Dragons Intrigue

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There were fairies and nymphs, the occasional troll or glass man. There were even mermaids that sometimes swam down the stream that cuts through the valley’s center; gathered in the pool at the end and exhibited their exquisite fins. But not dragons. There were stories of them. But no one had ever seen them. Few believed the stories or even continued to tell them anymore. They were myths, fallacies, as magical as a portal to another epoch. And yet the valley was now rampant with them. Dragons were in every corner of the valley, even meandering through the village itself. Those who had kept the stories alive were delighted. Those who had relinquished them were in awe or contempt, maybe a little of both. I had never known what to believe. But sitting on the natural bridge in the southwest corner of the valley with a spectacular view of the valley, the sight sent chills through my bones. The dragons, more brilliantly colored than anything we had ever seen, were everywhere. Their skin was impenetrable and iridescent, the skin itself seemed to be constantly active even when they stood stock still; always putting on a show, unable to come to a rest. As if their skin didn’t put on enough of a performance, their wings were a whole production of their own. Two massive wings, at least double the size of their entire body when fully spread, were barely noticeable and settled across their backs and sides when not in flight. But in addition to these, they had several smaller wings, some only half the size of their flight wings others mere inches wide and as thin as hair. Each dragon's array of wings was different from the next, but all were covered in sleek feathers, unlike the rest of the body. Some wing’s uses had been discerned, swiping away pests, defense, providing shade; while others seemed useless, simply an embellishment.

I leaned against a large rock observing the valley's newfound dragon activity. There was a group of about five gathered in the green and yellow fields of the southeast corner beyond the village, playing in a fashion that puppies or kittens would. One was a deep red with golden wings, two were bright purple, one a bright green, and the other blue with random feathers a forest green color. The more colorful dragons seemed to be the most mischievous, standoffish when approached but very playful amongst themselves and often even playing pranks on villagers. It was interesting how life had changed in the village, no one was surprised by a dragon playing ding-dong ditch or setting their livestock loose in the night. I noticed a couple hiding in one of the caves that dotted the western border of the valley, only two tails sticking out of the entrance. There was one resting in a village street, ignoring every passerby that skirted around him. He was a silky black with several sub wings, including ones as fine as hair and silver in color. Neutral-colored dragons were often the most friendly and sociable, enjoying the company they found amongst the villagers. His tiny wings were constantly moving though he seemed to be napping. The wings flitted, resembling a dragonfly. I pondered what their purpose could be as I passed the time; I was early as usual.

Ashton is almost late, unsurprisingly. He is always up to something, whether being a Samaritan to anyone he passed or some mischief he thought up on his own. He rarely allowed these excursions to make him late to our plans though, knowing how tardiness infuriated me. But alas, I would have to begin descending the bluff to my right in a moment, with or without him if I didn’t want to miss the excitement. The whole village had started to gather to watch the dragon eggs hatch after the initial three or four, and this was the largest one yet. It was also the only one we had found in weeks. People had been searching, but after this one, we didn’t have another one to look forward to.

I look down the bluff, deciding where to place my first step. “Leaving without me?”, I hear from behind me. For a split second, I debate between showing interest in what held him up or chewing him out for making us late. I settle simply on, “come on!”, and take my first step without even looking back.

We pick our way down the bluff, stopping about three-quarters of the way down to find a nook in the rock wall where we can both huddle together fairly comfortably and observe. Ashton pointed out the cliffside the first time we came to watch a hatching and since most of the eggs have been found along this side of the valley, we’ve had the best viewing point ever since. There’s already a large crowd gathered but we can see over all of their heads. The egg is taller than any man in the crowd and as wide as three villagers standing shoulder to shoulder. I know it makes everyone a hint nervous, but we haven’t come across an aggressive dragon yet and the stories we’ve heard have given us no reason to be afraid.

We get settled just in time, the egg makes a loud knocking sound and the crowd quiets. It was normal for us to hear the dragons scratch, eat, or shake their way out but this sounded like the crack of an ax on wood. Everyone gave a wide berth for whatever dragon emerged to have room for whatever he preferred; some were social while others opted to immediately withdraw into solitude. The villagers below shift back uneasily making even more room for what was to come. The egg rocks, splinters, debris pilfering like rain at the villagers' feet. A large section of the shell, thick and solid as a boulder, slides out of place and collapses, almost in slow motion, filling the right edge of the clearing. Everyone froze in fascination, some tinged with fear, waiting. Not a dragon, but a man, walks out through the cloud of dust; tall and strong, bold, with not an ounce of hesitation. Dark hair, matching his dark eyes and skin, is disheveled but makes his appearance no less authoritative. He looks into the crowd, staring at everyone, and no one all at once, and says, “where are the dragons?”