Many miles away, in another military base located by the East Ocean, on the west coast of the Neck, Verlar Vorgeghom was lying on his bed in a dormitory that looked very similar to his old one in the Academy. The Neck was a perfect place to build such premises. The whole area was the least densely populated due to the bad quality of the soil. Even though the legendary catastrophic events that led to creating this valley happened hundreds of thousands years ago, the land still had too much salt to be suitable for farmers. This piece of land used to lie on the bottom of the sea separating two islands that today make one Solummger. After earthquakes and some unclear explosions (the historians were not in agreement as to what was the cause - ancient weapons or something natural?) the land rose up above the waters. Here, far from the curious eyes of the civilian folk the Royal Navy School had its port, docks and campus. Three hours away (or even less on wingfinger’s back) to the north-east the Main Dragons and Other Beasts Training Centre spread its buildings.

Verlar hasn't been there yet and he couldn’t wait. After the first couple of days he was supposed to be taken to the Centre by one of the soldiers, after that he would always go by his own. The army built a good road between the two facilities and steam engine cars were used to travel the distance. He learnt how to drive them while studying in the Academy, they were part of military Machines’ Operation and Handling course.

His training programme differed from the one his new roommates had. For four days he was in the navy, then two days away with animals, one day rest.

‘You are a fast-learner, you’ll manage’ was all he heard on day one. If only his father would hear that! His youngest son is called a fast-learner! If it wasn’t for Verlar’s eldest brother he would probably never finish school.

He was raised by his father. The youngest of three sons and the one whose birth took away their mother. His family home was in Harr, a fishing village on the west coast, precisely in the middle of the west coast of the ‘body’, the larger part of Solummger island, south of the Neck. Verlar's parents, Namilila and Dem, settled here after their wedding. Both came from neighbouring villages a little north of Harr. Their story was nothing unusual: Dem, when he felt it's time to get married and settle down, started going to the weekly market in the nearest town, with his uncle. Together with other young men, he was spending time looking for his pearl among girls that came from the same villages they did. Accompanied by their mother, aunts or elder sisters they shyly lowered their eyes searching through fabrics and scarves. If they were picking the red and blue ones, colours of a wedding, it meant they are here for the same reason as the boys watching them. Dem spotted her during the second week. She had unusual eyes, the right one had a deep brown colour just like everybody else’s, but the left one was the colour of sage leaves. Slender and tall, she didn't have the bold look of other girls. She was trying to hide her green eye behind the short curls as if she was ashamed of it. Dem had never liked shy girls but this one seemed to touch a hidden string in his soul and his hunger for a female touch body. He followed her the following week and smiled every time she met his eyes. He had a beautiful smile that years later all his sons inherited. After three more weeks Dem asked his uncle to find the girl's parents and visited them with a gift of dry fruit and silk wristband. Namililia's parents liked the strong boy from a good home. Namilila liked that he wanted to move to a village bigger than hers but stay in this area. The wedding took place next month and not a year later she visited her parents with her firstborn. Ten and a half years after the wedding her body clothed in blue and red burned in a hollowed sacred tree boat, sailing to the edge of the sea. She left two griefing older sons, Gemmar and Loro, and her husband holding a newborn Verlar in his arms. For the first time in his life, Dem felt lonely. So lonely and sad that from then on his forehead remained grooved like tree bark.

The first three years of Verlar's life the Vorgeghom family had help from Dem's elder sister, mother of already adult children, who willingly moved to his brother's house to take a break from her husband's constant moaning. Thanks to her, Dem could go fishing for days during the peak seasons on the sea and provide for his family, while his sister took care of the children. Verlar's father had a knack for fishing and always knew where to catch so his net was always full. He was an excellent boat builder as well and during the first months of widowhood, to run from his sorrow and insecurity, he started making boats and cutters of his own design. He was surprised by their good quality himself and not long after other fishermen started coming to him with orders and money. When Verlar turned one, his father hired four helpers. Three years later Dem missed long nights on the sea but the house extensions and redecoration consumed most of his time. He watched his sons with a pride, sons that despite having no mother seemed to long for nothing and, just like their father and grandfathers, loved the sea. They inherited all the parent's talents apart from the youngest who was all thumbs to fishing. He had neither ability nor interest in the business, Dem would try and try but the boy couldn't just grasp the basics in how to deal with a net or look for a fish shoal. Although Verlar was a skilled sailor and was the best in taming the waves on bigger vessels, had no difficulties in breaking in wingfingers from the local colony, his father could not see these talents through the son's flaws that overshadowed his assets in the father's eyes. At school, Verlar was regarded as a smart pupil but again Dem believed his son to be rather stupid due to the inability to grasp the simplest skills and absorb information that Dem tried to teach him unsuccessfully.

When Verlar was fourteen he dared to reprimand his father by saying 'Dad, if you want me to understand try to explain it a different way. You always say the same over and over...'

The father seemed offended and gloomily mentioned the two elder brothers who never struggled to comprehend their father's instructions and commands. Poor Verlar did not know what to reply and finally accepted the fact that he's not smart or intelligent. He became quiet and spent time looking at the water or sailing with older boys. His hand for flying dragons made him an errand boy when a message to a vessel far in the sea was needed for delivery or a package sent to a distant village. Despite Dem's complaints about his youngest boy they were living in harmony and brothers always supported each other. Verlar's teachers supported him as much as they could. The boy believed to be unintelligent but never stopped looking for answers and solutions to problems. They saw in him what neither his father nor himself could see: a brilliant mind that needs grinding and polishing. He read everything he could find and when his eldest brother Gemmar left for a city north on the coast he promised to take Verlar in if he decides to go to a veterinary school. Dem laughed at the idea saying you need to have some brains to go through the entrance exams but Verlar, encouraged by the teachers, put low esteem aside and passed without any trouble. At fifteen years old he left his town and his father to study in a veterinary profile high school in the city. Four years later instead of buying a boat and settling like his father, he wanted more from life. Dem, still critical over Verlar's skills and abilities, was not impressed with the son's diploma. ‘Anybody could put needles into a dog’ was his only comment. Verlar knew he had no future in this environment, among fishermen, small vessels and shallow sea. After just one month at home, he broke the news that he's going to try and get into one of the military academies. His father said nothing but shook his head in disbelief. When Verlar got a place in the Southern Military Academy Dem thought it a joke. His Verlar! smart enough to study in a Military Academy!? His little boy who couldn't understand simple instructions? This boy, who used to spend time mounting wingfingers and flying above the sea pretending he's a flagship? His son that had his grandmother's narrow almond eyes and his late mother's curly hair? Dem, for the first time, was very proud.

In fact, Verlar didn't care, at least at the beginning, about learning how to fight, shoot a crossbow or a powder gun, how to solve crimes and how to lead troops to a battle. He just wanted to understand himself and who he really was, how much of him is his true nature and how much is something he learnt to believe is an integral part of his mind and soul. Working with his body in a very physical way surprisingly helped him control his mental strength. He no longer accused his father of lack of self-confidence during childhood. He found this was a blessing that made him a better person who can never again fall into a trap of believing ‘you are not worthy’.

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He started thinking seriously about pursuing a career in the navy after the first semester. The sea has always been close to his heart. What would his father, a fisherman and a shipbuilder say if he came home as an imperial navy officer! The thing he was trying to run from was calling him and this time the call was not a disdaining scream but a song which he longed to answer.

Six years later he was doing that and more.

A wiry, middle aged man with very protruding cheekbones entered the room and called Verlar’s name. He introduced himself as ‘your tutor, young lad’ and without a second to spare made a gesture to follow him. Verlar grabbed his things and jogged to catch up with the man. Just a few minutes later they were standing by the car, Verlar grabbing his bag and the man grabbing the ignition key.

‘Do you want to drive?’ he asked.

‘Me!? Drive it? Now?!’

‘Yes, you. Now. You had it in the first and then fourth year. It’s brand knew’ he added tapping the shiny roof. ‘Almost brand new. Well, not really, but it still feels like.’

Verlar didn’t ask any more silly questions, grabbed the keys and sat behind the wheel without trying to hide his excitement. A few minutes later they were already on a straight road.

‘Why are you doing this?!’ his tutor suddenly shouted.

‘Doing what?’ Verlar slowly pressed the brakes.

‘Driving so slowly, man! Check, can it still reach ninety miles?’.

It surely did, but the noise was not comfortable. They slowed down a bit so they could hear each other.

‘Tell me, Mr Vorgeghom, what do you know about dragons? I’ve read your paper, heard your story and I know what school diploma you have, so you can spare me these details. What do you know about the difference between the species? Which ones are carnivorous and which herbivorous, what type you could find in the continent, are there any wild ones? Don’t mention Nogo Forest, we all know that nobody knows what’s there.’

‘Alright, but before I start talking, can I ask one question about Nogo?’

‘Go on.’

‘Which species, what kind, was released there?’

‘I don’t know. I doubt anybody knows. Two million years? Who would keep the record? Nogo is not our business. We focus on what lives here and now. We are Tamers. You, as a military man, will work with krools. But basics are basics. So what do you know?’

‘There are no wild dragons in Solummger, there is one species on the Continent, herbivorous crestelmetts. Actually, they are not really wild, only half-wild. They live in packs on the vast grazing areas, controlled by the land owners. They disappeared from the east part, which is Landhapis, about two hundred fifty years ago, now they are considered native to Skey-Er only. It’s because of the climate, food…’

‘Yes, that’s it about them. I have never seen one, they are roughly the size of a krool. Famous for their sound. How about ornichicks?’

‘Another species common on the continent. Here, on the island, there are just a few sport and entertainment centres that keep them. Our animals rights activists are not sure what to think about that. They are herbivorous, walk on two legs, like krool, the size of a man. On the continent some farmers keep them to ride them. Cheaper than horses, there are no good roads there. Ornichicks are good sprinters.’

‘Why is the army not interested in them?’

‘They won’t last for a long distance. Horses are better in many ways.’ The older man nodded pleased with the answer.

‘Trises?’ He continued with another dragon name.

‘Herbivorous, what a tris looks like everybody can see, farmers’ helpers, eat tons of leaves but work hard and their dung is good for fuel. Very combustible. Like cows’ but more… you know… massive’ Verlar said with a grin and they both laughed.

‘Another leaf eater is a dvudum. Gigantic. Neck long as hell. Stupid but easly tameble, used for carrying heavy loads on heights. Construction sites mainly. Their reproduction is strictly controlled, many are castrated. It’s because of their size, it would be difficult to keep and nourish too many.

‘Yes, that’s all we need to know. You have the basics.’

‘You missed wingfingers.’

‘Anything you can surprise me with? I know you grew up on the west coast, it’s in your papers that you are familiar with the species and know how to fly them.’

‘I probably can’t say anything new about them. Carnivorous, eat fish, can’t get far away from a sea… nice ones. Every kid has a wingfinger toy. The most popular. I had a dragons collection too.’

‘The Leghom Collection?’

‘That’s right.’

‘My girls were collecting them too. Their favourite was that wingfingers family with a krool chick.’

‘They were not wingfingers…’

‘Oh please, you talk like my girls now. A winged dragon is a wingfinger for me, they had absurd colours anyway…”

During the rest of the ride they talked about what Verlar will be doing on a daily basis, about his possible career ways and about the rules regarding the krools breeding and taming policies.

‘Under no circumstances enter the red-marked areas. It’s very important that you don’t contaminate with your smell certain places where young chicks are being trained. Now we have a hatched lot, in a few months, next season, you will join the team and have your own pupils. I will be your main tutor for now, after you get access to the red zone, you will work with old Bobbs, the Scurvy Namer.

‘Bobbs who?!’

‘Scurvy Namer. That’s his nickname. Every tamer gets to name the young ones he or she works with. What old Bobbs does is quite… extravagant. There is one krool we shipped to the Northern Academy last month, what was his name? Something with cabbage? Dicts Cabbage? I can’t remember. Bobbs is a great guy, you’ll like him. He loved your paper by the way. Mark my words, by the time the Feast Week you will prefer our Centre to that Navy thing. Mark my words.’

The next weeks would proove him right. Verlar was so absorbed with his work with dragons that the time spent on the sea seemed almost dull compared to what he was learning in the Dragons Centre, especially after the Festive Week when he became involved in the next krools’ generation training programme.

The sea was still calling him though. And he still tried to stay in touch with Kyeta. But unlike the sea that managed to win his heart again he didn’t succed in winning Kyeta’s attention, her replies to his letters were friendly but casual.