by Tasha Black
“What is?” he asked.
“That - that thing,” she yelped, stealing a glance back at the path and apparently getting the scare of her life when she saw the tree-hound bouncing her way with a lopsided doggy grin.
“Liberty,” he said gently, “it’s just a tree-hound. He won’t hurt you.”
“That’s no hound,” she said, pummeling his chest with her little fists. “It has too many legs. Get the baby out of here.”
“Take the baby and hide behind that tree,” Odin told her, deciding to humor her. “But don’t go further. I want you to see what we’re up against.”
She nodded and snatched the baby so fast he almost regretted letting her take him.
But Colton didn’t make a squeak.
Liberty obligingly darted off into the trees, but stopped and peered out at him, eyes wide with fear, before she got out of sight.
The dragon hummed with satisfaction at this show of submission.
Odin nodded to her and turned back to the approaching beast.
As it got closer, he began to understand her trepidation. On most of the Terras the canines were more similar to what had been found on Old Earth. Not because any of those canids had come along to the stars, to his knowledge, but because the Terrans had domesticated the species that looked familiar to them.
Tree-hounds had six legs, and were closer in size to bears than dogs, in spite of their dog-like loyalty.
Liberty was much smaller than Odin. It would be easy for a tree-hound to knock her down with its enthusiastic greeting.
But surely she couldn’t look at that adorable face and think it meant her harm?
“Hey, buddy,” he crooned and bent to meet it.
The thing flung itself at his legs, sitting on his feet licking his whole face with its lolling tongue.
“Hi,” Odin said. “I see you.”
The tree-hound moaned back, making a sound like a claxhorn in a jazz band, then flung itself on its back and wagged its whole body back and forth, showing off all six dancing paws.
“Yes, you have a very fluffy belly,” Odin agreed, patting said belly. “Come on out, Liberty.”
She didn’t reply, but his dragon could sense her approaching cautiously. He could taste her fascination.
“He’s… domesticated,” she murmured.
“Actually, he’s a she,” Odin said. “And yes, she’s going to be your best friend. This little lady is going to guard your sheep.”
“There’s nothing little about her,” Liberty said.
“Well, come pat her belly anyway, so she knows you like her,” Odin said. “You wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. She didn’t ask to be this big.”
Liberty handed him the baby and bent, extending her hand cautiously.
The tree-hound spotted her, yipped once in greeting, and promptly rolled back onto her belly, lying still, with her huge muzzle resting on her front paws, as if she sensed her mistress’s worries and wanted to reassure her that she was a good, calm tree-hound.
Odin figured Liberty had about thirty seconds to take advantage before the creature leapt up and bounded around her, crowing.
“Go on,” he said. “Pat her.”
Liberty’s hand barely touched the silky fur.
“She’s so soft,” she murmured.
He nodded.
She threaded her fingers through the fur, instinctively finding the spot right behind the ears that every creature needed scratched.
The tree-hound hummed in ecstasy.
“Good girl,” Liberty crooned, obviously enamored.
At the encouraging sound, the animal leaped to its feet and spun around in circles, stopping to lie down flat on its belly, ears pinned back, and bark joyfully after every few circles.
“Wow, she has a lot of energy,” Liberty said.
“She needs it with seventeen sheep to keep in line,” Odin pointed out. “Tell her to show you the sheep.”
Liberty looked at the dog in wonder. “Show me the sheep,” she said softly.
The creature snapped to attention, her clowning forgotten, and marched forward, chest held high.
“Wow,” Liberty said.
“This is her job,” Odin told her. “She likes goofing around as much as anyone else, but she’s serious about her sheep.”
“I can see that,” Liberty said. “I guess it’s her farm, too.”
“It is,” Odin said, pleased at the quick turnaround in Liberty’s attitude.
The red glow of Hesiod-8 had paled to pink over the horizon, throwing the murky grove into twilight. As the path curved around the hill, the sheep appeared in the grove.
“Oh,” Liberty gasped.
He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he watched her take in the sight of the animals.
They really were incredible creatures, glowing in the semi-darkness like clouds made of starlight.
“Do they always look like this?” she asked.
“The glow is more pronounced in the evening, though you can see it in full light if you’re looking for it,” he told her. “They’re called rainbow-sheep.”
The tree-hound barked once, and the sheep faded from light blue to shades of pink and orange.
“Whoa,” Liberty breathed.
“They change colors based on their mood,” Odin explained. “But when you shear them the color stays fast in the wool.”
“Amazing,” she said.
“You’ll have to become an expert at shearing if you want to achieve some of the more unusual colors,” he told her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“A nervous animal will shear red,” he told her. “Which isn’t worth much. But if they trust you, it’s possible to shear green or even blue. That wool is very valuable because it is so rare.”
“It’s not dyed,” she realized.
“Exactly,” he told her. “And every shear is unique.
“Will it glow?” she asked.
“Even after it’s processed and woven,” he told her, nodding.
“We’ll have a blanket made for Colton,” she decided. “The first blue shearing will be his.”
“An ambitious goal,” Odin said.
“Why bother with any other kind,” she said decidedly, stroking the tree-hound’s fur unconsciously as she observed her flock.
He liked her like this. While her fancy hair and elegant manners had initially thrown him off, he actually could picture her as a farmer, enjoying the simple pleasures of caring for plants and animals.
He chided himself mentally for ever doubting it. If she had traveled in the Physician’s Brigade with her husband, she was no spoiled princess. The Physician’s Brigade went to places that made this one look like the paradise it was.
“We should count them,” he said after a moment.
“Didn’t the hands just say there were seventeen?” she asked.
“That’s because they just took inventory,” he told her. “Making sure they’re all accounted for is a constant task.”
“Okay,” she said gamely. “If they move around a lot, how do we do it?”
“It’s best to start getting to know the individual animals,” he explained. “That will happen in time. For now, let’s just hope they don’t move too fast.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “Let’s go to opposite sides and count toward each other.”
“Sure,” he said, watching her jog to the end of the grove, with the tree-hound at her hip.
The last of the fading starlight danced in her hair and her eyes as she moved toward him, counting out her new charges.
He almost forgot to take his own inventory he was so mesmerized by her beauty.
“That’s eleven for me,” she said.
“Six for me,” he told her.
“Seventeen,” they said at the same time.
She laughed and he felt caught in her orbit, as if his own life didn’t matter anymore, and he wanted only to stay near her forever.
“We… should get back,” s
he said, breaking the spell.
“Of course,” he told her. “You must be getting hungry.”
“Yes,” she admitted, pleasing his dragon with her hearty honesty. “Do you think there’s good food in the house?”
“I’m sure there’s something,” Odin said. “Ready?”
Liberty took one last look at her flock and gave a satisfied nod.
Then they headed back down the path toward home.
12
Liberty
Liberty curled up in a comfy chair, giving Colton his bottle, as Odin banged around the kitchen.
He wore his usual scowl and there was a lot more slamming of cabinet doors than Liberty was used to, but she was starting to realize that this was just his way. He wasn’t angry, he was just enormous and very serious about his food.
He was very serious about most things.
Except during playtime with the baby or the tree-hound.
“What’s her name?” she called out, watching Colton’s little mouth work the bottle.
“Whose name?” he asked.
“The tree-hound,” she said. “Do you know her name?”
“They didn’t say,” he told her. “You’ll have to name her.”
“Interesting,” she said. “What kind of name should she have?”
“Most people say they like a two-syllable name,” he told her. “Something not similar to other words you’ll use around her.”
“How about Keerah,” she suggested.
“That was quick,” he replied. “What made you think of it?”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“No promises,” he said, but his eyes were twinkling.
“She was a superhero in these comic books I used to like,” she said.
“Beyond Terraforma,” he said, looking up from his work.
“Yes, how did you know?” she asked.
“I liked them too,” he admitted. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”
“Who am I going to tell?” she teased. “I’m just a farmer on a mountain.”
He smiled and went back to plating their dinner.
“Who was your favorite character?” she asked.
“Winston,” he said immediately.
“The mechanic?” she asked.
He nodded.
“But he’s not exactly a good guy,” she pointed out, thinking back and wondering what Odin had seen in him.
“He’s not a bad guy either,” Odin said. “He seemed… real.”
She nodded. That added up. Odin was kind of a complicated guy himself.
“Plus he had that awesome space bike,” Odin added.
“He did,” she remembered. “What did he call it?”
“Starlight Sally,” he said immediately.
“Starlight Sally,” she echoed, smiling at the memory.
“Dinner’s ready,” he told her. “How’s Colton doing?”
“He’s sleeping again,” she said, looking down at the little one. “You’re sure this is normal?”
“Babies from Imber sleep a lot in their first six months,” he told her. “He’s doing just what he’s supposed to.”
“That’s good,” she said, feeling better.
“Do you want to put him to bed so you have two hands for eating?” Odin asked.
“Not really,” she admitted. “But it’s probably a good idea. He had a long day.”
“Let’s find his room,” Odin said, leading the way down the hallway.
The first room they came to was a cozy nook. The floor was covered in cushions. Fairy lights hung around the alcove, providing a soft glow.
“Great place to read stories,” Odin remarked on the way past.
“I was thinking the same,” she said, peeking into the next room, which looked like a plain guest room with a blue bedspread.
“That’s my room, I think,” Odin said.
She nodded, wondering why that gave her such a pang. She hadn’t expected them to share a bed for the next twenty years.
But even the frustration of last night seemed better than the idea of sleeping without him.
She pressed onward and they reached the final door. When she opened it, her breath caught in her throat.
A spacious bedroom with a huge bed took up the entire width of the house at that end. Soft lighting showed off built-in bookcases and the circular, funnel shaped ceiling.
An alcove along the side held a cradle with a playful mobile of colorful sheep hovering over it.
“Do you like it?” Odin asked.
“It’s amazing,” she said honestly. “I’ve never seen a ceiling like that.”
“I have a theory,” Odin told her. “Let’s get the baby tucked in and we can test it.”
She carried Colton over to the cradle. It had an old-fashioned look, but she was relieved to see that it had the same sensors any modern cradle should have.
She set it on Soothe anticipating that Colton might wake up when she put him down.
The mobile began to circle lazily, and muted lights waltzed slowly around the cradle, giving just enough stimulus to distract a baby, but not enough to keep him awake.
But Colton kept sleeping hard as she placed him down and the cradle adjusted itself around his tiny form.
She pressed Alert and the lights and mobile slowed to a stop.
“If anything were to happen to him, I would know before that contraption could alert you,” Odin growled.
“Can’t hurt to have two protectors, right?” Liberty asked.
She knew dragons had highly attuned senses and all that, but she was not turning off that computerized cradle alert. It didn’t need to sleep, Odin did.
He shrugged, but she could tell his feelings were hurt.
“What was your theory about the ceiling?” she asked him, hoping to change the subject.
“Oh, right,” he said. “Come on. You have to lie on the bed to see it.”
From anyone else, it would have sounded like a cheesy pick-up move, but cheesy pick-up moves weren’t Odin’s style. He was very direct.
She crawled into bed.
“Lie on your back,” he told her.
“You’re not doing this too?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ll do it,” he said, moving to join her.
She held her breath as his weight hit the mattress. Even if she could accustom herself to his huge size, the way her whole body floated when his weight was beside her reminded her. This wasn’t just a man. This was a dragon in her bed.
“Roll over on your back,” he told her.
She rolled over and glanced at him for more instructions.
He had his big forearms folded under his head. He smiled at her. “Turn off the lights.”
She gave him a look.
“It’s about the ceiling, I promise,” he said. “Just do it.”
“Lights off,” she said crisply.
Instantly, they were plunged into darkness, except for the globe light that must have been hanging from inside the funnel of the ceiling.
No.
It wasn’t a globe light. It wasn’t a light at all.
They were looking at a circle of stars through mist.
“Wow,” she said. “Is it a holo-painting? It’s a really good one, I swear the mist is moving.”
“It’s the sky,” Odin told her. “We are looking at a tunneled skylight.”
“Someone tunneled the mountain to make this?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I love it,” she whispered.
“Me too,” he agreed.
They watched the stars for a few minutes in comfortable silence.
But when she glanced over at Odin, Liberty realized he wasn’t looking at the stars at all. He was looking at her.
His dark eyes shone in the muted starlight, not with fury or with humor, not even with lust, but with something deeper, something that wrenched her heart.
“I guess we should eat,” she said, sitting up quickly and smoothing her hair. “Lights
on.”
He raised himself to his elbows and studied her for a moment.
“Sure,” he said at last, swinging himself off the bed in one fluid motion. “Let’s eat.”
She didn’t feel the pendulum swing of regret until he was out of her bed and safely walking down the hallway, telling her about the meal he had prepared.
She let her mind take her back to bed, back to the soft starlight and the emotion in his eyes that she dared not name.
13
Liberty
Liberty awoke to the gentle sounds of Colton happily discovering the spinning mobile over his cradle.
She stretched and opened her eyes.
The lighting system in the house seemed to be intuitive. As her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the skylight, the cove lights began to rise.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and watched Colton for a moment.
He was too small to do much more than wave his tiny hands and feet and blow raspberries with that sweet mouth. Right now he was doing all his tricks in response to the colorful sheep in the mobile.
The cradle hummed in response to each of his noises.
He seemed to be content for the moment, so she hurried into the washroom adjoining her bedroom to quickly shower and dress.
When she came out, Colton was still relaxed and happy.
“Good morning, my love,” she whispered.
He blinked a few times and then focused on her.
His little face broke into a smile that she hoped was recognition, then whimpered and kicked his feet like a frog.
“I know you’re hungry,” she told him.
She scooped him up, marveling at how his slight weight filled her heart.
He snuggled into her neck and tangled a small fist in her hair.
“I’m glad to see you too,” she murmured, surprised to feel tears prickling her eyes.
She opened her door and nearly screamed.
Something huge was huddled on the floor of the hallway.
The lights began to glow to illuminate her way and she realized it was Odin.
Why was he on the floor? Was he hurt?
She bent to examine him and realized there was a pillow beneath his shaggy head.
He wasn’t hurt.
He had slept outside their door to protect them.
