She drifted away.
10
“Mother Tizlah, please—I need your help!” Dragon came rushing into the main domicile, shared by his adoptive parents and their children, and straight into the kitchen where he was certain his mother, Res. Tizlah, would be.
“What is it, son? What’s wrong?”
Frowning, his adoptive mother put down the stirring stick she’d been using on the huge, bubbling pot of burz meat stew and came over to him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“It’s this mammalian female—Mother Tizlah, I need your help!” Dragon held out the still, limp form of the little female anxiously. “She barely seems to be breathing and she’s unresponsive when I try to wake her,” he explained.
“Alright, let me see her.”
Rather than ask him any questions about the strange mammalian female he’d brought into her home, Res. Tizlah was all business, just as Dragon had known she would be. He held out the little female, who felt so light in his arms, despite her luscious curves, for his adoptive mother’s inspection.
Res. Tizlah put a hand to the little female’s forehead and then pulled up her eyelids—which had long lashes, several shades darker than her hair—to peer into her blue eyes.
“She’s too cold for one of her kind,” she said, laying one scaly hand against the female’s cheek. “It would be fine for a Saurian but mammalians need to be much warmer than this.” She looked up at Dragon. “It was never a problem for you—your kind of mammalian seems to be able to regulate your body temperature. But most of them will freeze if they’re out in cold weather too long.”
“She was shivering and complaining about being cold on the transport but I didn’t know she’d react this way once we got back to Saurous.” Dragon looked down at her with concern. “What should I do?”
“You need to warm her up,” Res. Tizlah said briskly. “Fill the soaking tub in your room with warm water—just warm, not hot, mind you. Mammalian skin is delicate—no scales to protect them—so you can burn it easily. Then submerge her but keep her head above the water because they’re not good at holding their breath, either.”
“And that should revive her?” Dragon asked anxiously. “She also seemed to have a bad reaction to the landing. She was unconscious after we touched down and she said the take-off gave her a headache.”
Res. Tizlah frowned.
“Just get her into the warm bath and I’ll make a hot brilla-honey posset for her to drink—that should warm her up from the inside and take care of any aches and pains.” She shook her head. “Mammalians are so delicate. Have you Claimed her, son?”
Dragon straightened and drew the little female close to his chest.
“I have, Mother,” he said formally. “She is mine.”
Res. Tizlah sighed, her forked tongue hissing through her long, sharp teeth in disapproval.
“Well, I always hoped you’d find a female to Claim as your own, I just hope you can keep this one alive. Other than your own kind, the Kindred, I’ve not known any mammalians that can stand the climate of Saurous for long.”
At the idea of the little female dying, a knot of guilt and anxiety formed in Dragon’s gut like a large, indigestible chunk of hartha meat. He had Claimed her—he was responsible for her. He had to heal her and keep her well!
“But what—” he stared to say.
“Go on and get her into that warm bath,” his adoptive mother said, making a shooing gesture at him. “I’ll bring the posset as soon as I make it.”
“Yes, Mother Tizlah.”
Drawing the little female close to his chest, he turned and left the large kitchen, heading down the hallway to his own suite of rooms. He had to heal this little female—the idea of being the cause of her death was horrible, unthinkable.
But even as he took her into his rooms and started the bath in the soaking tub, that lump of guilt and fear in his gut refused to fade.
11
She was floating in a warm lake and someone was holding her head above the surface of the water. It reminded Bobbi of when she was little and her father had taught her how to swim.
“Just float to start with, Bobbi-girl,” he’d said, supporting her gently as she lay on her back in the water. “Just let the water hold you up like a big hand. It wants to support you—you just have to let it.”
“Daddy?” she murmured, her eyes still closed. “Daddy, is that you?”
“It’s Dragon,” said a deep voice. “Are you all right, little one?”
Bobbi frowned, her eyes still closed.
“Dragon? The kind that flies and breathes fire?” she murmured. Another past memory surfaced—watching The Hobbit and seeing Smaug the dragon sitting on a huge pile of golden treasure.
“The kind that’s worried about you,” rumbled the voice. “How are you feeling? Are you warmer? Do you think you could drink something?”