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ning. And he only landed a small yellowtail, too small to satisfy his hunger, much less provide for a voracious hatchling. Soon the rising tide would isolate him on this section of the lagoon so if he didn’t hook shortly, he’d have to retreat to where the fishing was always poorer.
Controlling his impatience as best he could, for Piemur was certain that the fish heard sound, else why were they avoiding his hook, he also held his breath as he jerked his line in an imitation of live bait. That’s when the curious noise came to his ears. He raised his head, looking about, trying to locate the source of that odd sound, so faintly heard above the lap of wave against rock. He scanned the skies, thinking there might be wild wherries or fire lizards above him. Or worse, dragonriders to whom he would be extremely visible, stretched along the reef rock.
It was the movement on the beach that caught .his eye, more than placing the sound there. Just then the line in his hand jerked. In a panic of comprehension, he nearly let go but a reflex prompted him to haul the line in rapidly, ris-ing to his feet as he did so, his eyes on the beach.
Something moved on the sand. Near his egg! A sand-snake? He picked up the first yellowtail, poked a finger in the gills of the hooked one, and made for the beach. Nothing was going to. …
Surprise and consternation halted him for one panic-filled instant as he saw the cause of the motion; a tiny glistening golden creature flapping awkwardly across the sands, piteously screaming. “Wild wherries materialized in the sky, drawn by some uncanny magnet to this birth mo-ment.
“All you have to do is feed a hatchling!” Menolly’s calm advice rang in his ears as he stumbled across the sand and nearly fell on the tiny queen. He fumbled at his belt for his knife to cut up the fish. “Use pieces about the size of your thumb or else the hatchlings will choke.”
Even as he tried to cut through tough fish scale, the little fire lizard darted forward, screaming with hunger.
“No. No. You’ll choke to death,” cried Piemur, pulling the fish tail from the fire lizard’s grasp and hacking chunks from the softer flesh along the spine.
Shrieking with rage at being denied food, the little
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queen began to tear at the fish flesh. Her talons were too birth soft to perform their function, so Piemur had time to slice suitable portions for her. “I’m slicing as fast as I can.”
A race ensued then, between the hunger of the little queen and Piemur’s knife. He managed to keep just a slice ahead of her voracity. When his knife opened the softer fish gut, she pounced, mumbling in her haste to consume it. Piemur wasn’t certain if fish entrails, full of Thread no doubt, were a suitable diet for a newly hatched fire lizard, but it gave him time to cut more flesh.
He started on the second yellowtail, putting it first to occupy her while he hacked rapidly at the flesh. He knew one was supposed to hold the fire lizard while one fed it, to form the Impression, but he didn’t see how he could contrive that until he had food enough to coax her into his hand.
Finished with the offal, she turned back to him, her rainbow eyes glaring at him as they whirled redly with hunger. She gave a scream, opened her still wet wings and dove on the small mound of fish pieces. He caught her first, holding her body firmly just under the wings and then proceeded to feed her piece by piece until she stopped struggling in his grasp. The edge of her hunger assuaged, she paused long enough to chew, and her voice took on a new, softer note. He loosened his hold and began to stroke her, marveling at the wiry strength in the slender body, at the softness of her hide, at the liveness of her, his very own fire lizard.
A shadow crossed them, and the queen raised her head and rasped out a warning.