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I could suddenly see him in my mind’s eye as plain as day and that terrible yearning came over me again.

It was so bad that I bent double and cried out with a sharp pain in my chest and tears literally sprang to my eyes.

It wasn’t only because I was missing him either.

It was because suddenly everything about the attack a few days before came slamming back into me in a huge rush, and I was overwhelmed, suddenly remembering it all, including how the attackers had slaughtered a crewman who had tried to help me and how badly they’d kept hurting me.

I knew exactly who I was and where I came from too, with no more gaps in my memory at all.

I remembered every detail of that day at the Lycan warehouse, my arrest and the terrible attack later on.

It was a lot to take in, but the worst by far was the attack and for a split second I was back on that ship, watching in horror as they hacked and stabbed at the crewmen over and over.

I had been trying to crawl out from under one of the bodies when rough hands pulled me to my feet, slapped me hard across the face and then hit me on the side of my head with the hilt of a large knife.

The onslaught of those awful memories was too much—I moaned aloud, slipped out of the chair and fell to my knees. Oh gods, I needed to go home. I had to talk to my parents and let them know what had happened to me. They must be so worried about me.

****

Quinn Fortina

It was after we had finally landed on Horvath and were disembarking that everything went to hell.

I had finally settled on the first helmsman as the most suitable candidate for a Dragon Rider onboard the ship, should the egg hatch unexpectedly.

He was far from ideal, but frankly, he’d been the only one to volunteer.

We needed to press someone into service, and if necessary, try to work with them to make them more suitable later on.

I’d spoken with his supervisor, and though he was a little dubious about it, he had agreed he might be all right, with a lot of work.

The young helmsman expressed a love for the adventure of being a rider, or at least the idea of it, though he was young and had also expressed a little fear of the commitment too.

This job was for his lifetime and was not to be considered lightly.

Plus, if he was thinking of doing this for the adventure of it only, then he would be bound to be disappointed at the long hours of training and the reality of dealing with a dragon on an almost daily basis.

They could be demanding creatures, although they were also fierce, brave fighters, and they could make wonderful companions and comrades.

Or not, depending on the bond they had with their rider.

All things considered, I hoped everything would go well, and the egg wouldn’t hatch until we arrived back at our base of operations, and we could find a more suitable candidate.

The vetamis had some definite ideas about their riders and this one might even reject the man I’d chosen and choose his own rider—it had been known to happen before.

We did everything we could to encourage them to choose the man we’d approved, but they could be extremely stubborn creatures.

It was cold as we began to disembark—it was always cold on this side of our moon, which was already about to set over the planet below us.

I couldn’t help but think of Rylan’s comfort as he came off the ship and hope that the physician had put plenty of blankets over him.

He seemed fragile to me, and I was worried because he still didn’t remember things like he should.

As soon as the thought came into my head, I firmly pushed it away.

He wasn’t a child, and I didn’t need to worry about him constantly—no matter what this damnable mating instinct inside me tried to insist.

I’d been hoping that nothing else would go wrong until we got to our command center, and I could get my other candidates for Dragon Rider ready for when the egg cracked.

The dragon could then choose the one he was most attracted to.

But as my mother used to say, “If you don’t think that things could possibly go wrong or even get any worse, then you simply aren’t using your imagination. ”

The crewmen dropped the crate going down the ramp.

I was horrified and ran over to it, hoping the dragon hadn’t been injured, and I peered over into the remains of the box to get a glimpse of the hatchling.

I’d have to be careful the dragon didn’t see me and fixate on me accidentally—I already had a dragon, and I didn’t want to confuse the hatchling.

The first thing I noticed was that his scales were golden .

I’d never seen a Golden before, so this was a rare occurrence and hadn’t happened on Horvath for many years.

The scales were bright in color and healthy looking, though.

And as they caught the last rays of the setting sun, they literally glowed.

He was tiny, compared to the size I knew he would eventually be and perfectly formed.

Dragons grew at an amazing rate, so he wouldn’t be so small for long, but for now, he came up only just past my knee.

He was beautiful, and a complete unknown.

Would he be a fire breather? A fighter like the Reds?

Or did his talents lie in his quickness and agility in flight, like a green?

Vetamis had a history of bonding very quickly—sometimes almost on sight.

And there was usually no way of talking them out of their choice of Riders once they’d made it, so if my helmsman didn’t like the idea of a new and completely unknown type of dragon, that could be a serious problem.

As I came back down the ramp after getting a look at the new hatchling, I noticed two things.

First of all, Rylan was on the gangway ahead of me, being moved off the ship, but somehow, he had spilled out of the chair he was being transported in, and now he was on the ground and looked upset.

Damn it! Was he hurt again? He had his head down and his face buried in his hands, and I panicked.

I began running toward him, literally knocking people out of my way in my haste to get to him.

I saw a golden blur pass me by at a speed that made me feel like I was backing up.

It was the little dragon racing by me and over to Rylan, plopping down squarely in his lap.

The dragon started rubbing his head against Rylan’s face and chest, while Rylan looked down at him in complete and utter shock.

I ran over, too, intending to pull the vetami away, but it was far too late.

The hatchling was licking Rylan’s face, his long, pink tongue rasping over his skin and paying close attention to the bruises on his face, licking each one thoroughly as if to heal them.

As for Rylan—he was looking down at the little dragon in fascination and delight. Instead of pushing him away, he was patting his head.

I heard the dragon say, quite plainly, “Why are you so sad?” in a high-pitched, thin voice.

Rylan’s mouth dropped open in complete shock, as well it should have. We knew that vetamis could “talk” to each other, or more accurately, they could communicate with each other with sounds if it was truly necessary, but as a general rule, they simply didn’t. And they almost made sounds to us.

It wasn’t even exactly speech. They usually made a murmuring noise. Just like this little one had made, come to think of it, only in a low voice and only to each other, so we had no idea what they were saying. Only this time we could understand quite plainly.

There were no actual words or any sounds that could be construed as such.

They seemed to make these noises to each other only when they were mating, or when the females were communicating with their offspring, and they seemed to understand each other.

There had even been times when I was praising my dragon or giving him a squeeze or a pat when I was particularly pleased at how well he’d performed, and he had made a murmuring sound to me.

My dragon didn’t speak to me, though. Not in any language I recognized, anyway.

This little dragon, however, was speaking actual words.

Or…was he? Though the vetami had been clearly communicating in what I perceived to be actual language, when I tried to recall the exact words he’d used just moments before, the memory had already faded.

Yet, at the time, I had understood the little golden dragon perfectly clearly. And he had spoken in my own language.

Rylan was gazing down at the dragon in pure delight.

“Are you talking to me? That’s so incredible. How are you doing that?”

How indeed? To be able to actually talk, any living creature had to coordinate his lips, jaw, tongue and larynx all at the same time.

The hatchling’s mouth had moved up and down a little, but his “lips” were reptilian and therefore incapable of forming words—not to mention his thin forked tongue.

Did dragons even have voice boxes? None of this made any sense at all.

The little dragon tipped his head to the side and spoke to Rylan again. “Why are you so sad?”

Rylan smiled again and looked straight up at me. “He’s talking to me. In Moravian!”

“What? No, it was Horvathian. I heard him—he wants to know why you’re sad.”

“Yes, I know. I heard him too, but it was my language. I’m absolutely sure it was Moravian, and I don’t know any Horvathian.

Wait a minute—does anyone know about this?

That the dragons on this moon can speak?

I know there are a few other non-humanoid species that communicate with a type of speech, but I never knew there were any in this part of the galaxy.

Does King Davos know? He’ll be amazed. Blake will probably want one of them! ”

“What are you talking about, Rylan?”