Some Sugar Read online

it can. They have to have pretty big brains, right?

  “Shh!” Goat orders, darting over to shove a finger against her lips. “You’re gonna hurt his feelings.”

  “I don’t care if I hurt his feelings,” she snarls against his finger.

  “Right,” he says. He still hasn’t moved his finger away. “But see, you hurtin’ his feelings will most likely result in him hurtin’ us. Physically, I mean.”

  “Ah,” Fairish says, even less charmed by this prospect than by the stupid man who won’t get his goddamn finger off her goddamn mouth. “Sorry, Sparkly.”

  “There ya go,” Goat says, pleased.

  “You don’t need to have that there anymore,” she adds, glaring down at his finger. It’s probably not all that intimidating, considering it just results in her going cross-eyed.

  But surprisingly, Goat seems a little bit sheepish as he removes it. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “The point is, I’m sick of having to endure a new earthquake every five minutes,” she rants – but a little more softly this time, just in case Sparkly’s got the ability to understand speech. (In which case, he no doubt really resents being called Sparkly.)

  “It’ll pass,” Goat says comfortingly. “And in a couple a’ days, so will the smell.”

  “Smell?”

  “Troll’s gotta come out sometime, blossom,” he reminds her.

  She groans. “God.”

  The dragon lets out another miserable noise, although this time it’s less of a full-blown wail and more of a whimper. She manages to stay on her feet. She sneaks a glance at Goat to check whether he’s disappointed by this, but it turns out he’s just gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

  “This reminds me,” he says. “You ever seen dragons copulate?”

  She reminds herself that killing him would be a bad thing, decides to list all the reasons why, realizes there are no reasons why, and finally settles on the fact that it would probably be bloody, and this is the only dress she’s managed to keep in relatively good condition. Also, her hip hurts. She’s not sure her hip would really be instrumental in killing him, but it’s good to be in tip-top shape when you’re gonna murder somebody, just in case.

  “You,” she tells him, with a touch of homicidal rage (she’ll save the rest for later), “are the most revolting conversationalist of all time.”

  He’s untroubled. “That a no?”

  She glares at him. He blinks back, utterly calm.

  “Yes,” she finally admits in a small voice.

  For a second, she’s fully determined to turn around and head right back into the hovel, where, sure, there are goats, but there’s not Goat, and right now, the uncapitalized, four-legged kind seem far preferable.

  But there’s a morbid fascination that keeps her still.

  “It’s extraordinary,” Goat says, shaking his head in quiet wonder. “Whole ground rumbles, like the earth’s gonna fall down around you. Even seems like it shakes the sun. They’re so big it almost feels like they command even the air as far as you can breathe it, and it’s just . . . life, and life, and life, in every breath. Down to every blade of grass. And they’re quiet when they do it, too, is the real kicker. It’s like they know that sound’ll shatter it. Like they’re bein’ considerate to the universe, just letting creation be.”

  He falls silent. She knows she hates him for this already, but can’t quite find the feeling.

  “Nature’s somethin’, isn’t it?” he concludes with a contented sigh.

  “I suppose it is,” she answers. Each word feels like a tiny risk, the way it is to walk on new ice.

  “They’re horny like big scaly bunnies this time of the season,” he adds cheerfully. “Usually goes on over in that field down past the lake. I could take you sometime, if you wanted.”

  It’s not that she’s short for a fitting reply. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact.

  “God, no!”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Unacceptable!”

  “Repulsive!”

  “Shame on you for so much as proposing such a thing!”

  “I don’t know how you do things in odd goat country, sir, but we the proper humans prefer more civilized methods of courting!”

  “DIE, DIE, DIE, FREE ME FROM YOUR UNHOLY CESSPOOL, YOU STUPID, STUPID MAN.”

  “No thank you,” she replies.

  He just looks at her for a second, like he doesn’t believe she’s really capable of resisting his little invitation. She levels him with her steadiest gaze.

  “All right,” he finally relents, shrugging. The motion makes the vole corpses dance along his back. “Well. I’ve got some vole cake to tend to.”

  “I have – things,” she answers stiffly.

  He gives her a crooked smile. “Just you wait. It’ll be tastier than trolls to dragons. Maybe even without all the nasty side effects.”

  “I’m not eating vole cake!” she nearly yells.

  He just chuckles, and heads into the hovel. She listens as the goats bleat their hellos to him, which he merrily returns.

  She considers Sparkly for a moment, and tries sternly to remind herself that there is nothing poetic or valuable about the reproductive practices of his species. They’re just beasts, after all. It’s a harrowing sign of the effect of her time here that she’s actually contemplating otherwise.

  Still, she gives the dragon a pat on the head before she hurries away.

  Later, she winds up trekking her way across the forest to the candy house for some (literal) sugar. It’s not like she has anything better to do.

  The End