Dragon's Egg by Sarah L. Thomson

just—”
    Mella didn’t finish the sentence because she couldn’t think, exactly, of what Roger should do. This was her quest. She may have left her dragons behind, and she may have been unable to saveLady, but she would take care of the Egg. The dragon had laid it on her to do so. Roger had just…happened to be there.
    He might be useful enough in one way or another. But he shouldn’t meddle with the Egg. That was her concern, not his.
    Packing the box away in her sack, Mella refused to feel remorse for her sharp words or for the slump in Roger’s shoulders. They shared the food Mella had brought from the Inn’s kitchen: hard traveler’s bread, some apples, a chunk of cheese. It was a quiet meal.
    â€œWe should go,” Roger said after they had finished. He seemed willing to forget that they had more or less quarreled. “If they come searching for us…” He didn’t finish the sentence but tossed the core of his apple away into the woods and rose to saddle the mare.
    â€œI hope Damien’s all right,” he muttered anxiously as he tightened the girth. “I’m supposed to look after him.”
    â€œMy parents will take care of him.” Mella triedto make her voice gentle, to show that as long as Roger did not interfere with the Egg she could be as civil as anyone. And then she wished she could stop thinking about her parents, waking to find her gone. At first they would think she was out with the dragons. How long before they realized she was truly missing, and Roger too?
    â€œMy father always says once you’ve decided what you must do, nothing else matters.” Roger looked a little doubtful of this wisdom. “And we have to do this. Don’t we?”
    Mella felt the weight of the Egg in the sack over her shoulder. She felt the weight of the promise she had made.
    Roger’s father was right. They had decided to take the Egg where it belonged. There was no sense in regrets now, and no thought of turning around. The only thing to do was to get the job done as quickly as possible.
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    They didn’t talk much as they rode and as other travelers began to pass them by—a merchant witha loaded wagon; a farmer’s wife with a cart full of onions to sell; a family on their way for an outing, the children in their cleanest clothes running ahead, the parents calling to them to wait. After a while Roger began to hum. Then to whistle. Then to sing under his breath to the rhythm of the horse’s steady jogging pace.
    â€œKilian, kalian, damerson, dee,
    Who made the dragons and set them free?
    Heart of a serpent, voice of a man,
    Breath of the fire that none can withstand.”
    â€œThat’s not how it goes,” Mella objected, forgetting that she had planned to be polite.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe song. Those aren’t the right words.”
    â€œOf course they are.” Roger twisted to look over his shoulder, a little offended. “I’ve known that song since I was in the nursery. Everybody knows it.”
    Of course everybody knew it. Little children played a game with it, holding hands, spinning ina ring, faster and faster, until the end when they let go and everyone fell staggering and giggling to the ground. But Roger had gotten the words wrong. Mella chanted,
    â€œKilian, kalian, damerson, dee,
    Coel made the dragons and set them free.
    Skin of a serpent, mind of a man,
    Heart of a fire that none can withstand.”
    â€œThat’s not right,” Roger said when she’d finished.
    â€œOf course it’s right. Gran taught it to me.”
    â€œBut it’s—Coel didn’t make the dragons. He fought them. Everybody knows that.”
    â€œIt’s just a game song,” Mella answered. “It’s not history . Like the nonsense words at the beginning. It’s not supposed to mean anything.” She pointed ahead. “Look, there’s the ford.”
    There was no