I've never named an animal before. It doesn't really feel right. I mean, most animals don't come when you call them anyway. I mean, they're there when you need them, and a lot of times they just sort of show up, but he used to watch old lady Maculkey call to her cats all day long and never got more than a view of their tails.
Still, the sense that the dragonet wants a name is very strong, like someone leaning on his brain. Oh well, I guess I need to call it something if it's going to stay with us, and it doesn't seem inclined to leave.
"How about, Xartoth, herald of doom?"
The dragonet's eyes flash in a color that somehow reads as disdainful. How can it express disdain without any eyebrows? I shake my head to rid myself of the question.
"Charicar Deathwing?"
The little dragon's bite wasn't enough to break skin, but maybe I should change my tactics. I go through another couple of names before I notice the looks of the others. They're trying to decide what to do about the approaching ... army? Trader caravan? Whatever it is, we're unknowns and easy pickings here. I need to get the name thing resolved, as my little friend is the only real defense we have.
"I'll have to think of something better later, but for now, can I just call you Chip?"
The dragon's eyes flash a deep blue and it chirps happily. It flies up to the top of the tower and returns with a lump of charcoal from the giant furnace and begins to gnaw on it. It looks like it eats more than meat. That's good. Meat for us, wood and charcoal for the dragonet.
As if it heard my thoughts, the dragonet stops gnawing the charcoal and snorts dismissively.
Maybe meat AND chacoal for the dragon.
