chapter 11

Practice

Twig started playing with fire. Char’s fire, that is. He cajoled and scratched the little dragon, experimenting with the intensity and direction of the flame. At first, to get used to the novelty of using Char as a torch, he tried simple things like igniting a dried oak leaf.

Then the experimenting became more involved. By directing Char slightly, Twig discovered he could burn the letters of his name into a piece of wood. It took practice, but after many botched attempts, Twig figured out the exact right amount of stroking and scratching and encouraging, getting the correct heat, intensity, and amount of flame.

The little dragon was perfectly happy to oblige. He breathed out, long and slow. The flame was blue-white hot, capable of melting the hardest of metals and minerals. Miraculously, it didn’t seem to affect Char’s nose or mouth.

Lily stopped by to check on their progress. “Hey, Twig,” she said, nuzzling Char, “have you thought about how Char could act as . . . uh . . . well, a bellows? And fire pit? All in one? He could maybe help you with your Metal Craft assignments. The homework ones, anyway.”

“I beat you to it,” Twig said. “Look what I already did.” He held up two pieces of copper wire that had been melted together, crossed in the middle. “In half a second Char welded them. Perfectly. All I had to do was point him in the right direction and scratch him a little. And look here.” Twig reached for an iron nail. It had been curled into an S shape. “Our next project. He heated the nail in the right place, right temperature, and I pounded the shape out. Perfect.”

“I’m impressed,” said Lily.

“There’s more,” said Twig.

He brought out another nail, this time pulled and twisted evenly, but pieces of copper wire had been heated and twisted with it. The dull iron and shiny copper swirled together into a metal ribbon. The result was a well-executed piece of Metal Craft.

“That’s good! Even good enough for Professor Burdock,” Lily remarked.

“I’m thinking I can do well enough, with my buddy here, to get my take-home assignments done. Maybe even well enough to earn Master.”

“Maybe you’re thinking a little ahead of yourself.”

“Could be, but I’ve got some ideas. I’m ready for anything that Burdock can throw at me.”

TWIG WAS ALREADY GETTING IDEAS OF WHAT TO USE FOR his new sundial, now that he had Char as an assistant. A whole new range of materials and parts had opened up. His room was full of things that would work; assembling them, however, had been another thing altogether. Now his projects could be bigger, fancier, and more elaborate. This would be delicate work; he hoped he could harness and direct Char’s fire to weld the perfect sundial.

And Twig was noticing something else: the intricate pattern of Char’s scales and the delicate veins in his wings were an inspiration. Char was a beautiful creature.

When he got home, he rummaged through the piles of pieces and parts, finally finding exactly what he knew would work. He gathered some of the pieces and then raced from the house, down the path toward the clock tower, anxious to make a fresh start on the assignment.

He was only about a five-minute scamper to the clock when, as he bounded over the roots of a giant oak, he heard a familiar voice.

“Going somewhere in a hurry, aren’t we?”

Beau was sitting on one of the roots, paws clasped, as though he had been waiting for Twig. The look on his face was kind, but no-nonsense. He peered over his spectacles, his burly eyebrows raised.

“Well?” he asked. “Important engagement?”

Twig was sunk. Beau had that I’m not in any hurry, this may take a while manner. Char would be starving.

“I . . . uh, yes, Uncle Beau. I’m in sort of a kind of a hurry, I guess,” he stammered.

“Mmm. Where to?” Beau asked.

“Uh, nowhere special.” Twig gulped.

“With . . . what is that you have there? A clock piece? Anything you want to talk about, Twig?” the raccoon asked gently. “I mean, sometimes secrets can become burdens.”

Twig looked a little uneasy. “I don’t have any secrets. I mean burdens.”

“No? Good. Because it isn’t good if you find yourself going out of your way”—Beau glanced down the path—“to keep things from your friends or family.”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“You know, I remember once a long time ago when I was carrying around a burden, a terrible burden.”

Twig’s heart sank. He didn’t have the time and wasn’t in the mood for one of Beau’s ancient stories.

“Really?” he said, edging a bit down the trail.

“Yes. I was about your age. I found something. Something very unusual. Very . . . special.”

Twig stopped, suddenly interested and wary.

“I didn’t tell a soul,” the raccoon continued. “Not even my mother or father . . . afraid they’d think I was crazy. And you know what?”

“What, Uncle Beau?”

“I never did tell anyone. Ever. I still have the secret.”

“Really? You never told?”

“Nope. I’ve kept it to myself for nearly an eagle’s age. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“Wish I had. Wish I’d told somebody. At least then I would have had the burden off me. A secret isn’t worth much if you can’t share it. ’Course, that doesn’t make it very much of a secret, if you tell. But it’s sort of like a cherry turnover. If you share it with somebody, it’s a lot more delicious.”

Twig stood there, thinking. He was glad to be able to share his secret with Lily.

“Nothing is tougher than being untrue to yourself, Twig, or to others. Sometimes keeping a secret can get you into trouble.”

Twig looked down. He pondered telling Beau about Char. He decided he wasn’t ready. “Thanks, Uncle Beau,” he said finally. “I’ll keep what you said in mind. I need to go. Bye!”

And he dashed away.

He and Char had a project to do.