<...but you’re saying I can’t use it.>
Valor’s glare was dour as they watched the old dragon tutor Pentwec on the new form of calligraphy he’d invented. The difference in size between teacher and student was tremendous, beyond comedy and into the realm of awe. Even so, Kress was holding a Pen-sized quill in place with invisible force, and Pentwec was easily able to practice the stroke order at the same scale. They were working from the same wide piece of parchment, stretched out on a log big enough for most of the present company (big snakes excepted, so the amphiptere graciously lay in the muck nearby). Pentwec had ink smudged all over her longscales.
Incidentally, Waver was not present, because he was given the vital task of distracting Fracas so that Kress and Pentwec could get anything done at all.
Kress flicked his tongue bemusedly. The scholar had taken a liking to Pentwec, not only because of her innate wisdom as a baize, and her skill at accessing it, but also because of her attitude. Apparently, it was refreshing for him to meet “dragonets who act like dragonets” at his age.
Pentwec said matter-of-factly, messing up a stroke and scowling.
<...Hm.>
The enormous serpent actually hesitated at that.
<...There are a number of theories about that. But first, I should ask. Do you have any magic? Or, well, hum.>
Valor looked thoughtful, and the ambient noise filled the gap in the converation. Kress’s swamp was very much alive with insects, small mammals, and perhaps even some larger animals in the shadows, and most of those were eager to fill the air with whatever nonsense swamp animals got up to.
<...Ah. A drake with venom, hm? According to the old pacts, that shouldn’t be rare, but with things as they are...>
The old dragon muttered something, his rumbling voice obscuring his words, but then he spoke up again.
Valor said, with a hint of bitterness.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Valor blinked their second eyelids, their horizontal ones, at Kress.
The serpent peered over to look at Pentwec’s quill work, grunting expressionlessly when he judged it adequate for the time being.
----------------------------------------
<...Oh,> said Valor.
Kress shook his head.
“Yeah,” Pentwec said, in the human tongue. Valor looked at her, and briefly had the impression of a human’s throat near her head, all soft and exposed and with one of those throat bulges on it that they’d never bothered to ask a human about. Then, a flash of orange eyes that were larger than Pentwec’s own, and long, white hair.
Valor blinked just as they had earlier.
Kress laughed, sounding once again like the wind blowing through a tunnel.
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Days later, the entire group except for Kress departed the march of Set.
They’d made a cursory visit to the village the Marchis lived in, but quickly regretted it, because they themselves -- a seemingly diseased boy traveling with three completely unrestrained dragons -- quickly became the most interesting attraction in town. So, without so much as contacting the Marchis, they left in the dead of night.
The journey back to Silfmont was long and hard, but it left plenty of time for Pentwec to teach Waver and Valor the basics of the new written language. Even if poor Fracas had the patience to learn to write, her balance on the ground was terrible, and with only two legs, her options were limited.
Occasionally, Valor would look like they wanted to say something to Waver, but they hesitated. Finally, back in those same windy plains, they spoke up.
Waver frowned from atop Valor’s back.
He hesitated.
And so, three more vectors for the virus called “writing” made their way back to the duchy of Weave.