A girl with dragons in her heart

There was a painting in the very back storeroom of my Uncle Meer’s Restaurant. It was of a hero, riding a dragon, golden hair blowing in the breeze, black eyes glinting in the summer sun. His name is was Evenhual, and it’s his story I’m here to tell. Well, actually, my story.

It started on a summer day much like the one in the painting. Painting was my Uncle Meer’s side profession, his dream. He would spend his spare hours in his room painting and sketching and yelling and crunching up papers when he made a mistake. Me and my brother, Nero, would often hear stomping and shouting from upstairs. Our thin wood walls never gave us much privacy when we had an outburst, or tripped. This day was no different, Nero and I cleaning up after the last customers and listening to Uncle Meer shout and throw papers upstairs. The Evenhual painting was the only one my Uncle had ever kept, besides the one of his sister, our mother, who had died three years ago when she got dragon fever and there was no money for medicine. Our father had died a week afterwards, an achohlic. Uncle Meer didn’t have a drawing of him. He had taken us in after he heard about Mom, even before Dad kicked the bucket. Uncle Meer had told us the story of Evenhual a thousand times, you would think we would get bored of it. But even though we didn’t believe it, Uncle Meer’s animated way of describing every detail, his way of randomly jumping up on chairs and shouting excitedly drew us in. The story started with Evenhual discovering that he was a dragon rider, ended with him being blow out of the sky by an enemy emerald dragon, dragging the monster down with him. They landed in the golden mountains, scattering the gold of his dragon around the mountainside. At least, that Uncle Meer’s excuse for the gold in the mountains. Dragon riders owned it, and anyone trespassing was at their mercy. Only certain people got to be dragon riders. It was usually people in the nobility, the high council and their relatives, and rich people in general. There was never anyone poor, like me and Nero. So I was going to be the first. I didn’t believe any of that hogwash. Anyone could be a dragon rider. They just needed to be introduced to a dragon. All the rich people got to. That was the reason no one like me had ever become a dragon rider. They just never got the chance.

I was drawn out of my dreams when the door to the shop banged open. I turned to greet the new customer with a smile, but it twisted into a scowl when I saw who it was.

“Greevy.” I said contemptuously.


“Miserable .” He replied in a similar fashion. Greevy wasn’t his real name, just like mine wasn’t Miserable. It was something I had made up to annoy him. His real name was Grevien Rook, but I didn’t care for him either way. We had first hit heads when he had stole my place on the rooftop of Migana, the tallest building in the city, to watch the dragon races.

“Store’s closed.” I snapped.

“I know.” He snapped back.

“Then why are you here?”

“Important business.”


“What?”


“Important business. Not yours.”

I glared at him.

“Uncle Meer’s busy.”


“He’ll understand.” He started up the stairs. I rushed to block him.

“Tell me what it is first.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Special instructions. Give this to the village crazy man, no others.” He smirked. I punched him. He staggered back, holding his nose.

“Wab you do hat for?” He mumbled through his bleeding mouth.

“Tell me. Now.”

“Fine.” He held out the package for me to take. I walked over cautiously and reached out to take it from him. He used the distraction and rushed under my arm, up the stairs. I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked, sending him tumbling back. I was bigger than him, and could easily win this fight. He started to get back up, but I pounced on him, sending him tumbling back into the door. He winced, but before I could pounce again, he leaped over me, jumped on my back, and headed towards the stairs. He was light, but his weight was enough to make me collapse for a moment before jumping back up again to grab his legs and dragging him down, wincing as his chin hit the steps.

However, he got me back fine when he jumped on my stomach and stomped. If I had eaten any lunch, I would have lost it. I grabbed his arms and pulled down, wincing as his weight struck my body. We gripped arms, wrestling each other to the ground. Despite his too-skinny form, Grevien was stronger than he looked. He and I were evenly matched, each getting leeway before losing it. But my heavier, big boned build won me the fight. I pushed him under me, drawing my fist back.

A door creaked above me and I froze.

“Grevien? Mireable? What’s going on?” Uncle Meer’s voice echoed across the room. I sighed, giving Grevien a last poke in the ribs before rolling over and flopping to the ground next to him. I knew Uncle Meer didn’t like Grevien, but any guest in the Restaurant was more than welcome. He wasn’t going to let me go beating them up, no matter how much I hated them. He had given me the “Don’t fight with someone smaller than you” lecture more times than I would care to count.

“Did you get my package?” He asked Grevien. He scrambled to rise, dusting off the now tattered package before handing it to Uncle Meer with a smirk.

“For the village crazy man.” He said. I rose and lifted my foot to kick him, but Uncle Meer saw me and shook his head.

“Thank you, Grevien. How much do I owe you?”

“Nine cords.”

Uncle Meer sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out nine blue strips of metal and placing them in the boy’s dirty hand. He smirked at me as he stalked out. I just glared. He slammed the door behind him, making both me and Uncle Meer wince. That door had been on it’s last hinges already. At this point, a light breeze and it would fall right over.

“Miry? Uncle Meer? What’s going on?” Nero stood at the top of the stairs. I had put him to bed an hour ago, but the fight and slamming of doors must have woken him.

“Go back to bed, Nero.”

“Now wait a minute.” Uncle Meer said. I sighed. Uncle Meer was too soft. “I was just looking for someone to look at this new drawing of mine.”

Nero and I smiled at each other. This would turn into an hour ordeal. Nero wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

After fifteen minutes of examining Uncle’s drawings, I snuck out of the house for fresh air. I could see dragons and their riders silhouttes against the darkened sky. What must it be like to be up there? To be free? I could do whatever I wanted. Get a decent job. It wasn’t the first time I thought of Evenhaul and his golden dragon. Whether the story was true or not, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like, going from the poorest person he knew, to riding a dragon literally made out of the most expensive metal ever. People, well, at least people who had money were flashy, and didn’t care about diamonds and platinum unless they had color. So gold was more expensive than anything else you could get, and there you were, with an entire dragon made out of it.

“Miry?” A soft voice came from behind me. I turned to see Nero, my favorite person in the world. Yeah, Uncle Meer was pretty great, but Nero and I were really close. To be honest, I was a little jealous of him, with his soft jet black hair and heavy-lashed, blue eyes. I wasn’t exactly ugly, but not anything close to pretty. My hair was pale black, and my skin was sort of dark, I guess, but I had plenty of acne, and hives from my strawberry allergy. Yeah, I know, but I loved strawberries and they were so worth it. My eyes were normal and brown, and my eyelashes were less than half the size of Nero’s. Also, as embarrassed as I was to admit it, my eyebrows were kind of bushy and I probably need to start shaving them or something. I had a scar on my cheek from a bottle that dad had chucked at me when I was little. In short, the only beautiful thing about me was my name. I know darn well I shouldn’t feel bad about myself, because Nero’s had a much harder life than me. After dad and Mom split, Nero had to go live with him, so I barely knew him before Uncle Meer had got him from dad. But love doesn’t take long to start, even if it can be stopped quick. I knew dad hurt Nero a lot, because when he first came to us he was covered in bruises and wouldn’t let me or Uncle Meer get close to him. The older I got, the angrier I got that I didn’t help him. He’d become the sweetest and most affectionate kid I’d ever known, but whenever he came home with any sort of abrasion, whether it was from falling or getting beat up at school(it happened a lot until I started to go with him), my anger at myself and my dad spiked up again.

“Yeah?” I asked him.

“You still hungry? Uncle Meer made cookies.” He handed me a warm cookie and a glass of milk.

“We can’t-“
“Afford things like this?” He asked, grinning at me. I tried to pretend that wasn’t exactly what I was about to say. “We knew you’d say that. You should be able to relax sometimes, Mireable. You’re not the only one who can help our family.” For being only eight years old, Nero was smarter than any kid I knew, including me. I sighed and leaned against the fence. He gave me one of his rare hugs. Even though Nero had a serious talent with words, he still wasn’t such a touchy kind of kid. Despite having lived with me and Uncle Meer for years, Nero would get freak out when someone he didn’t know would try to touch him.

“You should get to bed.” I told him.

“You’re probably right. But you need someone.” Its kind of scary how he can just reach into your heart like that. Its also adorable that he acts like I’m the one that needs to be taken care of. I was kind of tired anyway. To tired to take the time to dip my toes pond across from the restaurant that froze too early in winter.

“Maybe we should both go to bed.”
“Yeah.” He yawned.

“You want a ride?” I asked, even though I know the answer. He shakes his head.

“I’m okay. I’m not so tired I can’t walk. And you’re tired too.” He always has perfect excuses, but it always makes me wonder if he doesn’t trust us. I push the thought aside.

“Let’s go buddy.” He’s still my favorite.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Why would you say that?”

“Your fight with Greiven.”

“I’m fine. You know I could have beaten him to a pulp if uncle Meer didn’t show up.” He gives me one of those dark scary concerned looks.

“Don’t, okay? For me?” He’s being strange. Then again, he’s strange a lot.

Even after I go to bed, I can hear Uncle Meer’s sketching pencil in my dreams.