Do I tell him that his father is dead? Do I have the right? Do I have the desire?
I don’t know. I just don’t know. So I say nothing-- a skill of mine, and one I wish others cared to learn. I just smile, sad and understanding, one kid to another. Except I have a father, and a dragon, and a wolf, and a twin, and Kibou has neither of these things.
But he does have a glowing orb, and a monkey, and a kindness most don’t. I decide I want to be nice to him. Which is probably to say my heart decided the second I met him, but it took my brain that long to catch up.
“Fable is a dragon.” Plain and simpIe as an apple falling from a tree. I cannot even imagine a world where dragons are mythical creatures. It sounds like a horrible place to live. Fable is not just any dragon, he’s my dragon. He’s sister’s too, and mom’s, and in some ways my dad’s. Not that anyone can own a dragon, of course. Still-- he’s ours. “He lives in the water, mostly, and probably eats two hundred fish a day.” I nod sagely. The number was fictional, but what did that matter? It was a good number. It sounded right on my tongue, like laughter.
Then I’m off at a run, and Kibou is not very far behind. Somewhere along the way I howl at the night, “A-wooo!” As I have so many times before. As I will so many times again. Furfur is the first to pick up the call, then the other wolves beyond the court walls join us. My laughter streams behind me as Kibou and I tumble into the dark streets like water.
I did not think about whether or not I enjoyed having found a new friend. I did not think about the future, and where we might be in two, three, five years from tonight. I just ran, faster than my thoughts could flow, and hoped the boy could keep up.
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