Cold Night & Warm Heart

On a cold night, in a dark forest at the edge of the valley of old kings, the woods were awash with activity, and the scratches, howls, and calls of the creatures that dwelt there.

In a small clearing in the forest, sat a small boy, a toddler no older than two years old. He was wrapped in a bright purple gown adorned with golden stitched symbols and runes, and next to him was a small pebble inlaid with a carving of gold in the shape of a spiral. He had a small scratch on his left hand and the boy’s cries were gaining more and more attention from many of the creatures of the dark forest, and one in particular now came slithering towards the boy.

Covered in shining scales it slithered on its belly, one thin long scaled body ending in a barbed tail. It reared up as it approached the toddler, balancing on the lower end of its long body, leathery wings unfolded and spread wide. The top of the body tapered off into two separate heads, dragon-like in form, with long fangs at the front of rows of sharp teeth, the eyes on one head, a dark green, the other with eyes glowing a deep red. Each head was topped with a single, thin horn that shone like metal, and reflected the moonlight in the clearing.

It prepared to strike and pierce the boy with one of its mouths, as it did, the boy cried louder and the creature lunged with ferocious speed at the child. Its mouth fell short of the toddler by a foot and slumped to the ground, it hissed and shook, unable to move as a large clawed foot of a Green Wood Dragon pinned its body to the ground.

The slithering creature struggled to wriggle free of the dragon’s grip, now tightening around it with the claws of its massive foot, crushing the snake-like creature. It hissed and roared with its two heads until they both fell limp to the ground and the creature moved no more.

The boy looked up at the immense dragon, which brought its head down to meet the boy’s level, bending its thick scaled neck. The toddler stopped crying and let out a small giggle and smiled at the dragon, the dragon stuck out its thin forked tongue and gently licked the boy’s scratched hand. The small scratch fizzed and then cleared, leaving no mark of any kind, and at the tingling of the fizzing on his hand, the boy giggled even louder than before.

The dragon gently engulfed the boy, still wrapped in his gown, and lifted him off the ground and held him securely in its clawed foot and close to its chest. It saw the markings on the pebble that remained on the ground, too small and delicate for the dragon to lift, but it curled its tongue around the pebble and swallowed it.

The rhythmic beating of the dragon’s heart calmed the child and sent him into a deep sleep, and the dragon thrust its wings down and lurched upward into flight. As the forest shrank into the ground below, the chatter and howling of the many creatures in it could still be heard for some distance. The dragon started flying South-East, and flew slowly and with care so as not to wake or scare the toddler. The moonlight reflected off the dragon’s shining green scales as it flew, his golden underbelly speckled with gems and precious stones, and its large green eyes fixed on its destination.

Just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon and shine down on the fields and villages of Albion, the dragon swooped down to land, and walked the remaining mile or so to avoid overzealous villagers or dragon hunting knights that may be about in the early hours.

The dragon soon reached the cave it sought out, and placed the wrapped boy down carefully on a soft patch of grass just outside the cave entrance. Then scratched the spiral symbol it saw on the pebble into the dirt near the boy, and gave a low roar, and gentle burst of fire breath into the cave mouth.

“Yes, yes. What is it?” said the voice of a man from inside the cave.

“Oh, it’s you Ilzross,” he said as he exited the mouth of the cave.

He was a tall, thin framed man of elderly appearance and he wore a long dark lavender coloured robe, he held a long walking stick in one hand, lodged in the top of the stick was a crystal orb shining white. He had a long beard that went the length of his chest, it was brown but beginning to turn white, and his eyes were an ice-blue that sparkled in the dawn’s light.

“What is it this time?” he said.

The boy on the ground woke and gave a short soft gurgle, the old man jumped in surprise at the noise and sight of a small toddler on his doorstep.

“Who is this? Where did you find him, Ilzross?” he asked the dragon as he picked up the boy and examined him and the symbols on the gown wrapped around him.

The dragon gave a series of short grunts and growls, and then coughed up the small pebble, which landed in front of the old man. The old man looked at the symbol on the pebble, and the larger one etched in the dirt by Ilzross and stared at the child in disbelief.

“Do you know who this is, Warmheart?” said the old man, using the dragon’s common name in his shock.

Ilzross bowed its head low, and scratched three lines through the spiral on the ground, one straight down, and the other two diagonally across. On the one down the middle, it added two small diagonal lines near the top to form a three-pronged top, and on the right line it added a horizontal line near the top to form a sword-like shape.

“I think you’re right, old friend,” said the old man. “I think he is the one foretold in legend, the one who will unite Albion.”

The dragon lifted its head and shot a burst of flame over the scratched symbol in the dirt, scorching it away, as the old man continued speaking.

“He is the once and future king…”