that meant I was already compromised.
When he opened the door for me, a blaze of sunlight streamed in, illuminating the corridor like the flash from a camera. I stepped through into the heat. Grainy sand underfoot, the low wall that surrounded the school up ahead, the deathly blue sky above. We went around the back of the building, where no one could see us. “But I’d prefer it if you would turn into an animal,” I added. I was still my father’s daughter.
There was a pause. He looked at me for a long time with an expression of intense concentration, as if I were speaking a language he’d never heard before. He seemed to be puzzling out something very difficult.
Finally, he said, “Why do I have to turn into an animal? I thought we were leaving.”
“We are, you idiot.”
“I’m glad we’re already close enough that you can call me an idiot with impunity,” he said politely, “but I don’t understand your logic.”
“How do you plan on carrying me?”
“While we fly? Ah . . . in my arms, I guess.”
“Now, see, that’s far too intimate,” I said. I got uncomfortable just thinking about it.
“
Oh
. I see. Well, that is a problem.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “What do you propose to do about it?”
“First, you stop smirking.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” he said. “I’m just flattered.”
That horrified me more than anything. “Don’t be.”
“Fine. I’m not. You just want me to turn into some hideous winged creature that you can ride on without feeling immodest.”
That was a pretty fair summary of the situation. “Yes,” I said.
“Huh,” he said. “Hideous isn’t usually my
goal,
but I’ll see what I can do. Turn away.”
“Why?”
“Well, I just thought I ought to take off these clothes—”
I whipped around, staring squarely at the blank white wall of the school. After a long moment, he said, “Okay, how’s this?”
I turned back.
He had chosen a sleek, dragon-like form. Long yellow-gold eyes. Gray scales. He was on all fours, talons curled into the ground, and I had to look upward to meet his gaze. He would have reminded me of a lizard if his face hadn’t been artistically framed by a few golden feathers. His tail and his wings were feathered too, with the same lush flame-gold plumage that blossomed smoothly out of the scales. I had no idea what he was supposed to be, but I didn’t think he had made much of an effort to appear hideous.
“What are you?”
He blinked at me. “I don’t know. I just made it up.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that.
Then, carefully, I put out my hands onto the most innocuous area I could find, on his side, just below the ridge of his spine. The scales felt small and rough beneath my fingertips. And the world didn’t crack apart, my mother’s voice didn’t hiss into my ear, my father did not dig his finger harder into my back. I pulled myself up easily.
A wave of adrenaline—something I hadn’t felt for a long time, not once since my short-lived walks—surged through my stomach. The blood that had settled sluggishly somewhere around my feet for the last five years began to beat through my body again. It was like a fizz in my veins. “Let’s go,” I said quickly, giddily.
“You might have to hold on to something,” he said. “I told you, I’m fast.”
I looked at my hands. They were resting lightly on the hollow between his shoulder blades, the fingers nicely folded, the way my father had trained me at the dinner table. That was no good. But no obvious places to grip came to mind. His shoulders were too sleek. There was a mane of feathers higher up, but it might hurt him if I grabbed those. And I wasn’t willing to touch anything else. “Just go slowly then,” I told him.
He sighed in disappointment. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel his sides move. For a split second I enjoyed the intimacy of being able to tell what he was doing without needing to hear or see; it was as if we were
When he opened the door for me, a blaze of sunlight streamed in, illuminating the corridor like the flash from a camera. I stepped through into the heat. Grainy sand underfoot, the low wall that surrounded the school up ahead, the deathly blue sky above. We went around the back of the building, where no one could see us. “But I’d prefer it if you would turn into an animal,” I added. I was still my father’s daughter.
There was a pause. He looked at me for a long time with an expression of intense concentration, as if I were speaking a language he’d never heard before. He seemed to be puzzling out something very difficult.
Finally, he said, “Why do I have to turn into an animal? I thought we were leaving.”
“We are, you idiot.”
“I’m glad we’re already close enough that you can call me an idiot with impunity,” he said politely, “but I don’t understand your logic.”
“How do you plan on carrying me?”
“While we fly? Ah . . . in my arms, I guess.”
“Now, see, that’s far too intimate,” I said. I got uncomfortable just thinking about it.
“
Oh
. I see. Well, that is a problem.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “What do you propose to do about it?”
“First, you stop smirking.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” he said. “I’m just flattered.”
That horrified me more than anything. “Don’t be.”
“Fine. I’m not. You just want me to turn into some hideous winged creature that you can ride on without feeling immodest.”
That was a pretty fair summary of the situation. “Yes,” I said.
“Huh,” he said. “Hideous isn’t usually my
goal,
but I’ll see what I can do. Turn away.”
“Why?”
“Well, I just thought I ought to take off these clothes—”
I whipped around, staring squarely at the blank white wall of the school. After a long moment, he said, “Okay, how’s this?”
I turned back.
He had chosen a sleek, dragon-like form. Long yellow-gold eyes. Gray scales. He was on all fours, talons curled into the ground, and I had to look upward to meet his gaze. He would have reminded me of a lizard if his face hadn’t been artistically framed by a few golden feathers. His tail and his wings were feathered too, with the same lush flame-gold plumage that blossomed smoothly out of the scales. I had no idea what he was supposed to be, but I didn’t think he had made much of an effort to appear hideous.
“What are you?”
He blinked at me. “I don’t know. I just made it up.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that.
Then, carefully, I put out my hands onto the most innocuous area I could find, on his side, just below the ridge of his spine. The scales felt small and rough beneath my fingertips. And the world didn’t crack apart, my mother’s voice didn’t hiss into my ear, my father did not dig his finger harder into my back. I pulled myself up easily.
A wave of adrenaline—something I hadn’t felt for a long time, not once since my short-lived walks—surged through my stomach. The blood that had settled sluggishly somewhere around my feet for the last five years began to beat through my body again. It was like a fizz in my veins. “Let’s go,” I said quickly, giddily.
“You might have to hold on to something,” he said. “I told you, I’m fast.”
I looked at my hands. They were resting lightly on the hollow between his shoulder blades, the fingers nicely folded, the way my father had trained me at the dinner table. That was no good. But no obvious places to grip came to mind. His shoulders were too sleek. There was a mane of feathers higher up, but it might hurt him if I grabbed those. And I wasn’t willing to touch anything else. “Just go slowly then,” I told him.
He sighed in disappointment. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel his sides move. For a split second I enjoyed the intimacy of being able to tell what he was doing without needing to hear or see; it was as if we were
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