Eyes On The Horizon

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The valley had, for generations, been a lifeless, baron husk. A cavernous vastness of black sand and jagged rock, the lack of grass giving rise to an earthy smell, that was carried on the wind to the settlement that grew half a mile from highest and most westernly ridge. That same wind gave a haunting howl as it blew between the stone pillars that littered the bottom of the valley. It was a place so devoid of life, it gave little reason for the nearby settlers to venture within, but it did allow parents to create vivid stories and cast invisible barriers of fear, over which their children would not cross.

But, as children are prone to do, a few took the stories as challenges. Fewer still would brave entering the empty land. Not that many were needed, it took only one daring journey to change the fate of the village. When a boy returned boasting of a treasure, a reward the gods had bestowed upon him, most adults took his prize to be but a slightly irregularly coloured stone. Perhaps slightly smoother than the rest, but still just a stone. That was until his father took more than a cursory glance and noticed the boy had actually found Jadeite.

Luckily, the father was the first adult to realise, as had he been another adult that possessed few scruples and much greed, no amount of bravery could have saved the boy. The father took the stone in secret to a nearby town and sold it for a handsome price. Now knowing the riches to be genuine, the boy’s father instructed him to reveal the location of his find. The boy did as his father said, and in doing so, it did not take long for other stones to be found. The more they dug, the more colours emerged, including those precious metals. With each piece found, the father’s fears faded and the voice of his decency returned. After putting enough aside to ensure his family’s future, he took the news to his neighbours. To share the knowledge for the betterment of his village, as well as prevent jealously and envy leading to future misfortune.

Together they all grew rich. Of course in coin but also in developed skill. Families forged in hardship had only been able to devote their entire days to food and shelter, and so they were all farmers of various sort, selling crops and meats amongst themselves. Yet with their new resources and opportunity, the village became a town and a town needed smiths and importers. It needed jewelers and builders, protectors and leaders. The once farming town quickly transformed themselves into a hub of weapons and wealth. Smithery was the new family trade, with even the elderly learning the trade in the early days, though of course they would never be master crafters, they took on the challenge to aid their children and grandchildren, happy that so late in their lives they were being given the chance to form a long-standing legacy. As though gifted by natural inclination, the townspeople excelled in their newfound lives. Developing and producing all manner of devices. From cutlery to cutlasses, rings and lavishly jeweled necklaces, it all came to them as if ordained as reward for so many years of stifled tillery. To their neighbouring towns, their fortune was met with jealously and appreciation. Luck striking so strongly to those so close, it was only true that it would run downstream to them. They did not benefit as greatly, but the newly rich would visit and buy from them, often paying over the already increased price. Over the years homes grew, as with the fortunes, and the valley had a seemingly unending supply of wealth to give them. They of course also used the mine to produce instruments of war, not only to sell but to defend the ever giving valley. The town flourished faster and grander than thought possible, then the dragons arrived.

Stories had come from afar, of winged beasts with bodies big enough to blacken the sky of the brightest day. But the stories did not bring with them the gravitas of a dragon’s presence. Their size was not even the most imposing aspect, nor was it that they defied nature by spewing fire from between their armoured lips. It was the daunting feeling that they thought, considered and planned. They did not speak, at least not in a tongue as man knew and nor like that of the other animals, but instead an otherworldly link seemed to deliver their wants and warnings. That is not to say they were without a voice. That should never be said. For the roar of an angered dragon hits to the core in a way that fire never could. Fire burns the flesh, but a roar freezes the soul.

They arrived in the dead of night, by the light of a full moon. As big as they are, they arrived in silence. Their arrival going unnoticed by the few that would still be awake at a such an hour. Perhaps they were only awake to drink, and their stupor gave them pause and a reason to doubt their eyes. Or more than likely, the dragons simply kept to their otherworldliness and defied nature itself.

The day was broken by the scream of a hunter returning to the town, incoherently rambling about the end of the world. He eventually gave up on words and simply beckoned them to follow him. Only when others got to the valley ridge, did they look down and see a sleeping swarm of gigantic horrors, with their beds being the lifeblood of the town’s prosperity. The dragons were everything the tales had described them to be. Lengthy limbs upon a lean body, with a proportional tail and massive wings that would fold neatly when the beast was grounded. It was difficult see a dragon's strength, as their muscles were hidden beneath a thick, singular coloured hide that seemed segmented like the scales of a snake but with the texture of leather. Their skin lacked colour, ranging only from black as coal, to white as snow.  Yet, that is not to is not to say they were completely without distinguishing detail. Each dragon had one colour that shone vibrantly in their eyes, dulled in their teeth, darkened in their claws, and glimmered from the spikes that protruded at strategic points along their frame. The most striking example was that of the chalk skinned dragon with amethyst weaponry..

Panic eventually gave way to planning, which resulted in the birth of dragon slayers, in both profession of person and category of weapons. None took the time think that though the stories of dragons had made their ways across the lands, in various form of detail and accuracy, but one thing that never followed were the stories of dragon slayers. And perhaps the reason that none such tales left the village in which they were born, was due to a single dragon having never been slayed. Many a man fel at the tooth and claw and fire of a dragon driven the brink of mild annoyance. Had the tales been told, they would have ended the same, a body sliced and severed by dragon claw, crushed or flattened by dragon strength, mangled or chewed by dragon teeth, burned or ashened by dragon fire.

Dragon slaying was a short lived demand and a shorter lived profession. Those lost to the dragons did not leave behind stories of brave, heroic men of valour, but lives lost to facing impossible odds. Impossible by a true definition, as a dragon falls to the might of one thing, another dragon. For all the terrible shapes that exist in this world, the dragon fears none. None except its own reflection. Battles between dragons are a simple affair. Despite their seeming immortality, they are incredibly susceptible to their own physicality. Fire to dragon skin is akin to rain upon rock, but dragon claws and teeth appear to cleave through the otherwise impenetrable hide of another dragon. Even so, perhaps even due to this, dragon fights are rare and usually a simple physical display. It would seem that even dragons fear their own roar.

Most of the town had become wealthy enough to move away to neighbouring villages where they could live comfortably without working. Or take their newly developed trade skills and set up shop across the land, ensuring a long lasting legacy for their ancestors. Of those who stayed, they did so out of a pride for their homeland and few did so because they had not possessed the acumen to have properly benefited from the gift of the valley. Still, the town needed farmers and doctors.

The children though, never really took to seeing the dragons as dangers, no matter how much their parents repeated that advice. Mostly because a dragon had never killed a person that hadn’t attacked it first. The children’s play gradually included dares that got them closer and closer to the dragons, and they learned that the dragons saw them more as they did a mouse. Without a threat and without the promise of a filling meal. So the dragons left alone the children that entered the valley and watched from a distance. The only times the dragons themselves were a danger, was when they would fight with each other. Even just play fighting, their titanic bodies could kill every child with a misplaced foot. While playing one day a child found something in the valley that had never been seen before, a plant. Protruding from beneath the black sand at the very bottom of the valley, a seedling. At first just the one, but almost immediately, more were discovered. More and more as the days went on, life had seemingly sprung from death. The valley slowly changed from a desolate darkened hole, to the lush field which eventually shared the valley with a forest. The life of the forest brought fruit and nuts and most importantly, wood. Even unknown animals and lesser beasts made a new home amongst the dragons. The town grew in a way that even the metal and stone boom had not brought. The health of the people dramatically improved and all births that followed the arrival of the dragons, proceeded without incident.

The dragons themselves were an enigma, they didn’t seem to feed, they didn’t seem to hunt. Individuals would periodically disappear, returning a few days later with their belly noticeably full. They didn’t seem to care for any of the creatures that had moved into the valley with them, but they did routinely burn away sections of the expanding forest. As well as the remaining mining equipment and the pre-historic stone pillars. It was within these piles of ash that the dragons lazed. They had an apparent disdain for the greenery, burning it away appeared to give them pleasure, as well as a fresh resting spot. But from every ash heap they left behind, the forest regrew, bigger and faster than it had previously. The spaced needed for a dragon to take flight is not insignificant, and even within the great size of the valley, that space was quickly shrinking.

One morning, the children stood at the rim, looking down in amazement as they saw the strangest of sights. A sight that was more unbelievable than the dragons themselves; a stranger. A man, unkempt and dressed in raggedy clothes, walked to each of the beasts, appearing to greet them to no response. The children crept down and watched from as close as they dared to sneak. The dragons ignored the stranger, even to the point where he climbed into their backs as they slept. He was treated as one would a puppy, though, without affection of any sort. Hiding in the thick foliage did not shield the children from the eyes of the stranger. He quickly saw them, and immediately marched in their direction. As they watched this fool begin to wave and shout a welcome to them, a fear they did not know existed engulfed them from head to toe. The nearest dragon, lead in colour and bejewelled in orange with eyes of fire, watched the man and followed his line of sight until it was staring directly at them. As then stranger neared, they remained still. He noisily pushed his way through the long grass, but they could not hear him over the sounds of their own heartbeats. The dragon stretched its neck towards them, only to pause, then yawn, finally dropping its head to the ground and returning to sleep. A booming snore began, and just as the man reached them, he was preceded by the dragon’s breath.

The smell of smoke was heavy in the air as he introduced himself. His name was Edmund, he was thin but healthy, his youthful skin betrayed by graying hair and a thicket beard. Tattered clothes that somehow appeared clean in comparison to his feet and hands. Each of which were fittingly calloused for those of a nomad. After agreeing to join them at a greater distance from the dragons, he sat with them and answered every question they had. He gladly proclaimed that to be near the dragons rid him of pain. Pain in his muscles, his bones and his heart. A calmness and contentment washed over him, quieting hunger and fear the longer he stayed by their side. Keeping close to them eventually became his only desire, an all-consuming need that diminished all else. Provider and protector to his family faded into memory, with his only communication being that they join him amongst the beasts. Then one day, the dragons took flight together, something they had not done since they arrived. He desperately pleaded one last time to his family to come with him. They declined, and he left them behind. Sad as it was, it was the last moment of sadness he knew.

It took time, but eventually Edmund convinced the children the dragons would not harm them. Which proved to be correct. It was advised to not stand directly in a dragon’s line of fire, even as it slept, but outside of that they were free to be as inquisitive as they pleased. Each of them decided not to tell their parents, as that would likely end their days in the valley. They would spend the day with Edmund and the dragons, but make sure to collect fruit and nuts and maybe an animal with which to take home and keep their parents concerns at bay with the distraction of food.

A few weeks after his arrival, the children returned to him one morning, finding him in an unfamiliar somber mood. When they inquired as to what had soured him so, he produced a strange fruit. It resembled a peach in look and feel, but had the colour of a strawberry and the smell of a lime. He informed the children it was a called Caishunar, and when a tree bore this fruit, the dragons would soon depart for a new home. Had the children been adults, they may have asked why the fruit made the dragons leave. They may have feared the possibility of facing another radical change to their way of life. They may have asked how the dragons leaving would impact the forest. Or they may have worried about how the strange new animals would react without a dragon to keep order. But, being children, they simply worried at the thought of a friend having to go away.

As a parting gift they wanted to share a meal with him, and so asked if they could make him something he hadn’t eaten since he left home. He thought for a while until a smile flashed across his face. He recalled that, for his birthday, his wife would make him a savoury pie, filled with the stewed meat of Forest Mutton. The children ran home to eagerly, begging their parents to make the treat for their friend. The next day they returned, empty handed and angry. See their faces, he told them not to worry, only to find out that they were angry with him and branded him a liar. His request had made fools of them. For the Forest Mutton had been extinct since their grandparents were children. He was confused, as he was certain that he had eaten the beast not so long ago. Looking to know his accuser, he asked the children to take him to their grandparents. Beyond the awkward introduction, he asked the townsfolk more and more awkward questions, until he appeared to be dumbfounded. He stared, silent in confusion, as a realisation threatened to break him. For the only answer that remained, was the hardest to believe. His wife was dead, his children were dead and so too were anybody he had called friend. His only companions were the dragons, the same dragons he had been following for 300 years.