The Draykon Series (1-3)

Orlind: Chapter Sixteen

Llandry had tried the shape of almost every type of creature she could think of. It came easily to her, once she had the trick of it; borrowing the appearance of beast after beast scarcely even wearied her.

Taking the shape was one thing, but using it proved to be another. For a girl used to walking on two legs, it was no easy task to accustom herself to walking on four, or even none. Flight, too, was difficult; she may be winged in her human form but bird flight worked differently.

She and the other hereditaries worked hard at it. This new skill had to be mastered - not merely because it delighted them to do it (although it did), but because, properly employed, it was another weapon at their disposal. Llandry was intrigued to notice that Sigwide always knew her, no matter which shape she was wearing. That called to mind something Pensould had said once: I know who you are because you feel like my Minchu. It has nothing to do with your face. Apparently animals operated in similar ways; only humans were reliant on outward appearances.

The shape Llandry kept returning to was that of the orting. It thrilled and confused Sigwide in equal measures, and she enjoyed his excitement. The orting shape also proved to be rather comfortable. They were efficient creatures, essentially placid, given to enjoying their lives. At the end of a day of shape-shifting, when the Daycloak was coming in to block out the dark hours, five ortings huddled in a comfortable group in a patch of untouched forest on the edges of Waeverleyne.

Any observer would have noticed that something was odd about these five. Their colours varied. Avane had been the first to realise that she could tailor her animal shapes to her tastes, and had promptly taken to painting all her beast-shapes purple. Ori, on the other hand, amused himself by taking orting shape and then acting like he was still human. His golden-furred orting stood before them now, propped on his hind legs, acting out a comedy that had been popular in Waeverleyne before the attacks started. Laughing was difficult around sharp orting teeth. Llan's whiskers wrinkled until they tickled and her pink tongue stuck out, tasting the air. She smelled fruit on the wind, and sweet nectar, and had to suppress the urge to go in search of it. No wonder Siggy was so fixated on food.

This was a bittersweet interlude. Theirs was a fevered sort of hilarity, born of the knowledge that soon, these skills they were learning would have to be enough, one way or another, to save Waeverleyne. Soon they would be putting aside the innocence of the ortings and taking instead those forms most conducive to warfare. They would be fighting their own kind, and they would be outnumbered. The awareness of it flickered at the back of Llandry's mind, never wholly forgotten.

Llan, watch out for Sigwide! Ori's words, still full of laughter. Feeling the tickle of whiskers against her fur she turned her head to see Siggy approaching.

Attractive haunches, he told her, nuzzling at the area in question.

Er, thanks Siggy. Llandry inched away.

Don't leave! Sigwide ran in pursuit. Pensould, Ori and the purple-furred Avane tore off after him, and for a few minutes all was running and tumbling and laughing.

Llandry fetched up at the base of a tall boulder, tall enough to blot out the sun. Looking up, she realised it was not a boulder; it lived and moved. From it there came a distinct air of disapproval. She wasted a moment or two staring up into the sky, trying to discern the features of the human that stood in her way.

Then she realised she didn't need to. This was unmistakeably Papa. His aura was made up of fierce intelligence, a sneaking vein of hidden humour, grim determination, the smell of machine-smoke and the tang of oil. And love; plenty of it. Was this, then, how Pensould identified people? Instantly she felt curious to know how she felt to him.