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be available until fall; and while she could get some oil from black marshberries, it would take immense quantities, which she’d prefer to eat.
With her fire lizards as winged escort, she made her way south and inland, towards country little penetrated by the Sea Holders as being too far, these days, from shelter.
Menolly set out as soon as the sun was up and varied her pace between a striding walk and an easy jog. She decided to go on as far as she could until the sun was mid-heaven; she couldn’t risk being too far from her cave when night fell.
The fire lizards were excited, darting about until she scolded them for wasting their energy. They took enough feeding without all that flying and all they could count on in this flat marsh area were berries and a few early sour plums. They took turns clinging to her shoulders and hair then, until the little brown pulled at her once too often, and she shooed them all off.
She was soon past any familiar terrain and began to proceed more slowly. It wouldn’t do to be bogged down. Midday found her deep in the marshes, gathering berries for herself, her friends and her basket She’d managed to harvest some of the aromatic grasses she wanted, but not enough for her purpose. She had decided to sweep in a wide circle back towards her cliff cave when she heard distant cries.
The little queen heard them, too, landing on Menolly’s shoulder and adding her agitated comments.
Menolly told her to be quiet so she could hear, and to her surprise, the little queen instantly obeyed. The others subsided, and all seemed to wait expectantly. Without diversion Menolly recognized the distinctive and frantic noise of a distressed wherry.
Following the sound, Menolly crossed the slight rise into the next bog valley and saw the creature, wings flapping, head jerking but its legs and body firmly captured by treacherous sinking sands.
Oblivious to the excitement of the fire lizards who
recognized the wherry as an enemy, Menolly ran forward, drawing her knife. The bird had been eating berries from the bushes edging the boggy sands and Stupidly stepped into the mire. Menolly approached the sands cautiously, making certain that she was stepping on firm land. She got close enoughthe frightened bird not even aware of her proximityand plunged her knife into its back, at the base of the neck.
One more frightened squawk and the thing was dead, limp wings settling on the surface and rapidly submerging.
Menolly unbuckled her belt to make a loop of the buckle end. Grabbing the tough branches of a berry bush, she leaned out just far enough to snap the loop around the head of the bird. She tightened the loop and slowly began to pull.
Not only was there wherry meat here to feed herself and the fire lizards, but the layer of fat under its tough hide would provide her with the best possible grease for her friends’ fragile skins.
Again, to Menolly’s surprise, the fire lizard queen appeared to understand the situation. She sank her tiny talons into a wherry wing and pulled the tip out of the mud. She squeaked shrilly at the others, and before Menolly realized it, aH of them had seized some tenable part of the wherry and were exerting their efforts to pull it from the bogsand.
It took a lot of pulling and shrill fire lizard orders, but they managed to get the wherry out of the sands and onto firm ground.
The rest of her day was spent in sawing through the tough outer hide to disembowel and dress the carcass. The fire lizards made an enthusiastic meal of the en-trafls and the blood that flowed from the wherry’s neck. The sight somewhat nauseated Menolly, but she set her jaw and tried to ignore the voracity with which her otherwise gentle companions attacked the unexpected delicacy.
She hoped the taste of hot raw meat wouldn’t change
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their temperaments, but she reckoned that dragons didn’t become savage from their diet of live meat so it was fair to assume that the fire lizards wouldn’t. At least, they were well fed for the day.