His roar and fire froze, in the midst of his dance. The silent crisp air told him to listen till he heard the soft noise again. His giant feet had just missed a small cuddled shape. The shape stood up. It was a human with long black hair. Even he a heartless dragon could sense that she was scared. Humans did not come to Fireland. Her eyes met his. He noticed the dark makeup around her eyes. She was part of the spirit people. A tribe of humans with the ability to read the thoughts of others. The dragon tried to focus on peaceful safe thoughts, he knew she would sense that he was not a threat.
He was in his frozen position, for what seemed like hours. but finally the human seemed to realize that he was not a threat. She released her gaze and collapsed onto the ground. She waved at the dragon to unfreeze his stantz.
He decided he would make the first move. He had been dancing earlier because he had just made a kill. He dragged the carcus of the large bird over to the girl. He knew humans did not eat raw meat. He burned off the skin of the bird. The girl pulled out a knife and helped the dragon prepare the meal. She noticed some of the long black feathers from the bird, which had not been charred. It was not her kill, so she had not earned the right to wear the feathers, but the dragon had no need for them so after eating she would use them to update her attire.
Both the dragon and the girl enjoyed the meal. All she could sense from this huge clumsy dragon was kindness Her people, the spirit people, told tales of the dragons. They were in the tales of her tribe, fighting against her kind. It was because of the Great Dragon that her tribe had been divided. Her brother (Sammoose)had been in the part of the tribe that had been lost. She had come here to search for him and his companions.
They ate the whole bird. She felt full but she wondered about the dragon. She had tried to give him the majority of the meat, The dragon had huge wings. He spread the wing over her, and she fell asleep. For the first night since she began her journey, she felt full, warm and safe. The dragon felt tired but confused. How were they going to communicate? Would she go on her own way in the morning? He felt like he was designed to be a protector.
They both awoke with a start. Big black birds were swooping down on them. The dragon swat at the birds and shoot streams of fire at them. She (Sammeesa) pulled out her knife. She had two or three successful thrusts. She assumed this must have been their meals, family. She could hear the cries of the injured birds. Some had gotten away, but two were near death and one was fighting for it's life. Her mother's words sunk into her head "Never kill more than you can eat" She went and helped the one bird fight for his life. The dragon went and ended the misery of the other two birds. The dragon started a fire to help keep the bird warm. Sammeesa took some berries from her bag and fed the bird. She covered the bird with feathers from his dead companions. The smell seemed to comfort him. The fight was over, at least for the night. All she could sense was exhaustion in the group. She had never used her powers on birds before, but she was too tired to worry, The dragon stretched his wing over the two warriors and they all slept.
About the Creator
Antoinette L Brey
I am an elder in a time of freedom. I am now retired. All i want to do is have fun. Without a daily routine, my imagination is one of my only salvations. I am not planning on writing a book, it is just for my own pleasure
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More stories from Antoinette L Brey and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Shrink
The shrieking of the wind outside the windows echoes my mood. The whole back edge of the room is lined with windows. They absorb my glaze. My eyes watch the shaking of the branches as they strike against the window panes. My mind crashes with every slash, slosh, clash of rain and wood on the windowpane. I grit my teeth. I tell myself that, I am a professional. I must fight this inner battle. The outer storm will never reach me. I fight the urge to hide my head in my hands and cry. Instead, I count to ten and hold my head up high. I silently recite the familiar phrase in my head. “ High high high, let stress die”. My nails dig into my hand. Finally, my thoughts shift from the flower curtains to the situation of hand.
By Antoinette L Brey2 years ago in Fiction
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli4 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
I really like your first sentence, very powerful and gripping. I like also what you do in the short amount of space, it's a neat and intricate world you've created.
Sammeesa is such a beautiful name! I loved your story!