James Bell
Stories (4/0)
Valley of the Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Or rather, there were never dragons in the Valley. Sure, there are drakes, little flying reptiles people keep as pets. Some as big as a hand, others as small as a shot glass, bred in myriad arrangements of colours from shimmering purples to deep calico. Even the rarest Fire Drakes, so named not because they breathed fire, but for their translucent orange-red hue. All available at your local pet store. And then there are the dervils. They are about the size of a badger, and just as vicious. Normally you run into them in the alleyways or popping up from the sewer grates to feed on rodents, felines, and small dogs. They don’t fly well, but sometimes, right at dusk, you can watch them glide from the tops of the skyscrapers. There are some who keep them, but you have to have a license, and for the most part, are only used as pest control in the agricultural districts.
By James Bell2 years ago in Fiction
Valley of the Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Sure, there were drakes everywhere. Cute little fist-sized things fluttering all over the countryside. They would hatch around every Ostara, and everyone knew when they saw little drakes fluttering around the hillside slopes, that Spring had come. It was pretty common for the kids to catch drakes and keep them as pets. Squeaks remembered going out with the other children and seeing the carved stones of the First Men, with pictures of drakes, deer, rabbits, dogs, and people painted onto them. And dervils were pretty common, too. They were about the size of a large cat or medium dog, and had wings attached to their front legs. Some kept them as pets, but they made lousy housemates. They often ate other small animals, were never obedient, and seldom house trained. Squeaks remembered when he visited the dean of the school, a crotchety old man with a long white beard and large round gut protruding over his trousers. When he went into the man’s home, for what was to be a scolding for mixing the wrong minerals in the wrong liquids in alchemy class, the dean’s dervil leapt onto Squeaks, knocking him back and tumbling over himself. When he stopped, the dervil was astride him, snarling. Squeaks’ spectacles, specially made for him by the town jeweler, were broken. The dean thought this amusing and let that be the punishment for Squeaks’ mistake.
By James Bell2 years ago in Fiction