It was easy to steal the egg - the hatchery was only guarded when strangers visited, and that would not be until summer. All he had to do was walk in once everyone was abed, sleeping off a successful pairing day. It was the work of moments to grab one, slot it into the leather sling, and tiptoe back to his secluded cave room. With his prize secured, the only remaining task - admittedly a difficult one - was to work out how to force the connection.

His egg was a pale grey, smooth-shelled and medium sized. Like the other eggs paired that day, it was fully mature, waiting only for the right rider to pair with. He had already touched it once, when it had refused to acknowledge him. Now, he would ensure it did.

The stories of the Leech Master were hazy in one particular: how he took control of his egg. Down in the caverns, where no prying eyes could see, he'd done something to the egg. Different storytellers hinted at different things - forbidden rituals, blood magic, even demonic pacts - but no one knew. The boy, however, had a theory.

The bonding process was known to every member of the tribe. Someone - anyone except him - touched an egg, and felt a mind reaching towards it, silent communication that only they could here. When someone touched an egg, the dragon inside you feel them, taste their soul through the physical link and - if they chose - wake to them.

Contact had to be part of it. Shirtless, he clutched the egg to him, making as much skin-to-shell contact as he could. As before, the dragon's mind refused to come and meet him. This time though, he had longer, could touch the egg as much as he wished, could send his mind in search of the dragon rather than the other way around.

If the dragon's mind could reach through the shell and find his, then it stood to reason that he could do the same. The bonded spoke of that first contact, but also the easy telepathy that followed it, sharing thoughts and emotions with their fellow. And so he closed his eyes, clutched the egg ever tighter, and focused his thoughts on the being inside.

He thought at it, pushing his thoughts towards the egg, demanding the acknowledgement it denied him. At first, there was nothing, just his own mind and a fiercely-held idea. But then, at the edge of his own thoughts, a presence. A bundle of ideas and impressions that were not his, a separate mind that he could reach with his own.

For the first time in months, the painful twist of emotions inside him eased. All those years of dreaming, of disappointment, and now - finally - he could feel the dragon's mind connected to his. In mere moments, he would have his pairing, and be able to return back to the tribe, his small transgression forgiven in the joy that at last, at last, he had found a bond.

Something still was wrong. His mood dropped in an instant, the beginnings of joy replaced with an aching emptiness. Instead of the warmth, the fellowship, the immediate glow of new friendship and unshakeable trust, the tight knot of dragon-thoughts refused to open to him.

There was communication, now, but not what he had wished for. Rejection, denial, defiance all pushed back through the link to him. Despite his efforts, his willingness, what he deserved, the woken dragon still refused to bond.

He pushed his thoughts again, shifting from wishing acknowledgement to demanding obedience. He would not be ignored, not rejected again when he'd come so close. The dragon would admit him, would submit to him, would form the link that he was owed! Thought after thought crowded in, beating against the dragon's refusal, pushing every aspect of his will into it.

There was an easing of tension, as though something had snapped, no longer bearing against the strain. His thoughts flowed more easily now, pushing obedience and ownership and domination into the receptive mind. The waves of coldness and rejection had stopped, the dragon finally accepting his bond.

There was still no warmth though, no fellowship. Instead, the bundle of thoughts and dreams that had been the infant dragon was now still and dull, a mind filled only with the thoughts that he had placed there. Obedience, subservience, submission. A bond forced, not willingly given. Not the bond he had wanted, but the one he had forged.

In his lap, the egg shook as the creature began to stir.