Page 7 of Shifter’s Thunder

Tanner stepped forward. “I’ll take her to the Welcome Hall, rather than making Denise come to the station.” It was the least he could do, considering he’d failed to see Trolhorne’s threat until it was almost too late. And Wolcz’s calculating gaze as he’d watched the end of the drama made Tanner wonder what his game was.

The chimes rang again, signaling the end of the session. The council members rose from their chairs to collect their belongings.

Trolhorne regained most of his habitual swagger by the time he reached the exit. Interestingly, the sand dragon female had stood and slipped quickly away. He made a mental note to find out more about her.

To be honest, Tanner would be happy to have Avelunne blocks away at the Transition Center. Keeping her only steps away at the station was too much of a distraction.

Chapter 4

The Transition Center’s “Welcome Hall” turned out to be the common room. The natural light from the wide bank of windows made it feel warmer and more spacious than it was. Avelunne sat at a long trestle table, the remnants of a communal lunch of sandwiches and a rich and thick vegetable soup having been cleared away by efficient volunteers.

She rolled her shoulders, marveling at the absence of pain. Denise Voski had been true to her word, arranging for the restrictive peace bonds to be removed overnight so Avelunne could shift. A night spent curled in her dragon form in the field behind the building had knit her bones and soothed her scorched skin far better than any salve. Now, clad in pants called “jeans” that felt stiff but durable and a soft flannel shirt that smelled of lavender and soap, she felt almost human again. She clicked the top of the mechanical pencil Tanner had given her, fascinated by the thin stick of graphite that emerged. It was a small marvel, a piece of everyday magic that held her together while her mind splintered with anxiety.

She drew the thin graphite tip along the pristine white paper of the drawing pad, getting a feel of the pencil’s capabilities by sketching the sharp angles of the metal box someone had described as a vending machine. How long would the Town Council take to make a decision? Neither patience nor waiting were skills she had been born with. In the demesne, they’d meant survival; one learned to sit perfectly still while terror stalked the halls. But here, amidst the clusters of chairs and the murmurs of free people, the urge to flee — to launch herself into the sky and escape the shackles of responsibility — crawled under her skin. Drawing kept her in the now. She focused on the shading of the inner coil that held a stack of identical bags of odd, triangle-shaped foodstuffs with an equally odd name, then capturing the reflection of the overhead lights in the glass. If she anchored little pieces of reality on paper, perhaps it would stop feeling like a dream.

“Is that a robot?”

The question came from the other side of the trestle table. Avelunne looked up to see three pairs of dark, curious eyes peering over the edge of the table. The children had a similar look with sharp features and wavy dark brown hair that defied gravity. The smallest one, a girl with messy braids, was pointing at Avelunne’s paper. The mid-height boy was focused on the drawing. The tallest, a girl, watched Avelunne with a hint of wariness.

“I don’t know what a robot is.” Avelunne turned her work around to show them. “‘Tis that machine in the corner that dispenses packages of food for silver coins. A vending machine, I believe it is called.”

“You talk funny,” the middle boy child said, climbing onto the bench. “Can I draw?”

Avelunne’s fingers tightened instinctively on the metal coils. The pad was a gift from the Sheriff. It and the pencil were the only property she held in this world. And she was as possessive as any dragon. But she looked at their hopeful expressions and recognized the need to express, to create. “You may.”

With reluctance that she tried to hide, she carefully tore three sheets from the pad. The ripping sound seemed loud in the quiet room. She slid the precious blank pages toward them and held up her mechanical wonder. “But we must all share the pencil.”

“No need for that.” A gruff voice rumbled from the doorway. A heavyset bear shifter lumbered toward them, carrying a clear plastic bin full of supplies. Chulu had introduced himself earlier as the “den mother” for the strays. “I brought the art supplies.” He set the bin on the table with a clatter that drew four more children from the corners of the room like iron filings to a magnet.

“All you pups and kits, choose your weapons and sit.” His grumpy tone didn’t seem to faze the children in the slightest as they dove into the box, bringing out paper with printing on one side and an amazing variety of pencils and similar implements.

Chulu pointed to her pad. “Don’t use up your good stuff on these young hooligans. They go through paper faster than they go through dessert.” He moved to stand at the end of the table. Avelunne wasn’t sure if he was protecting the children from her or keeping them from bothering her. Perhaps both intentions were true.

From the bin, she selected a pencil with blue lead, pleased to note its quality workmanship. On the lower corner of her current page, she tested the pencil with a brief sketch of the girl with the braids. The child was intent on coloring a house with a deep purple marking pencil.

“Shelo, what are you drawing?” The tallest girl and probably the oldest of the three siblings was looking over the youngest’s shoulder.

“The scary place,” the girl said matter-of-factly. Below the house, she drew a stick-figure human with a halo of hair, claws, and teeth, holding a line attached to three smaller figures that looked like children. “They wanted to eat us hyenas.”

The tallest girl shook her head. “No, Shelo, the lion saved us. The bad men wanted to trade all us shifter children to the baloi.”

From her travels in the African continent, Avelunne knew that word all too well. “Sorcerers.”

The tall girl hesitated, then nodded. The male child, seated next to Shelo, hunched over his drawing like he was afraid someone would take it away. “They killed our parents and tracked us to the orphanage. Nothing stops them. “

The tall girl put a hand on his tense shoulder. “We’re safe now, Khumo.”

“I know something that stops them.” Avelunne channeled her rage at the children’s plight into a quick sketch. She turned her pad around to show them what she’d drawn. “Few baloi can withstand a bolt from above.” Her sketch depicted a cloud with a hint of dragon wings above a human man being struck by a bolt of lightning, his chest blackened and his hair on fire.

The older girl’s eyes took on a savage expression before she smoothed it away. “It’s bad to wish death.”

Surprisingly, Chulu spoke up. “True enough, Naledi. But only if it’s not deserved.”

Khumo’s eyes rounded as he looked from the sketch to Chulu, then Avelunne. “Really?”

“‘Tis assuredly deserved in defense of your life and your family,” Avelunne agreed.

Shelo looked up from her drawing, where she’d added a blazing orange sun. “You talk funny. Like in the movie about pirates.”