Kimberly Jantze

Hound Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The humans that lived there were simple beings, who grew food from the dust and used the hides of various beasts to cover their own skins. My dragon ancestors often watched the creatures silently from their place upon the mountain peaks, finding some slight amusement in doing so, as one mind find in a hare darting from shrub to shrub. No larger than hounds, with scales of crimson, green and brown—and a wing scale hardly suitable for gliding—they would pause from scampering about in the snow to gaze down at those curious beings in the valley. Then, a sudden warm gust of air would cause them to turn their gaze upwards to the great majesties of the sky, the seven colossal dragons who ruled over the so-called “hound dragons” in a manner that the humans would very well describe as divine. These gusts of air served as gentle reminders to my ancestors that the human realm was and would forever be, set apart from our own.