(Late afternoon)

     As soon as Kellie and her dragon had departed the green, Trevor made his
way back down into the warren.  He needed to stop by the Warrenlady's office
to drop off the maps he'd drawn up this afternoon; then, with any luck, he'd
find time to go down to his workshop and rest for awhile before facing
another evening of interrogation from his mother.

     Even though he'd put out little physical effort today, aside from his
and Katrina's exploration of those caves they'd spotted from the air, he
couldn't remember ever being so tired.  Part of the problem was that he
hadn't been sleeping well; not only hadn't those nightmares gone away since
he'd arrived at Cleft, they'd gotten steadily worse.  But the bigger problem
was the sheer amount of effort he was having to put into maintaining the iron
control over himself that he felt absolutely necessary to ensure the safety
of those around him.  In his nightmares, M'del had graphically demonstrated
what would happen should he ever let down his guard.  Deep down, he honestly
couldn't help liking the people he'd met during his short stay here, and the
mere thought that he himself might inflict similar pain on any of them was
more than he could bear.  Lenna and Katrina were probably safe - the terrible
violence of those dreams never involved women, and anyway their dragons were
generally around when he was with them.  But someone like Turner would always
be at risk around him - all the more so now, because Trevor was becoming less
certain with every hour that he could continue to keep his barriers in place.

     This was a problem he hadn't anticipated when he'd arrived here - had it
really been only yesterday morning?  He'd thought that surviving at Cleft
would be no different than it had been at Keldarra or Ralengarde; easier, in
fact, because he expected to be here only a few months before completing his
mission of mapping the NomadLands.  Then he'd disappear into the Wastes, on
what would probably be his final exploration.

     But he'd made a serious miscalculation.  At Keldarra, most people had
tended to ignore him; they'd been around him all his life, and had simply
written him off as that weird kid who spent most of his time hanging out in
the woods or wandering around the warren sketching maps that no one else was
interested in.  And at Ralengarde, his only real associates - Master Dilmer
and the other apprentices - spent most of their own time with their faces
glued to books or maps.  During all those years, few people other than his
parents (and just his mother during the past seven years) had ever made any
attempt to see if there might be anything behind the stony facade he showed
the to the world.  And when anyone tried, he'd simply called another talent
into play - that of subtly interjecting a well-placed statement or question
that would deflect their interest in him onto some other, less personal
subject.

     Here, though, he was something of a novelty and that always tended to
draw unwanted attention.  Also, because of its newness, Cleft Warren had an
"unsettled" air about it that made it far different from Keldarra.  Few of
the people here had known each other before their arrival; they still looked
at those around them with a degree of curiousity, wanting to learn all they
could about those they had suddenly found themselves living amongst.  And
Trevor, surrounded by an entire warren of such people, was finding it very
difficult to blend into the shadows.

     Lost in his reverie, he was surprissed to suddenly find himself at the
door to Cynthia's office.  Taking a moment to compose himself and shore up
his wavering barriers, he knocked on the door and was told to enter.

     The Warrenlady's office was, as always, neat and well ordered; the sole
exception was her desk which sported a formidable-looking pile of documents
awaiting her review and signature - the inevitable consequence of her
position.  He'd be adding to the pile in just a moment himself.  Cynthia
looked up as he closed the door behind him, and replaced her pen in its
holder.

     "Good afternoon, Trevor," she said, leaning back in her chair.  "How did
the mapping go today?"

     "Fine, Warrenlady," he replied, his tone displaying no more interest or
expression than if she'd asked him about the weather outside.  "I've finished
the rough sketches of what we flew over today, and brought them in as you
asked."  He slid them out of his leather mapcase and handed them to her.

     She took a moment to glance over them.  "Very good," she said, her
finger coming to rest on the spot marking the caves he'd explored.  "I take
it these aren't big enough to accomodate dragons?"

     He shook his head.  "No, not nearly.  Perhaps D'ren or Turner could take
a look to see if any of them could be widened, but even then it wouldn't hold
more than a couple.  You're thinking of an outpost?"

     Cynthia nodded.  "Yes.  If we can get the Hanan interested in farming,
or perhaps even some of the Rushela, they'd need a protected place to retreat
to in case of wraith attacks.  Hmmm...these are close enough that we could
probably protect them from here, but if we could house even one or two
dragons there on a rotating basis it would be all the better.  What about the
land around there?  I see it's flat, but did it look suitable for farming?"

     "It looked good to me, but I'm not an expert on that," Trevor told her.
 "I'd recommend sending Masterfarmer Dirk out to take a look before you
decide anything."

     "Yes, I may just do that," Cynthia said, giving him a speculative look.

     Trevor didn't like such looks, and wondered what lay behind it.  He kept
his own expression carefully neutral.  "Is that all, Warrenlady?"

     "Yes, except that I'd like to ask a favor of you.  It would only take a
few minutes of your time."  She reached down behind her desk and brought out
a large leather ball, a little larger than his own head.  He recognized it as
being one of those that was pumped full of air so that it would bounce well.
 He wondered idly what use Cynthia had for such a thing, though.

     "Just an old plaything from my younger days, that I brought with me from
Telnor," she explained.  "Sentimental reasons, you know.  The children here
like to borrow it occasionally for their games, because it bounces better
than any of theirs.  Anyway, one of them asked me this morning if he and some
of his friends could borrow it this afternoon.  I said I'd bring it up to the
green for them, but as you can see..."  She made a gesture to indicate the
stack of papers that confronted her.  "Would you mind taking it up there for
me?"

     Trevor took the ball.  "Certainly, Warrenlady," he said.  "But I just
came from the green a few minutes ago, and there was no one else there."

     "They'd be getting there just about now," she explained.

     "I'll be glad to deliver it, Warrenlady," he told her.  "Is there
anything else?"

     "No, nothing else.  And thank you for helping me."

***************

     When Trevor reached the green a few minutes later, he found that he'd
beaten the children there.  He considered just leaving the ball and returning
to his workshop, but decided against it.  It was probably expensive, and the
fact that the Warrenlady hadn't just given it to the children earlier meant
that she probably valued it to some degree.  Well, he'd just have to wait for
them.

     At the moment, the green's only other occupant was a single dragon,
visible only as a black outline against the setting sun.   At first he
thought that Varie had come sooner than expected to pick him up, but then he
saw that this dragon was far too large to be Varie.  Squinting into the sun,
he saw its light reflected off white-gold scales, and knew than that this
could only be Syren, Cynthia's own queen dragon.  Probably sunning herself,
he thought, though she'd chosen an unusual time of day to do it.  Not wanting
to disturb her, he sat down some distance away to await the childrens'
arrival.

     Noticing his presence, the queen turned her head in his direction.  She
stood up then, and with stately grace made her way over to where Trevor sat.
 He quickly stood up, knowing that he shouldn't be sitting down while paying
his respects to the warren's senior queen.  "Hello, Syren," he said.  "I'm
Trevor."  He didn't know whether she could understand his speech; some
dragons could, others couldn't.  But since queens tended to be the most
intelligent of dragons, he suspected that she was one of those who could.
 And, partial though he was to Varie, he had to admit that Syren was far more
magnificent and beautiful than the green dragon.

     Syren brought her head down so that she could look at him from almost
his own eye-level, then moved in close to inspect the ball he was carrying.
 A low rumbling issued from her throat as she bumped it with her nose,
shoving Trevor back a couple of steps.

     Oh, great, Trevor thought.  She thinks I stole her rider's ball.  He
could only hope that she wouldn't decide to flame him for fear of
incinerating it as well.  But instead of doing that, she reached down and
touched the ball with one of her claws, giving it a gentle tug.  Oh, she
wanted him to give it to her!  Well, he wasn't prepared to argue to argue the
point; he held it out for her to take.  Very carefully, the queen drew back
her lips and took the ball between her formidable front fangs, careful not to
touch Trevor with them.  He hoped she'd be careful with it, and wondered who
the Warrenlady would blame if her dragon accidently crushed or punctured it.

     Then the queen did a curious thing.  She backed away several steps from
Trevor, then gave her head a flip and released the ball. It sailed through
the air, bouncing on the ground in front of him.  He caught it, then saw the
dragon waiting expectantly for him.  She tossed her head and snorted, and he
realized with amazement that she wanted him to throw it back to her!  Well,
he had nothing better to do at the moment.  He tossed it back in a high arc,
and she deftly caught it once more between her front teeth.  Backing off a
bit more, she once again tossed it back.

     This curious game continued for several minutes, and despite himself
Trevor couldn't remember when he'd had more fun.  Syren could probably have
sent the little ball sailing right across to the far side of the Cleft had
she wanted to, but restrained herself to keeping it on the green;  still, she
frequently tossed it far past where Trevor was standing, so that he had to
fun full-out to retrieve it.  For his own part, he began tossing the ball to
one side or the other of where the dragon stood; she usually managed to catch
it nonetheless, her long neck darting almost snakelike to pluckit from the
air.

     Finally seeming to tire of the game, Syren brought the ball back to
Trevor and bent down so that he could take it from her.  But when he tried to
take it, she quickly drew her head back to keep it out of reach.  She had to
repeat the maneuver again before Trevor realized that she had simply started
a new game.

     "Oh, so we're playing keep-away, are we?" he laughed, making yet another
grab for the ball which she easily evaded.  Syren watched him with a
mischevious gleam in her eyes, apparently pleased that he had finally caught
on.  After several more tries,  Trevor finally managed to snatch the ball
away from her; then he turned and ran, while clutching it tightly to his
chest.  Syren leaped after him, and no matter which way Trevor twisted and
turned, she always managed to get in front of him to block his progress.  He
tried to outsmart her by feinting to the left, then darting around her to the
right.  "Gotcha!" he called, holding the ball over his head to tease her with
it, and laughing aloud - until he tripped over the platinum-colored tail that
had been cunningly placed just for that very purpose.

     "Hey, no fair!" he laughed, as he sprawled forward and lost the ball.
 He had to duck as the dragon leaped over him to retreive it.  Breathing hard
both from the unusual amount of exercise he was getting and from laughing so
hard, he picked himself up off the ground and ran after her, expecting her to
tease him again by keeping the ball just out of reach.

     But instead, she had still another trick in store for him.  Pivoting
around to face him, she raised herself up on her haunches and lifted her head
so that the ball was now several times his own height above the ground.  "I
can't jump *that* high!" he called up to her.  "Bring it down closer!"  The
dragon just sat there with her nose - and the ball - pointed skyward, and
pretended to ignore him.  But he saw that every few seconds the platinum
queen would tilt her head a bit to take a surreptitious glance at him,
waiting to see what he would do now.

     So she was testing his inventiveness, was she?  He briefly considered
the problem - if she wouldn't bring the ball to him, he'd somehow either have
to go up and get it from her, or induce her to drop it.  As to the
first...well, he'd climbed sheer rockfaces twice her height and more, but
even the smoothest cliffside would offer more handholds than a dragon's sleek
body would.  But maybe she wouldn't know that.  He sprang up onto her knee,
knowing that the soft leather moccasins he wore around the warren wouldn't
damage her scales.

     "If you won't drop it, I'll come up and get it," he called up to her.
 "I'm a mountain climber, you know!"    The queen blinked uncertainly, and he
knew that his bluff had scored.  Whether he could or couldn't do what he'd
said, he was pretty certain that her queenly dignity wouldn't bend far enough
to allow him to try.  As he hoped, she decided to give up the ball.  But
instead of dropping it, she exhaled and blew it out across the green.

     "Tricked you!" he laughed, leaping down from her leg and pelting off in
pursuit of the elusive ball.  Syren made no attempt to chase him this time. 

     But it was Cynthia who caught the ball, a wry smile on her face as a
shocked Trevor skidded to a stop in front of her.  "So, Mapmaker, there *is*
more to you than you've been letting on," she said.  "You have dragon
affinity!"   


NRPG:  

     Alton - thanks for letting me borrow Cynthia and Syren for a bit.  I
guess either one of us can handle the next part where Cynthia confronts
Trevor about having the affinity.

     Barb - likewise, thanks for the loan of Turner.  I'd planned to thank
you at the end of the last post, but I remembered just as I was hitting the
send button!  Oh well...


Respectfully submitted by

John

Trevor the Cartographer
Cleft Warren