Bonded: The Story of Dag and Aila

Dag woke from hibernation with an ache in his back and a rumble in his belly. He opened his large yellow eyes and looked around the cold, dark cave. He was alone, no surprise. Knut and Tor likely hibernated together; they did everything together, much like twins. Rune might be in there, too, Dag mused. Rune followed Knut and Tor everywhere like an obedient pup. But Rune was fat, even for a juvenile dragon, and Dag pictured Knut and Tor kicking his chubby rump out of their cave.

But we’re not juvies anymore, Dag thought, rising and stretching. As of today, the end of hibernation, he, Knut, Tor, Rune, and the two young females, Bodil and Saga, were officially adult dragons.

Dag sauntered out of his cave and into the bright morning light. He closed his eyes and inhaled, breathing in the crisp mountain air heavily scented with pine. Breathing deeper, he swore he could smell the heady fragrance of lily-of-the-valley that grew in the Forbidden Zone. He opened his eyes and sighed. Time to stop stalling. Time to see what had changed – and what hadn’t – while he was sleeping.

Dag started with his front legs, looking down at them in admiration. Like all of his kind, he’d been born ash gray and remained that color for his entire juvenile period. Now the dull gray was gone, replaced by a brilliant emerald green. He turned to look at his back half and long, serpentine tail, all covered in the same vivid scales as his front legs. At the end of his tail was a hard point, sharp like a dagger and deep black like his claws. But what interested him most was the pain in his upper back. He hoped it meant what he thought it meant. He hoped there had been change in one special area.

Alright, get on with it, Dag admonished himself. He swung his massive head to the left. Out shot his left wing, black and bat-like. He stared at it in awe. Clearly it had grown, just like the rest of him. He imagined the places he could go with wings like that, if only . . .

He turned his head to the right, straining. His heart sank as he viewed his right wing. It was shaped like the left wing and black as night but less than half the size of the other wing. It flapped in the breeze like a piece of useless leather.

Dag lowered his head in disappointment. The deformity with which he’d been born was still with him. It would never change.

Unsure how long he stood there, despairing, Dag was caught by surprise when a lump of fresh, bloody meat was dropped in front of him. He looked up and saw his mother, Ursa, hovering above him. She lowered herself to the ground before him.

“I thought you might be hungry after such a long sleep.” She offered him a loving gaze. “Go on, eat. It’s reindeer, a rare treat this time of year.”

Hungrier than he realized, Dag dug into the meat, savoring every morsel. When he was done, he opened his mouth to thank his mother and promptly belched.

“Well,” Ursa laughed, “I guess I should be thankful you didn’t light me on fire with such an eructation.”

Dag laughed with her then turned somber again. He wiggled his defective wing. “Nothing changed.”

Ursa chuffed. “Dag, son of Ivar, the greatest leader of our clan, I will not let you feel sorry for yourself. You have matured into a handsome dragon. The best years of your life are ahead of you. Why, one day, you and Saga will mate and-“

“Mother!” Dag wasn’t sure if a dragon was capable of blushing but he thought he might be.

Ursa approached her son. Twenty five feet tall, she was taller than him by ten feet, though that would change as Dag grew more into adulthood, just as Ursa’s green hue had dulled with age. She nudged his deformed wing.

“This wing, the thing that’s bothered you all your youngling years, is a badge of honor. It, among other things, sets you apart from all others in our clan. You must not let it define you, especially now that you are grown.” She put her head against his. “The spirit of your father is looking down upon you, and he agrees. Do you feel him?”

Dag did not but he didn’t want to disappoint his mother so he simply nodded.

Ursa lifted her head. “Good. Now come, let us go before council. They eagerly await the six of you.”

“Was I the last one to wake?” Dag asked as they climbed the mountain together, heading for the highest point where the elders always met.

“No,” chuckled Ursa. “Rune was last and knowing him, he’s probably still eating.”

The council’s meeting area was a deep recess at the top of the mountain, accessible only by scaling the craggy rock surrounding the top then climbing down to a hidden level surface. By the time Dag and Ursa reached this place, the entire clan had assembled. Each new adult sat in front of their parents. As predicted, Knute and Tor were next to each other followed by Rune then Bodil and finally Saga. Dag was the only one with a single parent.

Knute and Tor saw Dag and snickered. Knute lifted his right wing and flapped it. Dag looked away.

“Finally!” bellowed Ulf, Knute’s father. “You’ve kept us waiting, boy.” He glared at Dag.

“Silence, Ulf,” said Ursa, assuming her place as clan leader, a role she’d reluctantly come by after her mate’s untimely death. “Boy is a human term. Dag is no longer a youngling, just as your son is no longer a youngling. Though it remains to be seen if Knute’s behavior will ever change.” She stared at Knute who refused to meet her gaze.

Dag smiled. He loved his mother.

The meeting proceeded without further disorder. Each new adult was examined by the council which consisted of Ursa and the five male elders. Then the new adults took the sacred oath to protect and serve the clan according to the rules set forth by the ancient ones, the dragons of the old world that first inhabited the densely forested country that Dag and his clan called home.

“Finally,” Ursa said, concluding the ceremony. “Each of you will remain out of the Forbidden Zone. Your parents were responsible for you when you were younglings, making sure you didn’t venture there, but now each of you is responsible for yourself. We have a longstanding agreement with the humans. Do not break that peace.”

“Yes, Ursa,” murmured the group. Only Knute and Tor remained silent, exchanging glances. Dag saw them and felt uneasy.

Ursa raised her wings. “Dismissed! Go, enjoy yourselves. Saga’s mother has prepared a feast for you.”

Rune snorted and hurried toward the mound of bear meat set forth in the center of the meeting area. Bodil joined Knute and Tor, and the three of them moved away to a far corner, talking amongst themselves. Saga shyly approached Dag.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, gesturing toward the food pile.

Dag shook his head. “No. Let Rune have his fun. At least until Knute tells him to stop gorging himself.”

“Do you think it would be alright if we left? I’d like to go to the stream and get some water.”

Dag looked at his mother who had been watching them. She nodded her head.

“Yes, let’s go.” He lifted his deformed wing. “I could just meet you at the bottom.”

Saga brightened. “Never! We’ll climb down together.”

At the bottom of the mountain, they walked to the river that zig-zagged through the country from north to south. Just beyond the river was the forest – the Forbidden Zone.

Dag and Saga drank then rested in the afternoon sun, soaking in the warmth.

“I have to admit that I’m feeling a bit vain,” Saga said. “I can’t stop looking at my new scales. The green is so . . . so vibrant!”

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Dag replied, though he wasn’t looking at her scales. He was staring into her yellow eyes which had flecks of green in them.

They looked away at the same time, embarrassed.

Saga changed the subject. “Have you ever been tempted to go in there?” She tilted her head at the forest.

“Me? The son of the clan leader? Come on, Saga, you know the rules. Dragons live in the mountains. Humans live in the valley. The forest separates us. We don’t go in there; they don’t go in there. That’s how we keep the peace. That’s the way it’s been-“

“For generation after generation,” finished Saga. “Yeah, my parents recited the same thing to me over and over as a youngling. Still, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to meet a human. Knute and Tor say they’d tear it to pieces then burn it up.”

Dag stood. “Knute and Tor are idiots. Worse than that, they’re dangerous. And so are their fathers.”

“Will you tell your mother?”

“About Knute and Tor? She already knows they’re troublemakers. I’ll just keep an eye on them.”

“That might be kind of hard. They’re so excited about their wings, they’ll probably be flying around a lot and you can’t-“ Saga stopped. “Oh, Dag, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Dag shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m different. Always have been. Can’t fly. Oh well!” He lifted his left wing. “At least I’ve got one good wing for oh, I don’t know, shading myself!”

Saga appeared distraught. “I’m stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, really. I’m going back to my cave now. I’m kind of tired.” He turned and walked away before she could say anything else.

Back in his cave, Dag replayed his conversation with Saga in his head.

Have you ever been tempted to go in there?

He didn’t answer with “yes” or “no” so technically, he hadn’t lied. But he still felt guilty, as if he’d told a lie. What Saga didn’t know, what no one in the clan knew, not even his mother, was that Dag had been more than tempted.

He’d been in the Forbidden Zone. Many times.

His secret visits started after his father died. He’d sought a place to grieve in private, away from the clan and the mountains. Willful disobedience was not one of his traits but, fueled by grief and curiosity, he’d ignored the possible repercussions and entered the forest one Spring afternoon. Soon he found himself enchanted by everything he encountered there – intoxicating wildflowers, damp moss, buzzing insects, scents of undiscovered animals, trees so tall that they looked like giant arrows pointing toward heaven.

But it was on his third visit to the forest that he found the most enchanting thing of all – humans.

That day he’d ventured to the far side of the forest after he smelled smoke. He followed the smell and stumbled upon the valley in which the humans resided. Skilled at cloaking his gray body among the trees, brush, and shadows of the forest, he remained undetected as watched the humans, greatly interested in how they went about their daily lives in their sprawling village – tending to their animals herds, performing various labors, playing with their children. On subsequent return visits after dark, he watched and listened as the human elders sat around fires and spoke the old language of the country. Not once did he entertain the idea of attacking them or eating them. The humans fascinated him.

He thought he might even love them.

Over the years, Dag made fifty visits to the forest. Then the time came to go en brumar, the hibernation ritual that marked the change in dragons from younglings to adults. Now he was much bigger, more noticeable. Could he even sneak into the forest unnoticed anymore?

Dag waited until nightfall to venture out. Stealthily he crept down from his cave and journeyed to the spot by the stream where he’d been with Saga earlier. He turned in a slow circle, looking, listening.

Nothing.

Confident he hadn’t been followed, Dag lay down in the cool mud at the edge of the river and rolled in it. Satisfied that he’d cover most, if not all, of his new bright green scales, he wandered into the forest.

It had been six months since he’d last spied on the humans and although he missed them, he had no intention of going near their village tonight. The hour was late; they’d all be sleeping. He preferred to watch them when they were working, playing, eating, talking. Instead, Dag went into the forest because he found it to be a place of perfect peace and serenity.

He hadn’t wandered far when he heard a strange noise. It sounded like . . . whimpering? He stopped in his tracks and listened. The sound came again, a little louder. At first he thought it might be an injured animal. But the cry didn’t sound like it came from something four-legged. Rather, it sounded like it came from a two-legged mammal.

A human.

Dag froze. If he was discovered by a human, he’d be violating the peace treaty that had been in place for so many years. The clan could expel him. War could break out. And his mother would be deeply disappointed in him.

Then again, if there was a human in the forest, then that human would be violating the treaty, too.

Dag crept toward the sound. It was coming from a small grove of trees through which the night’s full moon shone straight through to the forest floor. As Dag got closer, he could see that a small pit had been dug in front of the grove. Carefully, he peered over the pit and gasped.

A small child looked up at him, moonlight shining on her round, tear-streaked face.

Dag sat on his rump and contemplated the situation. How did the child get here? Was she lost? Did she fall into the pit? Or worse, was she thrown in there?

The girl made a noise, prompting Dag to peer over the side again. She clapped, smiled, and held her arms out to Dag.

She wants me to pick her up! Dag’s mind raced. He could just turn and leave, pretending he never saw the child, leaving her to her fate in the forest. But what if a wolf or a lynx found her? The thought of the little girl being eaten alive by prowling night predators sickened him. He had to help her.

Dag stood and extended one leg into the pit. He used his claws to snag the child by her shapeless smock and pick her up. Carefully he set her down in front of him.

Dag and the girl regarded each other in silence. Dag guessed her to be two, maybe three in human years. Over the years, he had seen children of all ages in the village, and he realized two things right away about this child. One, he’d never seen her before and two, she looked different than the other humans. Her eyes were almond shaped with an upward slant, her nose was rather flat, and her tongue protruded slightly from her mouth, as if she didn’t know how to retract it. He was processing these facts in his head when she took a step toward him.

Startled, Dag moved backwards a few feet. The girl grinned, tongue still hanging out of her mouth, and kept moving toward him, stepping awkwardly on bare feet as she swung her arms.

Realizing she would just keep chasing him, Dag lowered himself, resting his belly on the ground, and put his front legs out. The girl reached him and placed a tiny hand on one of his claws. She smiled at him.

Dag was dumbfounded. This strange little girl had no fear of him! He decided to test her. He gave her a menacing gaze, squinting his yellow eyes and baring his giant, pointy teeth while emitting a low growl.

The girl laughed and smiled wider.

Unbelievable, thought Dag.

“I can’t leave you here, little one,” Dag whispered to her. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do but I know I can’t leave you here.”

She patted his claw, never taking her eyes off him.

Dag looked at the pit again. The more he examined it, the less natural it looked. He was certain that humans had dug it. And that the little girl had been placed in it for some nefarious purpose.

This realization angered Dag. He looked at the girl. “Can you speak?”

She stopped smiling but didn’t reply.

“It’s alright. You probably don’t understand me. But I’m getting you out of here.” He stood up. “I’ll protect you now.”

Dag considered how to transport the girl out of the forest and up the mountain to his cave. He could use his claws like he did to pluck her out of the pit. But he needed all four feet to climb the mountain since he couldn’t fly.

Stupid, useless, deformed wing.

Then an idea came to Dag. It was crazy and dangerous but he hoped it would work.

Dag went down on his belly again and stretched out his front legs. He looked at the girl and patted the ground with his front left foot. “Up, little one.”

For a moment she just stood there, watching him pat his foot. He panicked, afraid his plan had failed before it even started. Then suddenly she grinned and climbed onto his foot.

Yes! Dag used his snout to scoot her up his leg to his back. He fluttered his huge left wing. “Grab it. Hold on.” He turned, straining his neck, to see if she’d grabbed it.

She had, indeed, grasped a wing but it was his other one, the bad one. She’d taken hold of it and wrapped it around her little body – the perfect size for it.

Dag hesitated but only for a moment. Time was of the essence, and he couldn’t afford to waste it trying to convince his non-verbal passenger to hold on to the other wing.

Praying the girl would not fall, Dag rose to his feet and started out of the forest. Every few steps he’d look back and check on his charge. She gripped his wrapped wing with two chubby hands, smiling, night breeze blowing back her long, blond hair.

Dag moved quickly but carefully. Exiting the forest, he scanned the surroundings then headed for the mountain. He took one last look at the girl. “Almost there, little one. Please, please hold on just a bit longer.”

Dag reached his cave in record time. He was exhausted. He couldn’t wait to go deep inside his lair and sleep for a few hours. He hoped the girl would sleep, too.

A snore came from within the cave. Dag stopped, paralyzed with fear. “Mother?”

The snoring stopped. Seconds later Ursa lumbered into view. “Where have you been, my son?” she yawned, eyes half closed.

Dag avoided the question, angling his body so that Ursa could not see his passenger. “Mother, I’m an adult now. You don’t need to sleep here. Can you . . . can you go back to your own cave?” Dag felt the girl move on his back, and his heart nearly stopped.

Ursa’s eyes widened. “Dag! What have you done?” She pointed to his muddy chest. “You’re covered in filth. And you smell . . . odd.”

Dag sighed. “I’ll wash in the morning. Mother, please. I’m tired.”

Ursa nodded. “Fine. Keep your little nocturnal adventure to yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dag turned and backed into his cave as Ursa exited, watching her go. When she was out of sight, he checked his back. “Little one, you alright?” No reply.

He rested on his belly and uncurled his short wing. The girl tumbled out and landed on a pile of soft bearskin, a gift long ago from his late father. She started to whimper; Dag quietly shushed her. When she tried to sit up, he nudged her with his snout, gently pushing her down onto the bearskin. Eventually she accepted the hint and lay on her back, staring at him. He wondered how well she could see him in the dark. He could see her just fine.

How do you get a human child to sleep? Dag wondered. He tried to recall some of the children’s songs he’d heard when he had secretly observed the humans. He did his best to sing one or two, though he’d never sung in his life. It seemed to work. Before long, she closed her eyes, turned on her side, and fell into a deep sleep, tongue sticking out of her mouth.

Dag continued to study her. Yes, she was definitely physically different from the rest of the humans. He guessed that she also had some kind of mental deficiency, though she seemed smart enough to understand his plan earlier . . . sort of.

Flaws or not, Dag thought she was beautiful. “I’ll call you . . . Aila,” he whispered, pronouncing it eye-luh.

He lay next to her, blocking her small body from the mouth of the cave, and closed his eyes. He had no idea what he was going to do with her tomorrow. He knew he should have a plan but he was too tired to think about it. Not a minute later, he was fast asleep, snoring lightly, dreaming he could fly.

He woke just before sunrise. He felt . . . sticky. He looked at his legs and realized he’d forgotten that he was covered in dried mud, some of which had flaked off on his journey home with Aila but most of it still on him.

Aila.

She had turned away from him during the night, now facing the back of the cave, but she was still covered in the fur blanket. And still sleeping.

Dag contemplated scurrying down to the stream for a quick wash. But what if she woke up while he was gone and wandered out of the cave and fell down the mountainside? Slowly, quietly, Dag rose and walked out of the cave, looking around. He picked up a large stone with his mouth and took it back into the cave, taking great pains to put it down as quietly and quickly as possible next to Aila. He repeated this several times until he’d built a short wall that would prevent her from escaping. Then he fled down the mountain, eager to wash away the itchy dirt from his handsome new scales.

When he returned, he found Knute and Tor standing in front of his cave.

“What are you doing here?” Dag asked, struggling to keep his composure.

Knute raised his wings. “Just thought we’d drop in and see if you’d like to go for a quick flight. Oh, wait, you can’t.” He grinned and winked at Tor.

Tor laughed. “You slay me, Knute.”

Dag’s face remained impassive while his heart pounded mercilessly. “More jokes about how I’ll never be able to fly. How original. Kick rocks, you two. Go find Bodil. I’m sure she’d be happy to flirt with both of you.”

“Hey, Dag, whatcha got in your cave?” Tor asked, ignoring Dag’s comments. “Smells funny.”

“Probably more reindeer from mommy,” said Knute, making Tor laugh again.

Suddenly a long wail emitted from the cave. Tor stopped laughing. Knute turned to look into Dag’s lair.

“Knute, don’t!”

Dag lunged forward to snap at Knute’s tail but Knute had already disappeared into the cave. He returned immediately with Aila, the back of her smock in his clenched teeth.

Tor reared back. “A human!” He stared at Dag. “How . . . where . . .”

Aila scrunched up her face and started to wail again, tongue lolling from her mouth.

“Knute, please,” Dag begged. “She’s a helpless child.”

“Tor, gather the council,” Knute commanded through his teeth.

Tor just continued staring at Aila.

“Tor, now!”

Nodding, Tor turned and flew away.

Aila continued to cry. Dag could see the frustration mounting on Knute’s face.

“Knute, put her down. I can get her to be quiet.” Dag spoke calmly but inside he seethed.

Knute thought for a moment then lowered his head and dropped Aila to the ground. “Shut that thing up.”

Dag went down to Aila’s level. “Sshh, little one. It’s me. It’s going to be okay. I promise.” He nudged her with his snout. “Promise.”

Aila looked into Dag’s eyes and stopped crying. She sat on the ground and bowed her head.

“You went into the Forbidden Zone, didn’t you?” Knute didn’t wait for Dag to reply. “You’re going to be in so much trouble. I can’t wait-”

Dag lunged at Knute, locking his jaws around his throat. Surprised, Knute fell back and used all four legs to push Dag away but Dag’s fury fueled him, and he clamped down harder on Knute’s neck and pulled. The two dragons tumbled down the mountain in a deadly embrace, pointed tails thrashing and slashing at each other.

At the bottom of the mountain, Dag released Knute, and Knute lay on his side, fighting for breath, blood streaming from his neck.

“You’ll . . . pay . . . for this,” Knute panted. “And when I’m done with you, I’ll enjoy tearing your little human in two.”

Later, when Dag thought about this moment, he would tell himself that he blacked out, that he thought of nothing but keeping Aila safe. And so he felt no emotion when he jumped onto Knute’s body and sunk his claws into his fellow dragon’s chest and proceeded to tear out Knute’s throat. It was for Aila. All for Aila.

Dag was in love, not as a male would be when he found a female to be his mate, but as a father to a daughter. He hurried back up the mountain and found Aila seated in her same spot, looking forlorn. She brightened when she saw him, clapping her hands and giving him a grin.

“My beautiful Aila,” Dag addressed her. “We must leave this place. I’ve done the unforgivable.” He dropped to his belly and thumped his left foot on the ground. “Back to the forest we go.”

As before, Aila climbed onto him and wrapped herself in his deformed wing. Without looking back, Dag used the last of his adrenaline to rush down the mountain, across the river, and into the forest, not caring if anyone saw him. He didn’t stop until he’d gone deep into the forest where the sun shined through the canopy of trees in patches. He set Aila down in one of these sunny spots and lay in front of her.

“Hear me, child,” he said then proceeded to speak to her in the old language he’d heard the elder humans use.

“Et ole viallinen.” You are not defective.

“Sinua ei saa hylätä.” You are not something to discard.

“Olet vain erilainin. Kuten mina.” You are just different. Like me.

“Me ansaitsemme elää.” We deserve to live.

“Ja asumme yhdessä.” And we shall live together.

”The name Aila means bringer of light,” Dag said softly. ”You’ve brought a whole new light to my world, little one. Now it’s just you and me.”

Aila leaned forward and kissed Dag’s snout. Then she put her hand on his claw and smiled.

To be continued . . .