves.
When Nity has settled and her anger isn’t going to kill us, we plan the hatchlings’ initial flying lesson.
First Farren and her dad go up with Zilar.
Then Mr. and Mrs. Walsh go up with Electrum.
The whole time I help spot, flying Hort below them as a safety net of protection like Farren does at our races.
Hours of work and the two boys have both stayed airborne for ten minutes each.
We’re all wet with sweat and happy with success as we spill onto the ground for a break. We’re eating sandwiches Mrs. Walsh packed when Oria runs toward me and flops on the ground by my knees.
“Oria sure loves you, James.” Mrs. Walsh smiles as the silver dragon paws for attention. I scoop her up onto my lap. She still tries to climb my head, but she’s grown too big for that, crushing me in order to climb me. When she realizes she can’t, the little dragon nuzzles my shoulder instead.
“It’s obscene,” Farren pouts.
“Farren’s used to being every dragon’s favorite,” her mom teases, squeezing Farren’s hands.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Dr. Walsh verifies, rubbing his chin. “Why don’t you two go up together with Oria. We’ll spot you both down here,” Dr. Walsh suggests.
A jolting sensation slams into me thinking of Farren and me sharing an open saddle.
Farren sighs dramatically for show. “Ugh, fine.”
When we are feet away walking toward Hort, I tease her. “Ugh, fine? That’s the best you could do?”
“Like you could do better?”
She’s got me there because it’s impossible not to be thrilled at the idea of having her plastered to me.
The happiness coursing through my body isn’t allowing me to even conceal a smile.
I hook a foot into the stirrup, heave a leg over Hort, and offer my hand.
“Think you can bear to ride with me, Walsh?”
“I’ll endure, but I’m steering.” She motions for me to slide back on the saddle.
“Who said you could steer Hort?”
Farren leans forward and pats Hort’s neck. “He likes me better anyway.”