A Battle For Dragons

Story based on a drawing I did - the picture is the drawing I did.

Introduction

 

            “Once upon a time, there was a little girl living in a very high tower guarded by a dra-, ouch!” growled the storyteller dragon as the little girl’s foot came to step on his left eye.

The little brunette had relocated herself again on the dragon’s head, searching for a more comfortable position to paint her 6 years old’s art on the living room’s walls. In the process of moving, she had squashed his eye.

The growling continued deep and low in his throat as she continued gesticulating. Imagining how he’d love to blow a spit of fire on her little bum, but of course he knew better as an old, too old dragon. As an eight hundred seventy-three year old beast, he had gotten grumpy but very wise and knowledgeable. He could do perfectly well spending his days reading books, or relaxing out in the garden. The living room itself contained centuries of history, myths, knowledge, and memories stacked on shelves, with some books spilled over the floor. Instead he found himself taking care of a growing human child, full of energy and wildly cheeky. Covered in dried red paint on his muzzle, blue paint on his very long and pointy ears and green paint on his back and legs.

 

            “Grandpa,” giggled the petite human girl, “you’re smoky!”

 

The dragon realized that puffs of white smoke were coming out of his nostrils. He gently smiled at the girl’s titters, his heart warmed up by that soft cute voice. The fumes gradually faded till it stopped. Secretly, being called gran-pa filled him with joy. He had never had little dragons, or a wife. Proud to be called Grandpa, he felt loved by that little heart, and that meant everything to him.

He looked up, an eye half covered by a foot, the 6-year-old human giggling her heart out. This sweet voice was like drinking a coffee on a cold winter night, it warms your soul.

 

How and why he found himself taking a six-year-old-brunette under his wing was a very long story. The kind of tale that you wouldn’t find in any of his numerous books. Hard, full of wars, swords, blood and pain. A story that you wouldn’t tell to children, but the dragon knew he had to tell her his past and hers most of all. She had to know.

           

            “Come down my child,” said softly the old creature, “I need to tell you something.”

            “Oh, what is that Grandpa?”

The little brunette moved down, stepping again on his left eye, making him growl. Sliding down his long, thick, and scaly neck. As she reached his back, he grabbed her dungarees and dropped her gently on the dark red carpet. She sat down, innocent smile on her pink bright face. So sweet and cute with her two long braids, it broke his heart to have to tell her and his story.

He looked up at the window, where birds were singing by the apple trees in the garden. The sun was still high in the sky, clouds passing by, hiding briefly the sunlight. He sighed. He felt now was the time to play raconteur.  

 

            “My sweet child,” he started, “I will tell you a story.”

            “This story?” she asked, pointing at the open book in front of the wise beast.

            “Oh, no, not this one,” he replied, closing the hardback novel with his yellow claws, “the tale I’m going to recount is your story.”

           

“My story?”

            “Yes, yours and mine…”

 

The child looked confused, she couldn’t figure out why the dragon looked very sad and ashamed.

           

“I truly hope, my dear child, that you will understand that everything I did, every choice I made was for the best, for your future…”

 

The girl looked even more confused.

 

            “I am going to start with my story and how everything started…”

 

 

Chapter I " A new dragon is born

(Dragon’s point of view)

 

It was a quite long time ago. Precisely eight hundred and seventy three years ago. I was born in an old big farm, when the sun was the highest in the sky. Mother told me I was already well proud when I burst out of my eggshell.

The sunlight pierced through the cracks and holes of the attic’s roof, revealing the hidden birds’ nest in the corners of the room.

Freshly hatched, and with my eyes just opening, I discovered to whom belonged the soft and deep voice I heard singing every night. A gigantic and imposing dragon, big and deep black eyes and very muscular body. Scaly dark green, with some darker brown and some red lines on her legs and body. Some on her neck too. I didn’t know just yet what they were exactly, but I could almost feel pain looking at them.

 

All looked bright, warm and cosy. Lying in the crumbs of my eggshell, in a similar birds’ nest shape, made out of feathers, wood pieces, rocks and animal skin. Resting next to me was my dearest mother, overjoyed but with a hint of sorrow in her eyes. I wanted to take her sadness away, so I crawled to her, resting my head against her scaly skin. I could hear her noisy and powerful breathing running up and down her long throat. But the most wondrous was her pace and familiar heartbeat that rested near my eggshell for a year and a half. I felt at home. I felt safe.  

 

Then, a loud and deep growl of pain came to shatter this moment of peace. Intrigued, I stood up, about to run to the bigger hole in the roof to see what and where the noise came from. But mother, quicker than me, held me tighter to the point of nearly smothering me. Fear. Lot of fear rushed through her entire body; I could feel like it was my own! Her heart raced in her chest, her breath became erratic.

The sunlight was suddenly covered by a shadow, leaving the room dark and cold. It was a loud and slow flapping noise batting the air. It was coming closer and closer, making the attic’s roof shake to the pace of the flutter. Hiding under my mother’s arm, I was petrified.

 

            “Mother,” I cried, “what is that?”

            “Shush, ma baby,” she whispered, “shush.”

 

I kept quiet, but the monster was coming, I could hear his breathing, deep and angry. The roof cracked, louder and louder, broken pieces of the roof falling on the old wood floor. Savage noises of claws scraping the tiles made me tremble like a leaf.

 

            “Mother!” I screamed, terrified.

            “Run!” she shrieked, letting me go and pushing me in the direction of a small hole in the floor, “run far away and never look back!”

I jumped through the hole, falling until I abruptly reached the hard and cold stone with my whole body. Lost and frighten to death, I ran with difficulty, trying to forget the pain in my leg caused by the fall. I managed to ran out of the farm, not looking back was very grim as I heard my mother’s growl of pain behind me. I wanted to turn around and run back to save her. But I was too small, and too weak to defend her…

 

I stopped my story, seeing big tears rolling down the girl’s puffy red cheeks. Her big brown intrigued eyes wanted me to continue my story. Although it was so long ago, I still felt the sorrow of losing my mother the day I was born. As I was telling my story, I felt my throat dry and words felt harder to come out. She was too young, but she had to know everything. Maybe, deep down in my heart, I hoped it would be easier for her to forgive me for what I had done.

 

            “What happened to your mummy?” her little voice was shaking.

            “I never saw her again,” I answered, “I reached the woods surrounding the farm, and when I looked back, I just stared into silence. I could only hear the wind tickling the leafs in the trees.”

 

She tittered at the sound of the word “tickling” as she’s used to me tickling her with the tips of my claws.

As the summer wind blew, shaking the branches of the trees in my garden, it took me back to the day in that forest. It was a forest of oak trees, wild, but some trees looked burned and broken.

 

            “Grandpa?”

            “Hmm?”

            “What happened next?” she asked, impatient.

            “Oh, sorry my dear,” I smiled; I smiled at her eagerness as when I read her a fairytale. She reminded me that humans were very impatient creatures, “I’m getting old and a little lost in thoughts…”

 

 

 

 

Chapter II " Dragon warriors

 

The dead leafs of the oak trees cracked under my feet. Dried branches broke the silence of the forest, echoing against each tree. Very slowly, pacing each of my steps, and leaving a few seconds in-between each, listening to any batting of wings, or looking out any black shadow rising from the grounds. The sunlight pierced like fire swords thought the dancing branches, burning the blanket of dead leafs giving them a hazel color. The dust floated in the light like golden smoke carrying the perfume of wild flowers and dry wood. I felt the fine powder covering my shiny black scales.  

The wind started to blow harder, hitting the trees, making them tremble and causing a fight between each leafs. The ground shook underneath my feet, tiny tornadoes raised from the dead leaves around me. The shadow was over me.

           

            “Run! Run far away and don’t look back!” the voice of my mother echoed in my head repeatedly as I ran as fast as I could. I had to run, no matter which direction, I was running. I could have been running in the same direction I came from I wouldn’t know. The trees looked all alike, I didn’t know where I was, and I had never learned how to find my way just yet.

I could feel the weight of the Shadow in my back, like a pressure that forced me down. I felt my heart in my throat, pounding painfully in my entire body. I would trip, fall, hurt my feet and legs with thick heavy branches, but I knew I had to continue running no matter what…

 

            “Did you beat the Shadow?” the little girl asked, her big eyes shinning of trepidation. Her focus made me more eager to tell my story, which I was quite reluctant to tell her. She was so innocent that little one.

 

            “I didn’t,” I answered, “I screamed as I felt claws piercing the scales in my left shoulder. A hot liquid ran down my arm as the claws entered further in my body. The Shadow that grabbed me lifted me up in the air, and for a few seconds I looked around me. I was flying. Over the trees, I saw all my surrounding. I had never seen such a magical spectacle. Mountains covered in oak trees, those one encircling an enormous meadow where I could see dragons. Loads of them. Some spitting fire, others flying, and a few were carrying heavy metals and woods on their backs. Mostly kaki color, there was several black dragons. And as I looked up to discover the dragon holding me with his claws, I saw he was completely black.

 

            “What color was your mommy?” she asked me.

“Mother was a dark kaki with some faint reddish scales,” I said smiling, remembering the first time I saw my mum, “should we make some lunch?”

“But I want to know the rest!” she said, perplexed.

“All in it’s own time,” I said, pointing at the sun’s position in the sky, “and now it’s time for some lunch.”

 

 

I slowly stood up, feeling my scales and joints crack. Oh yes, I was getting very old. It made her giggle though, so innocent that little one. She followed me, running in-between my four limbs, trying to hide under my big and thick tail. Well most of the time she ended up “on” my tail! Then I would lift it up, looking under and act surprised:

            “Where did she go? Oh! She disappeared!”

Although she would try to suppress her laugh to my astonishment, after a few seconds she would scream:

            “I’m here, I’m here!”

            “Oh!” I exhaled, lowering my tail to the ground, “there you are little human.”

 

That game started when she was about two. God I felt childish doing this. Humans are strange. That little creature was running everywhere! She made me go nearly scaleless on my head! It wasn’t so much a problem when I could see her. The problem became when I couldn’t see her.

 

“And where did she go now?!”

 

That speedy creature had to put everything in her mouth, and when I say everything, it’s absolutely everything. Ink, whoa colors! Need to taste that! Sword, whoa glowing! Need to taste that too! Scales, whoa strange! Need to bite that! Her fingernails destroyed several of my most precious books, those things are worse than my claws. To top it all, it screams. Of course, how could I know baby humans screamed? Let me tell you, they squeal alright. Day and night. They vomit and poo on themselves - such a lack of dignity!

 

One day, when she was about three years old, she did make me very angry. She pushed her plate off the table just for the sake of it, and of course the plate broke and the food was spilt all over the floor. I grabbed her by her collar with my mouth, and with my claws pulled her trousers down. I puffed a spit of fire on her buttocks leaving them hot red. When she turned around facing me, her face was as glowing red as I had leaved her butt. Her big eyes started to water, and quickly voluminous tears rolled down both sides of her mouth contorting in howls. God, I felt like an ogre. Colossal cruel dragon. Broken hearted to see that little innocent creature, I wanted to cry myself. Stiff as a rock, I stared at her swimming tears splashing to her bare feet. Suddenly she raised her arms to me, her little hands open in the air. I curbed her sadness against my old hard scales, hoping that my guilt would fade away. She leaned her head on my left shoulder; touching the scars that the Shadow left when he lift me up in the air. Her tears licked the disfigurement of the scales that the cicatrix caused.

           

“Shush,” I whispered gently patting her fragile back, “I’m here now; everything will be alright my sweet baby.”

 

I held myself from saying, ‘mum is here now’, and at first I wondered why I wanted so much to say those words. I wasn’t her mother, neither her dad, I was just a dragon. But I would have wished I could hold my mum one last time and hear her murmur those words to me. Yes, despite my eight hundred and seventy-three years of living without her, I remember her like I was born yesterday.

As I got lost in memories, I felt her tight body relax and slip away. Completely asleep, I held her head in my paw, her body lying on my arm. I smiled. Kissing her forehead with my long grey crinkly beard, I looked over her like my own egg. Like when she was only a baby, I placed her on the end of my tail and at a slow pace I swung the creature deep asleep.

 

I exhaled, feeling exhausted, I grabbed the first book my hand could catch, even if it wasn’t really the one I wanted. Bother, I ended up reading that book my eyes closed.

 

            “Grandpa?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Are you coming for lunch?”

 

I suddenly realize I was daydreaming again. She grabbed my paw and opened the way to the kitchen. If I started, I could write a book on the memories I had with that human in this kitchen. She loves to cook! Well, she’s not a good cook, at all, but she loves to “invent”, (if I can say that), new recipes. In my opinion she puts more flour on herself and on the floor than in the bowl. The chocolate disappears " in her mouth -, and she replaces it with whatever she finds. Oh, she just thinks I’m too stupid to see with the corner of my black eye her little fingers pocking the chocolate mousse. And of course, I can’t see the splash of chocolate all around her mouth.

 

            “What should we cook for lunch?” I asked, looking around for a cookbook on the high wooden shelves over the counters. I looked down on her; she had her index finger on her mouth, very focused on the thousand books around her. I just became aware she was doing the same as me, although I had a claw on my muzzle.

 

            “Puff cream,” she replied with a very serious face.

 

“Puff cream” was called crème brûlée. I should start to teach her some French.

 

            “Puff cream it is,” I said grabbing the French desserts cookbook. Sticky pages, and crumbs stuffed inside was a proof that she had eaten the cookies I baked a few days ago. Yes, they had vanished too.  

 

Once ready, the glass pots filled with the cream and the sugar spread on top, her eyes were focused on me. Oh I knew what she was waiting for. But just to make her even more exasperated, I waited, glancing back at her. She started to fidget, and make little jumps, joining her hands together. I still waited…

 

            “Pleaaaaase…” she pleaded, making seem the wait was painful.

 

I smiled. Inhaling loudly to the point I felt my lungs tightening. With a gentle breeze of fire I blew over the pots of crème brûlée. A light blaze rose from each dessert. As the blue flames danced on the creams, I looked at the little girl. She was amazed by something that was normal to me, and to any dragon. Fascinated by this breath of magic, the fire’s reflection slowly died in her eyes.

 

            “Hungry?” I asked.

She nodded and ran to sit at the table.

            “Atta girl,” I laughed, bringing the desserts at the kitchen table, “careful now, they’re still very hot.”

 

After a good lunch, stuffed like pigs, we went back to the living room where she sat in an old cozy sofa. She laid her head on the arm, her fringe falling on one side.

Her big brown eyes looked at me, patiently waiting for me to continue my story. It’s in those moments, when I see the innocence in her eyes, that a wave of doubt and guilt submerges me. I start to wonder if I should tell her. Shall I tell her the truth? Or what I would like her to hear, to comfort her.  

 

            “I was taken back at the farm,” I continued, not yet sure with my decision, “where I was confronted by the Shadow. He was a gigantic black dragon, bigger than the dragons around, and much more muscular. His eyes were a deep black, cruel and emotionless. So cold it made me shiver.

 

            “You have no mother now,” he said to me, like a slap in the face, “you will become a warrior. We are in a time of war, and you’ll fight until your last breath.”

 

He walked away and stopped suddenly creating a cloud of dust around him. He turned his head to me and said stiffly:

 

            “Follow me, my son.”