Their aquatic jaunt may have lasted an hour, two hours – to Newt, it seemed that time and the sea had united in stillness, the only motion the Kelpie’s vigorous thrash of hooves underwater. The Impervius charm made the trip pleasant enough, although Tina’s grip on his waist never faltered and he could hear Percival’s saturnine mutter about cramps. But to Newt the journey was pure bliss. Once coaxed into small talk, their ride proved a mine of information (when not griping about brine and hair barrettes, and kids getting so overcaloric these days, and that Houynhnhmus thinks he’s such a hotcolt but she could outrace him any day). They glimpsed a selkie once, singing above the waves, and as they neared their destination the sun pierced through the clouds and bathed them in its strong late warmth.
The island was mostly bare, abandoned by its Scottish dwellers since 1912. Newt could see the ruins of a church with a few feral goats around it, halfway up a hill that rose into a steep slope, hiding the view to the island’s south side. As he peered up, the hill was covered by a sudden shadow. Tina’s thumbs dug into his ribs, and Newt’s mouth opened in awe at the vast dark shape flying over the slope to land further away.
"You’re on your own," the Kelpie said hastily.
"Oh, right-ho. Um, I’ll make sure your name is correctly spelled –" but she was already cutting a fast breastroke away. They were left to wade to the shore. Then, the hill.
"Normally, I’d say we colour-camouflage and proceed by stealth." Newt took a quick survey of the open grass "This habitat, however. Is not stealth-friendly."
Percival’s chuckle was unexpected, but a booster. "Yes, I’d say a covert march is no go."
"Up to a point." His pack was once more at the ready, delivering various items of dragon leather into his hands. He held one out to Perce. "Put that on, and that. Yes, the helmet too. And you, Tina. We’ll get within sight and see how he reacts. Only don’t shout, please? Or draw fire of any sort. Or clank. Clanking is right out."
"Really, Newt. I don’t normally make a habit of emitting sharp metallic sounds."
He felt a jolt of love at her faux-stern voice, at the silver peeping from under the helmet on the nape of Percival’s neck. They were here, they were doing this, for him, with him, their faith and folly one. And now they were smiling at one another and starting on the climb – Newt first, a senior adventurer, Tina and Percival deployed on each side. The ocean swell in their backs did not fade away, but became a many-voiced pep talk as they clambered on, slowly, in the beautiful warm light.
----------------------
And yes, he’d been right all along. A Norwegian Ridgeback!
In its youth, it must have been black, but comely. Now the ridges along his back were pale and flaky from his enforced stay underground, and it hovered uncertainly on its foot. Right stomp, left stomp, testing the grassy knoll under his feet. It was making for the edge of the hill, where it dropped sharply into a cliff of jagged rocks projecting out of the hillside. Newt signaled for the others to follow him back and round, down the path that led to its foot, where a short beach stretched out into the sea. As they did, the dragon
"He’s an Old One," he whispered to Tina as they padded down the trail.
"Join the club" her gaze said, before it turned interrogative.
"He might speak the norse variant of Parseltongue: dragons did, long before it became known as serpent-speak. I learnt it – some – when nusring my Occamies. Bit rusty now, but…"
His last words were flown away by a gust of seabreeze, just as they turned the last bend onto the shore. The dragon had taken the shortcut down the cliff and, with a flap of his great spiked wings, was landing – if not at their feet, then close to. It stretched its neck out and gave a loud bellow.
"Stupe –"
"No, no, wait – hold on!" He’d grabbed Perce’s arm and begged the ebony wand down before the stunning could take effect. "He’s not angry! He’s – surprised, that’s all. See? No flames."
"Hmm." Percival patted his hand noncommitally, but kept his own arm at the ready.
The dragon, his neck still lowered, was blinking his milky pink eyes. He took another cautious step forward. Slowly, carefully, he moved his snout to Newt’s hair and sniffed the pale red locks. The neck swiveled; the snout followed, investigating Percival’s glasses. Percival held himself very stiff and, with admirable self-restrained, refrained from wiping off the mist. But it was Tina’s bob – she had dropped the helmet at his cue, offering her naked face as a token of peace - that appeared most puzzling. The dragon gave it a gentle poke or two. Then he lifted his nose and uttered a series of dismayed barks.
Newt blinked in synch, his own face lost in confusion. "He says…"
"What?" and "Merlin's longjohns, what?" came from the other two.
"I’m so sorry," Newt told Tina. "I must really be rusty, because it doesn’t make a shred of sense. He says: ‘You three have aged up awfully quick.’ "
Fill: There and Back (9/?)
The island was mostly bare, abandoned by its Scottish dwellers since 1912. Newt could see the ruins of a church with a few feral goats around it, halfway up a hill that rose into a steep slope, hiding the view to the island’s south side. As he peered up, the hill was covered by a sudden shadow. Tina’s thumbs dug into his ribs, and Newt’s mouth opened in awe at the vast dark shape flying over the slope to land further away.
"You’re on your own," the Kelpie said hastily.
"Oh, right-ho. Um, I’ll make sure your name is correctly spelled –" but she was already cutting a fast breastroke away. They were left to wade to the shore. Then, the hill.
"Normally, I’d say we colour-camouflage and proceed by stealth." Newt took a quick survey of the open grass "This habitat, however. Is not stealth-friendly."
Percival’s chuckle was unexpected, but a booster. "Yes, I’d say a covert march is no go."
"Up to a point." His pack was once more at the ready, delivering various items of dragon leather into his hands. He held one out to Perce. "Put that on, and that. Yes, the helmet too. And you, Tina. We’ll get within sight and see how he reacts. Only don’t shout, please? Or draw fire of any sort. Or clank. Clanking is right out."
"Really, Newt. I don’t normally make a habit of emitting sharp metallic sounds."
He felt a jolt of love at her faux-stern voice, at the silver peeping from under the helmet on the nape of Percival’s neck. They were here, they were doing this, for him, with him, their faith and folly one. And now they were smiling at one another and starting on the climb – Newt first, a senior adventurer, Tina and Percival deployed on each side. The ocean swell in their backs did not fade away, but became a many-voiced pep talk as they clambered on, slowly, in the beautiful warm light.
----------------------
And yes, he’d been right all along. A Norwegian Ridgeback!
In its youth, it must have been black, but comely. Now the ridges along his back were pale and flaky from his enforced stay underground, and it hovered uncertainly on its foot. Right stomp, left stomp, testing the grassy knoll under his feet. It was making for the edge of the hill, where it dropped sharply into a cliff of jagged rocks projecting out of the hillside. Newt signaled for the others to follow him back and round, down the path that led to its foot, where a short beach stretched out into the sea. As they did, the dragon
"He’s an Old One," he whispered to Tina as they padded down the trail.
"Join the club" her gaze said, before it turned interrogative.
"He might speak the norse variant of Parseltongue: dragons did, long before it became known as serpent-speak. I learnt it – some – when nusring my Occamies. Bit rusty now, but…"
His last words were flown away by a gust of seabreeze, just as they turned the last bend onto the shore. The dragon had taken the shortcut down the cliff and, with a flap of his great spiked wings, was landing – if not at their feet, then close to. It stretched its neck out and gave a loud bellow.
"Stupe –"
"No, no, wait – hold on!" He’d grabbed Perce’s arm and begged the ebony wand down before the stunning could take effect. "He’s not angry! He’s – surprised, that’s all. See? No flames."
"Hmm." Percival patted his hand noncommitally, but kept his own arm at the ready.
The dragon, his neck still lowered, was blinking his milky pink eyes. He took another cautious step forward. Slowly, carefully, he moved his snout to Newt’s hair and sniffed the pale red locks. The neck swiveled; the snout followed, investigating Percival’s glasses. Percival held himself very stiff and, with admirable self-restrained, refrained from wiping off the mist. But it was Tina’s bob – she had dropped the helmet at his cue, offering her naked face as a token of peace - that appeared most puzzling. The dragon gave it a gentle poke or two. Then he lifted his nose and uttered a series of dismayed barks.
Newt blinked in synch, his own face lost in confusion. "He says…"
"What?" and "Merlin's longjohns, what?" came from the other two.
"I’m so sorry," Newt told Tina. "I must really be rusty, because it doesn’t make a shred of sense. He says: ‘You three have aged up awfully quick.’ "
-----------------------