Between the Water's Edge

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. This was something Hos felt he should know in his bones. The Valley had its share of wildlife, but it was mostly safe. There weren’t dragons in the Valley before.

But before when? He thought.

He’d taken the family dory out and rowed out across the basin that much of the village was built around, out towards a collection of caves on the far side of the lake. He’d rowed with a controlled eagerness, an unknown purpose drawing him to the central cave the village nicknamed The Gullet; a black, gaping hole in the cliff with a gentle current that pulls unanchored, unsuspecting skiffs and swimmers gently towards that yawning dark. No one that ventured in had ventured out.

Now Hos was here, casting the small weighted hook overboard to anchor him 20 meters from the cave’s entrance, as he felt his pull leave him. There was something else now, alongside his confusion. An expectancy?

Why am I here?

Hos normally enjoyed sitting on the banks of where the river Nyhr stretched away from itself as it joined the lake, where the grass became silt and the silt became a pebbly shore. But here he was instead, under the high, hot midday sun, quite far from home, quite far from town. There was to be a lunar eclipse in the coming days, with festival preparations occupying the attention of the townsfolk. He was quite alone across the basin, quite out of reach.

Sighing, Hos unrolled his napkin out over the side of the boat, bait enough to bring nibbles to the surface, leftovers of a bread roll breakfast. He sat and watched the fish flit and bite, and return through shades of blue and green to where they’d materialized from.

Hos thought on his dreams. Flashing bright and swallowing dark, hunting eyes and stripping winds, and through it all the chasing heat and treacherous cold and dreadful mourning. Hos saw in the looks of the other townspeople the same unrest his dreams brought him, but was unsure how they remained unmoved - for they continued on with their chatter, plans, work. But they were touched with the mood, if not with the dreams themselves. A blanket of unease that rested heavily atop day to day chatter, plans, work.

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Always, he mused. What a ridiculous thought.

Hos shielded his brow as he cast his eyes skyward. A fairly cloud-free day, a glorious sun. No dragons. He turned in the boat to scan the protruding rock formation that obscured most of the town a mile or so back across open water. No dragons bathing on Dorsal Rocks, no dragons over the town, or the forest up the hillsides. Listening to the sounds of the Valley, the cliffs immediately above, there was nothing but birdcall and wind dancing through the leaves. The gentle lapping of water at his boat's sides, and a slight splash at the cliff’s bottom. The smells were the same, what they always were; a slightly dewy, salty wet, fresh and clean. There was no smoke, no fire.

There’s nothing unusual. There’s nothing that says dragons are here. They’ve not been heard of for hundreds of years. So why does thinking that feel… wrong?

Hos returned his gaze to The Gullet ahead, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He felt the breeze kiss at his neck and run through his tunic with a chill that didn’t match the beauty and warmth of the day. That unease that wrapped its tendrils around the townspeople over the previous weeks doubled down on Hos the moment he looked into the cave. There was nothing inside but a trickling stream of water that ran into the mountains, there was nothing inside that could hurt him, there was nothing inside that could see him but still - Hos felt watched.

There aren’t dragons in our Valley.

Every animal instinct in his body stood to attention, he felt viewed. It took effort to pry his eyes away from the cave long enough to ready his oars in the rowlocks. As he looked back to the cave, a movement in his periphery caught his eye. A fish, by the paddle of the oar, and yet-

It’s not in the water. No, it is in the water, but it’s not beneath the surface… What is..?

Hos felt as though in a trance as his eyes adjusted, shock dumbfounding and slowing his thoughts; shifting from the deep blues and murky greens hiding the fish to the dazzling crystal of the surface, then to the flashes of light atop the wind-stirred water, then finally refocusing, peering and studying the surface itself.

The reflection!

And there it was, the golden sun reduced to a shimmering orb in the water beside the boat, clouds flanking yet sparse, and in amongst the gorgeous blue of the water and white of the sun, something flew. Something big.

Panic rushed at Hos who was now stood in the boat, slack-jawed and very aware of how open he was. He fell backwards as if being shoved, nearly capsizing the dory and faced an empty sky.

More confusion stirred.

There’s nothing in the air? The cliffs!

Scanning the rocky crags for a monster in waiting once more, Hos came up short but still the hairs on his neck stood out. Trust your body, it says you aren’t safe. Breathing evenly but hard, blood pounding in his ears, his eyes settled once more on the cave. Instinct screamed. Hos tore the tarp off the end seat and dug into the stache of tools his mother ensured were always ready, always sharp and always in reach. He dug one of the night flares out - nothing more than a simple firework and forced it into the holster on the bow of the boat, angled it as far down and forward as possible, and pulled the ripcord that struck the fuse.

The flare screamed away down The Gullet, light traveling in a jagged ‘O’ across the dark water, slick walls and lowering ceiling, a ghostly echoing shriek leaked away. Hos watched and saw, had a brief moment to see; there’s nothing in there, I knew there was nothing-

The flare exploded as it made contact with the back wall of the short cave, some 25 meters inside. The shock of green light lingered, the chemicals burning slowly as designed. Hos’ guard dropped slightly, before alarm bells rattled his skull. Again, he was slow to notice it. The Gullet is empty, there’s nothing ahead...

And then he looked down, below the entrance to the cave. And there it was, impossibly, reflected in the water. The cave was empty, bar a fading, dying sparkle. But where the empty mouth of The Gullet should have been, a backlit, slender form clung to either wall, upside down with the reflection of the water.

There were folded, scaled wings. Claws in the folds that held tight to little purchase in the walls. The light underbelly almost a dark cream, scarred and rough looking. A curved neck and horned, crocodilian head snaked out slightly beyond the threshold of the cave. It peered, stared towards Hos’ boat, where the young man stood paralysed once more.

How is there a reflection… when the cave is empty?

Then the flare died, and the cave once more was dark. The reflection of the cave’s insides died too, seemingly both empty and full. Glancing back to the reflection, Hos saw a fanged chin recede backward to the darkness behind, and vanish.

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Now Hos understood.

The dragons aren’t in the Valley, not truly. But they’re close.