Both dragons and keepers had changed mightily in the short time he had known them. The keepers had stopped being a mismatched conglomeration and were starting to form a cohesive community. Most of the time they were exuberant, the boys brash and wild. They splashed one another, challenged one another, laughed and shouted as only boys teetering on the edge of manhood do. Even in the short time of their journey the boys were building muscle from the daily paddling. The girls were less noisy and exhibitionist about the changes they were going through, but the signs were there all the same. The boys vied for their attention, and sometimes the rivalries grew rough indeed. And the girls seemed, like the dragons, to bask in the boys’ attention. They preened and flirted, albeit in very different ways.
Sylve was still little more than a child. She’d obviously set her heart on winning Tats’s attention. She trailed behind him like a toy on a string. Yesterday, she’d braided flowers into her hair, as if their scarlet glory could hide her pink-scaled scalp. Leftrin gave the young man credit. He was kind to her, but kept her at a proper arm’s length, as he should with a girl so young.
In contrast, Jerd seemed to hourly change her mind as to which young man she fancied. Greft courted her in a desultory way. Leftrin had watched him draw his boat alongside hers and endeavor to win her attention with conversation. But during the day’s passage Jerd seemed focused not only on making good time to keep up with the dragons that preceded them, but in filling her small boat with as many fish as she could catch. She was dedicated to Veras, grooming her each evening until the small green dragon’s gold stippling looked like a sparkling of nuggets on a dark green cloth. In the evenings, when the herders gathered around a riverbank fire, Jerd sat with the other girls and let the young men compete to see who could take the spot next to her. It made Leftrin smile to watch them, even as he wondered uneasily where it might lead.
He had never had much to do with folk born so heavily touched by the Rain Wilds. Most of them were given back to the forest on the day of their birth, for the Rain Wild Traders had long recognized that those who were born so deformed would either break their parents’ hearts with their early deaths, or give rise to a second generation of deformed children who never survived. The Rain Wilds were a harsh place. It was better to let go of an infant immediately and try for a new pregnancy than to pour love and food into a child who would never live long enough to carry on the family line. The recent influx of the Tattooed folk had brought fresh life to the Rain Wild population, but for decades before that, their birth rates had only marginally exceeded their death rates.
Alise had still not appeared. On the riverbank, Lecter had arisen. Cloaked in his blanket, he’d wandered over to the coals of the fire and was feeding it the ends of last night’s wood. A tiny flame leaped up and the boy crouched, holding out his hands to it. Warken came to join him, rubbing his eyes and scratching at his scaled neck. His skin had taken on a coppery glint over the last few days, as if he would complement his red dragon. He greeted Lecter warmly. Lecter said something that made Warken laugh, a hearty boy’s laugh that came clearly to Leftrin’s ears.
As Leftrin watched the youths who should have been discarded as infants, he almost doubted the wisdom of the old ways. They seemed vigorous enough, if strange to look upon. He wished them well, boys and girls alike, and yet he hoped he would not see romance blossom. Allowing such folk to breed would go against every Rain Wild tradition. So far, he had seen no indication that any of the girls would allow such a transgression. He hoped it would remain so, even as he uneasily wondered if he had any responsibility to enforce the Rain Wild rules against them mating. “Well, Tarman, no one told me that was part of the contract. I know it’s everyone’s duty to honor the rules that keep us alive. But my grandpa used to tell me that everyone’s job was nobody’s job. So maybe I won’t be blamed if I don’t take that task on.”
There was no response from his ship. He hadn’t expected one. The sun was warm and the river gentle here. Tarman seemed to be enjoying the brief respite as much as his captain was. Leftrin glanced again toward Alise’s compartment. Patience. Patience. She was a lady, and a lady took her time readying herself every morning before she emerged to face the day. The effect was worth it.
He heard a sound behind him and turned to wish her good morning. The welcoming words died on his lips. Sedric, polished as ever, was pacing quietly over the deck toward him. Leftrin watched him come, caught between envy and loathing. Sedric’s hair was impeccably combed, his shirt white, his trousers brushed, and his boots clean. He was freshly shaven and a faint spicy scent rode the morning air. He was the worst sort of rival that a man could imagine. Not only was he immaculately groomed every day, his manners were impeccable. Compared with him, Leftrin felt swinish and ignorant. And hence the loathing he felt for him. Whenever they were both in Alise’s presence, she must compare the two of them, and Leftrin must always be lacking in her gaze. That alone was enough reason to hate the man. But there was more.