The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

healing hand in response. Then he grasped it gently with his mouth.
    “Well, off with you, Puppy. Go find your dinner.” The thought of lives ending to feed his vigorous appetite made her shudder in revulsion. Yet she knew he needed meat, just as Shayla did.
    In the early days of her association with the wolf and the dragon, his injured paw and leg had prevented his hunting. Shayla had magnanimously dropped rabbits or a haunch of something larger for the wolf every day or two. Now, after most of the winter had passed, he was nearly healed and able to fend for himself.
    Somewhere in the wild forest that spread around the mountains, he must have a mate about to whelp. He was an adult wolf in his prime. Yet he showed no inclination to assume his family duties, something inborn in wolves. They mated for life and were devoted parents. If he had come to her as a pup she could have understand his attachment to a human.
    A squirrel chittered to the wolf from the doorway of the hut. He ignored the scolding and continued to beg caresses from Brevelan. She ran her hands through his winter-thick fur, drawing as much comfort from the touch as he did.
    “That’s enough for now. I have work to do. Didn’t you just hear Mistress Squirrel? There are roots to be dug, and seeds to be started. The floor needs to be swept and Mistress Goat needs a milking.” If she kept busy enough, she wouldn’t think about her dreams of portent.
    She stood to separate the wolf from her hand. The stool wobbled when relieved of her slight weight.
    “Someone remind me to ask the carpenter to fix this chair when his wife needs help with her birthing,” she called out to the various mice and birds that scurried around her bare feet. The only other response to her command was a petulant meow from Mica, the cat curled up beside the fire. She didn’t like her nap being disturbed, even by such a simple request. For a brief moment Brevelan thought Mica’s eyes appeared round and hazel, like a human’s. Another blink and the illusion was gone. The cat’s eyes were yellow, slashed vertically by a very feline pupil.
    Brevelan stepped out of her one-room cottage into the bright clearing. Her eyes wandered to the pathway. No tall man carrying a pack and walking staff. She breathed a sigh of relief.
    “I’m not going to tell you again, Puppy, go get your dinner.” She swatted his behind lightly. He trotted off, tail high, nose low, to begin his hunt. “And don’t bring any of it back. I don’t want your bones cluttering up my house.” She shuddered again at the loss of a tiny life to feed her friend. He’d dragged a carcass back only once. Every crunch of a bone felt like her own limbs breaking. His sensual pleasure at the noise stabbed her through the heart. Since then she reminded him to eat his hunt in the woods. He’d never disobeyed again.
    “And if you get muddy again, you sleep outside tonight,” she called after his retreating tail. “Shayla may have given you a princely name, Darville, but you get too dirty and disheveled to be a royal pet.”
    A flusterhen dashed out from the cover of saber ferns at the edge of the clearing. Her sisters followed. They pecked at Brevelan’s feet, and she shooed them away. “I’ll feed you later. When the sun sets,” she promised them.
    As she went about the mundane chores of digging and milking, feeding and soothing, Brevelan sang. Music flowed and swirled around her, reflecting the beauty and serenity she found in her isolated clearing. Trees and plants, ground and hut seemed to hum in harmony with her song. She lifted her voice a note higher into a descant to the natural sounds. As she reached the apex of her voice she sensed the clearing sealing itself against intruders.
    Less than a year ago her life had been devoid of music, just as the solitude she craved had been denied her.
    Households were large in her home village. Many generations lived in each house. Excessive noise, like singing, was banned, lest it disturb the elders or the babies, or the fathers concentrating on their work. Girls were married off early to make room for the brides of the younger men. Babies abounded everywhere.
    She missed the babies. Memories of Shayla’s dragon-dream returned. A compelling delusion. Once more she felt milk-heavy breasts ache for a baby’s suck. She shook it off. If she hadn’t run away last summer, she’d have a child of her own by now. A soft, small creature with her own ruddy hair and pale