Mallik looked at the dragon and raised his eyebrows. “That is Splinter—a nasty one, she is. I tried to saddle her, but she knocked me aside like swatting a fly. I say we leave her.” Nock took a closer look. The dragon sleeping within the pen appeared black or dark gray in the moonlight. She was large and muscular; her wings stretched lazily at her side. Nock noticed the four ivory-white spikes protruding from her tail, and six more from the bony ridge on the back of her head. So that is why you are called Splinter. “Kaliam said every dragon in Alleble was to be saddled,” Nock called to his friend. “Then you do it!” Mallik yelled. “I will be content with this dragon here. Butterwing, yes, now that sounds like a dragon for me!” “You see, my rigid friend . . . ,” Nock said, opening the pen. The dragon stirred slightly, but did not open its eyes. “There is an art to saddling a raw dragon. You cannot break them in with the same method you use to break rocks with your hammer!” Nock laughed and put the saddle down inside the pen.
