Later that evening George cleared his head of schoolwork and other distractions to focus totally on his dragon problem. He thought about everything Grog and the elves told him, and what Jewel and the fledgling dragon had himself said. Then he lay on his bed, closed his eyes, and let his mind’s eye wonder. Scrying, it was called, according to the elves.
He hadn’t attempted this since Mary had first helped him, and was amazed how much easier and effective it was this time. It was as if he was moving through the house looking at everything through eyes that saw into and through things with a more sensitive vision than ever before. Perhaps it was because with his eyes closed, his normal vision was not interfering. He could easily identify elf items; he could even see into elfin books and read them. He didn’t have to go through doorways or climb stairs; he could will his point of view to move through walls, floors, ceilings and various objects as though they were insubstantial like fog.
He studied Harry’s old dragon scales very carefully. Harry had been wrong; they weren’t really dead, not totally. There was still a vital energy in them, different from other objects he had studied, but life of some kind, and somehow familiar. He also found that his non-corporal self couldn’t see through the scales or pass through them.
He was tempted to search out the missing baby dragon using his skills, but there was something else he wanted to do first. Jewel had told him to know himself and his dragon. What did he look like to himself, he wondered? He turned towards his body and looked at himself. What he saw frightened and intrigued him. In terms of substance he saw human, elf, and dragon, all rolled up in one. As with the dragon scale, he couldn’t see through himself either. The dragon in him was similar to that of the scales, but distinctively a different dragon.
In an instant, everything became clear. The dragon he saw in himself was part of his dragon; they were one in the same, the dragon and himself. “I am him, he is me!” he concluded aloud.
This was followed by the realization that since he was part of the dragon, he didn’t really have to look for him somewhere else. He looked at the mysterious White Dragon ring that was for the moment again on his right index finger. What it really was seemed so obvious he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t figured it out much sooner!
The ring was the dragon! He could SEE that it was the dragon!
And, of course, it followed that he knew his dragon name, as it was also his own. Grog had been right. It was indeed a powerful name, a name that went beyond mere physical power and to the heart of the issue that was their destiny. He knew the name in a dozen Narman languages including Elf, but the English version still held most meaning for him. “FREEDOM,” he said, both aloud and telepathically, “THAT IS OUR NAME. AND I WEAR YOU ON MY FINGER. WE ARE