Storm-Dragon
by Dave Freer
On the treacherous Vann’s World, Skut battles a savage wind and deadly hamerkops to rescue a mysterious, telepathic creature. Fleeing a rising tide and a menacing Loor-beast, he forms an unexpected bond with the tiny, electric-charged being that sees him as its protector. As Skut navigates the perilous tidal tiers, his impulsive escape from Highpoint Station unravels into a fight for survival—both for himself and his newfound companion.
Podge is the new kid in town, trying to keep his head down. Meeting Skut is about the only bright spot in his introduction to this strange new world. The boys bond over Skut’s creature, and trying to avoid the class bullies. This is only the beginning; soon Skut finds his new friends do not ease the growing concerns of the adults around him while the town is coming under a mysterious threat. What can two boys and a tiny storm-dragon do?
A savage wind, full of icy shards, bit at Skut’s face around the edge of his parka hood. It kept him looking down, and not around, which was always a mistake on Vann’s World. He would never have got that close to the diving hamerkops if he hadn’t been trying to pull his head into his parka like a turtle.
He might never have heard the squall for *help!* Well, ‘heard’ was the wrong word. He felt it in his head…and it wasn’t so much the word ‘help’ as the need for it.
“I’m coming,” he yelled, which would have been pretty dumb even if the wind hadn’t whipped the words away, because one really didn’t want to make oneself obvious on the coralline spike flats. Too many things might notice.
But something did hear. And the *quick!* wasn’t so much a word either, but a desperate need.
He saw the little electrical flash just before he saw the diving Hamerkop. All his father’s training of him, meant he didn’t even think, he just drew and fired his flechette. The dive ended in a splat onto the etched rock. The second savage bird managed to turn its attack on him, but he was still quick enough or lucky enough, to hit one wing and send it spiralling into a tide-pool, where it ended in a sudden snap of waiting teeth. That pool must have a resident slake-eel. Lucky he hadn’t stepped into it.
The rest of the hamerkop fair, shrieking in rage loud enough to be heard even above the wind, held off.
Up against the coralline spike, with several blackened streaks around it, sat the most miserable little thing Skut had ever seen. It was *cold,* *scared,* and *HUNGRY!*
He picked it up without even thinking about it. It was maybe eight inches long, two thirds of that tail, and it curled into his palm easily enough.
*Warm!*
And then it bit him!
“Ouch! You filthy little beast!” Only the fact that it was clinging to his hand with all its claws and with the tail wrapped around his wrist stopped Skut from flinging it away.
*Hungry!* somehow that ‘hungry’ conveyed “food or die” to Skut.
“Well you can’t eat me.”
Somehow Skut got the idea that the miserable scrap of fur and tail was not sure just what ‘me’ was. And it was chewing the little bite it had taken. It was a very little bite, for all that it was sore. The little thing only had a tiny mouth. *Need food. Foood!*
Skut grabbed the fallen Hamerkop. The flechette needles had torn one leg nearly off, so he was able to pull the meaty drumstick free and put it in front of the little creature on his hand. “Eat that, not me. Now where can I put you?”
