Fancy Finding You Here [Ravensong]

[lee]

Today, Oosh was eight.

Well, okay, he admitted it might have been yesterday, or a sevenday ago even that the transformation had actually occurred, but he was definitely eight now. He wasn't really all that sure of the exact day, because no one at Dalibor knew but his mum, and he wasn't even sure if she did--he certainly didn't. He just remembered the few times he'd celebrated, it had been right before the snow disappeared, and it was all gone now, so he must be eight.

He wasn't sure how he felt about being eight.

It seemed, to him, that being eight was a Big Deal.

He was a whole turn older. He was an adult now, and the pride of this knowledge made his chest puff with pride and his steps swagger, but...but it also meant he was probably too old to be carrying Dragonth around. He sat crosslegged on his bunk, lower lip jutted out in solemn dismay as he eyed the faded, stitched sack dragon Harper F'rrol had given him. The rainbow paint of the eyes had all but been rubbed off, one spine drooped, and he still persistently leaked the tiny grains of sand he had been stuffed with from a small hole in the tail that Oosh had tried desperately to stitch up himself because his Mum's response had been to try and toss the doll in the trash. She still might, Oosh realized with alarm, especially because he was an adult now. The thought filled him with alarm and he automatically shot a panicked glance at the door of the cavern, expecting her to come through, but he relaxed after a second. She hadn't spent the night here--she almost never did--and she probably wouldn't be back here today either.

But still...

Oosh swallowed a lump in his throat, and instead of gently tucking Dragonth like he usually did when he left for the day, Oosh lunged forward to give his friend one last, big hug, smothering the hiccupy sound that came with it, and compromised. He had a special nook he'd found in the cavern he was sure Momma didn't know about. He'd keep Dragonth there. He could...he could retire, like Guardath, and Oosh could still visit him. That would work. That was grown-up of him, right? Dragonth had been a loyal and proper dragon, he deserved to have some dignity. They could still visit, sometimes. But his heart still hurt as he carefully propped up the droopy brown dragon in the nook with one of his old shirts--he kept growing but his clothes weren't, and he didn't know where to go to get ones that fit in this Weyr--to keep him warm, and walked away.

He was looking decisively droopy as he shuffled his way outside, trying to summon up the enthusiasm to have an adventure, but it wouldn't come.

Besides, there was a dragon in the way.

Lost in his own loop of simple thoughts, Oosh didn't see the sunning brown until he smacked right into the beast's flank. It was solid, warm, and sent Oosh quite toppling backwards with an "Oof!"

For a minute, he looked at the part of the dragon he could see--it was hard to see all of him when you were very small yourself and very close-and thought Dragonth had gotten awfully big, and was seized with a sudden urge to fling himself at a foreleg and bury his head against the warm, leathery neck as he'd once done with Guardath--but he stopped himself, because he was an adult now, and not a baby and only babies needed hugs.

But...

Oosh hopped up to his feet, feeling the creep of good cheer returning as he trotted around to where he figured the head would likely be. It didn't occur to him to apologize for smacking into the poor thing's side. "HEY!" He called, leaning around a foreleg and poking it surreptitiously. "HEEEEY! Dragon! Draaaagon! Are you awake?"