Doubts assail me as I lead Inga across the sands. The tracks are getting harder to follow the further we go. I would guess that those who took our friends decided to at least attempt to cover their trail. Fortunately, I’ve listened to Ragnar and Melchior long enough that I’m able to pick up the signs.

I shift the lochaber from my left to my right hand. It’s strange to carry one. They’re normally reserved for the hunters and those Zmaj who’ve had their rites of passage. I’ve never had one because I’m not a hunter. Too small, they would say. I’m not ready. They were right. I wasn’t ready and I am small. I’ve always been small.

Inga is smaller than me. She’s delicate, like the most perfect flower in the universe. The lines of her neck down across her shoulders is entrancing. The way she moves has a grace that I’ve never seen. Fire burns through my veins, warming my insides. I will protect her. If she chooses me or not, it doesn’t matter. I am male and my dragon has chosen.

I think over Sverre’s words and feel the wisdom of them deep in me. Now it doesn’t matter if I’m small or not. I am all she has. I cannot fail.

The lochaber is awkward to carry. Ragnar, Melchior and the others carry one and it looks effortless. My elbow hurts from the weight of it so I shift it to my other hand again. I want to have it ready. This is Tajss, one never knows what is going to happen after all.

“Is it heavy?” Inga asks, glancing at the weapon.

“It is nothing,” I say, tightening my grip.

Damn, she noticed! Of course she did, she’s brilliant and observant, what did I expect? Out of the corner of my eye I see she’s watching me with covert glances. The corners of her lips twitch, is she about to smile? Oh how I want her to smile!

Do something. What can I do to make her smile? Something silly, she likes silly things and I’m good at this. Nothing. I’ve got nothing! Why am I failing, this is my chance! Thoughts race as I try to come up with something, anything. What will this beautiful female find humorous? Zmaj humor isn’t going to tickle her, I’ve learned that. That’s why I’ve spent time studying the humans books and listening carefully of the stories they tell from ‘vid-sticks’, whatever those are.

She likes it when I do impressions. Who?

Blank. Not a single thought comes. Curse the suns.

A song! Why a song of all things I don’t know, but a tune comes to mind so I hum it. Inga looks at me full on and smiles.

Yes! The lyrics of the song come to me, though it’s one for children, I sing them anyway.

Whoever heard of a Zmaj with no tail

But there he was, sinking in the sand

What do we do with the Zmaj with no tail?

Who will help this poor fool?

Yes indeed, a Zmaj with no tail isn’t much of a Zmaj

But this one fights his way through!

When the Zzlo came, children to steal from their beds

There he was, the Zmaj with no tail!

He fought them all, one by one, and two by two

Whoever heard of a Zmaj with no tail

But there he was sinking in the sand

What do we do with the Zmaj with no tail?

Who will help this poor fool?

The children safe he headed out

The wastes were his home, no matter he sank so far

But the children cried for him to stay

Alas no one wants a Zmaj with no tail

The parents say no and off he goes

But he promised the children, he’d be there for them

Whoever heard of a Zmaj with no tail

But there he was sinking in the sand

What do we do with the Zmaj with no tail?

Who will help this poor fool?

I hold the last note much longer than it should be until my voice cracks and I’m out of breath. Inga claps enthusiastically, her eyes alight with delight.

“Oh Samil!” she exclaims. “That was beautiful, but what a sad song. Is that from before? Or did you make it up?”

“It’s an old song,” I say. “Our caretaker used to sing it for us in the nursery.”

“That seems a sad tale for children.”

I shrug. “Maybe. It’s an old story really. I liked it a lot when I was a hatchling.”

“You liked the idea of someone coming to save you?” she asks, touching my arm.

My whole world stops even though we’re still walking. The wind stops moving, my thoughts are still, and I have the strangest sensation. It’s as if I’ve been seen, perhaps for the first time ever, someone sees me. The real me, not the masks I wear around others.

My attention is arrested by her hand on my arm. It’s so delicate, I can see the tiny bones that form it, extending out into her long, gentle fingers. Her skin is so pure it could be the most perfect glass.

“Yes,” I force the word out and it tears at me with its blunt honesty.

“Oh Samil,” she stops, the slightest pressure on my arm causing me to stop with her.

We stare at each other and the distance between us becomes nothing. I’ve never felt closer to another person then I do her right now. Her lower lip trembles, moisture forming in the corners of her eyes. The moment stretches but unlike any previous time, there is no awkwardness. It feels natural, as if this moment has been the destination point of my entire life.

“I understand,” she whispers.

I should say something. Anything but nothing comes. She understands. It’s so real and raw that it hurts, like an open wound with sand rubbed into it. But that fades and there’s comfort in her knowing the truth. A truth I’ve never admitted even to myself.

“I love you,” I say.

Her eyes widen.

Damn it, I didn’t mean to say that! It slipped out. How do I take it back! Stupid, stupid, stupid Samil. What have I done! Oh, I’m an idiot. So, so dumb! She’s going to pull back. I’m her protector, a male takes what he wants but he never forces himself on a female. Never!

“We should keep moving,” she says, slowly taking her hand off my arm.

“Right,” I nod, forcing an appearance of enthusiasm.

She smiles, tentatively, but it’s a smile none the less. As we continue our travels there’s a tension between us and I can’t quit thinking about the mistake I made. I shouldn’t have said that. It doesn’t matter that it’s true, I’m pushing her. It’s the last thing in the world I want to do.

Watching her out of the corner of my eye, emotions play across her face that I can’t interpret. It’s as if a storm is raging inside of her. If I was smarter, like Sverre, I’d know the words to fix this, but I’m not. I’m Samil, the least of all the Zmaj. Somehow I was cursed to survive the Devastation, left to live among the males who are more worthy.

Sighing, I force my thoughts to focus on the now. I am Inga’s protector. Self-pity is for another time, now I must be alert and take care of her.