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Heart of Fire

By Kevin Barkman

By Kevin BarkmanPublished about a year ago 21 min read
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Heart of Fire
Photo by Daphne on Unsplash

As I soar high above the trees, the scent of prey accosts me. Despite my nagging hunger, I push myself higher into the clouds. This is the first chance I’ve had to get out on my own away from my brood in months, and I won’t jeopardize my temporary freedom for a bite to eat.

The smell fades as water droplets pound against my scales. Lightning flashes filter through the dense clouds, illuminating the formless blob surrounding me. With three powerful strokes of my wings, I put on a burst of speed, exploding out of the darkness. I suck in a deep breath of the thin air, basking in the light of the half-moon.

I fly for hours, putting as much distance between myself and home as I can muster.

The wind feels magnificent against my scales, but eventually, my hunger gets the best of me. I tip my wings down and circle toward a dense forest below. I glide just above the sequoia treetops, scanning the ground for my next meal.

I listen intently to the sounds of the night. The pitter-pat of little creature feet. The bristling of wind through the massive branches. I hear a small herd of deer rumbling through the brush. A bobcat lunging at some prey. A nursery of raccoons digging by the roots of a tree.

My olfactory senses fire like crazy. The smells are intoxicating. I veer toward the herd, silently dodging between red giants.

With the herd now in sight, I pick my target. A stag nearly twice the size of its neighbors with a rack several feet across leads the thundering stampede. My mouth waters with very idea of what’s to come.

I pass over the majority of the herd, my shadow causing panic in their ranks. Most of the deer scatter, leaving the massive stag unencumbered by companions. He lays on some speed, dashing through the maze of trees.

He thinks he can get away from me, but I’m much more maneuverable than he is. I lend chase, toying with him, savoring the hunt.

When my shadow looms directly above his backside, I pull my wings in close, diving with breathtaking speeds. My jaw snaps shut around the beast’s spine with a sickening crunch.

The stag twitches before going limp between my teeth. I pound my wings against the air, laboriously dragging its carcass to a nearby clearing. I drop him onto the ground beside an expansive lake, landing hard on my four legs. I skitter to a stop, splashing along the shore.

With a burst of fire from my mouth, I braise the stag’s flesh, giving it that delectable smokey flavor.

I take my time with my meal, savoring every bite. When I finish with the stag, all that’s left is crushed bones and sprawling antlers. I pick the sinew from my teeth with tip of an antler and wash it down with a few gulps of lake water.

Now my belly is full. My eyes are heavy with satisfaction. I lumber over to one of the towering sequoias and curl up in a hollow under the roots. My eyes drift closed and my brain fogs over as I slip into unconsciousness.

Dreams dance in my head. Images of me whipping through the sky with my family flash behind my eyes.

Ugh…Family.

I flew off today to get away from them. All the incessant whining and crowing from all the hatchlings. The constant nagging from my mate. The clingy little creatures do nothing but climb all over me and their mother, their tiny razor-sharp claws digging into my flesh.

For weeks now, I have wanted nothing more than to fly off into the mountains and vanish. I have felt myself growing weary ever since our latest batch of dragonlings hatched last spring.

I never wanted offspring. I never wanted to be a father, but after my eldest sons Orik and Ultar were hatched I thought… I thought things might be different. I loved my sons.

For two, maybe three centuries, it was just the four of us. We flew together nearly every day. Then the triplets came. Then another brood of two. Then another of five.

Seventeen dragonlings in all, that is until the latest batch gave us four more.

I can’t stand the noise. I can’t get anything done. I have no time to myself. It’s infuriating

A piercing cry rips me back into the dark forest.

My head snaps up, eyes sweeping across the peaceful lake. I snake my nose up over the sequoia roots, studying the grounds all around me. I can see nothing in this area. Even the birds and rats instinctively avoid me.

Another cry echoes through the trees. The sound is claws across stone, cloying at my sleepy mind. I push myself up onto my feet, pins and needles tingling through my old joints. I rise up on my hind legs, extending my serpentine neck as high as possible. Still, I see nothing.

I bare my teeth in irritation, letting out a low growl.

A third cry cuts through the forest. This time, I can at least pinpoint the direction.

I bound into the air, flying low over the sprawling lake. Low enough that my talons dip into the black waters.

I follow the cry, now a constant droning wail. Fire roils in my maw, flames lashing out from between sharp teeth.

Whatever is making that noise, disturbing my slumber, won’t live long enough to regret the mistake.

At the far side of the lake, I veer around a massive trunk, landing directly over the source of the noise. I suck in a breath, rearing back and bracing for the coming inferno.

Then I saw it.

The blaze dies in my throat.

In the faint light of the half-moon, a tiny creature cowers beneath my gaze.

A pink little thing no taller than a wolf.

It’s human. But it’s young. Its scraggly dark hair covering much of its face, a long, tattered tunic adorning its petite frame. I turn my snout to get a closer look, my eye—almost as big as its head—mere inches from its face. I have the child pinned to the ground, not with paw or talon, but with terror. It tries to scoot away, its screams stuck in its mouth.

The creature is pitiful. Tiny. Weak. No way it could survive here on its own. No way it got here on its own. I wonder about what brought it here. But my indifference toward the child itself and annoyance at being so rudely awakened outweighs my curiosity.

I snort a column of smoke across the child’s face, lifting my heavy form away from it. I spin around, my tail whipping over its head. I walk away, leaving it lying on its back in the dirt.

“Hello.” Comes the faintest of whispers.

So faint, I think the night is playing tricks on my ears. I shake head, the motion rippling down my snakelike neck.

“Hello.” Again. Louder and more solid this time.

I snap my head up, peering up over my body. Now that the child is standing, I get a better look at it. It’s caked nearly head to toe in muck. Some fresh from a moment ago, but most dried and flaking off its light skin. Dark, tight curls cascade in a tangled mess to its shoulders. Its clothes are ripped and threadbare, being held on in places by little more than a few strings.

When it lets its arms fall to its sides, I notice something odd about one of its hands.

Now, I am quite familiar with humans. I’ve had plenty of run-ins with them over the centuries. So, I am fairly certain its hand is not supposed to look like that. Instead of their normal five fingers, one hand only has two opposing digits, a deformity likely considered a handicap by its people.

“Can…Can you help me?”

I slowly turn back toward it, my head cocking out of curiosity as much as confusion. I wouldn’t suspect such a little thing to be able to speak. Its voice is small and timid, but the child no longer cowers from me. It rubs its eyes with the back of its hand, its tears rubbing away some of the grime.

“P-please. I’m all alone.” It whines. “I don’t know where I am.”

A renewed stream of tears trickles down its cheeks, leaving muddy lines in their wake.

A wave of discomfort washes over me as I stare at the strange sight before me. I’ve never liked crying. We dragons don’t exactly produce tears, but our young cry and wail all the same. The entire prospect disquiets me.

I spin on my heels, unfurling my wings. With a bounding leaps, I launch myself into the air, my leathery wings laboring against the cool night air. I soar out over the lake once more, determined to leave the child far behind.

Its pitiful visage flashes through my thoughts.

I fly harder and faster, trying to push the child out of my mind, but I can’t escape it.

In my distraction, I nearly smash into one of the giant trees. I’m able to slow myself just enough and catch myself. I latch on to the tree, stabilizing myself with my wings. My talons dig deep into the bark, stopping me from plummeting.

A strange series of feelings presses against me in equal measure—pity, guilt…even compassion.

But most of all, my sense of honor will not let me abandon the helpless wretch.

I don’t want this. I want peace and quiet hundreds of leagues from here, but I cannot have this child’s blood on my conscience.

With a snort of displeasure, I throw myself away from the tree, gliding back the way I’d come.

When I spot the child again, it’s walking away. The little thing toddles through the dark, searching desperately, naively for protection.

I swoop down behind it, landing silently only a few meters away. I reach out with my mind, probing, trying to touch the child’s thoughts without frightening it.

“What is your name, girl?”

She is surprised by my voice echoing inside her head. She looks around, searching for the source.

“You need not fear me, little one.” I meter my thoughts, making them as calming as I can. This time, she sees me. Her eyes go wide as she realizes I’ve come back. “What is your name?”

“P—Poppy.” She sniffles.

“Hello, Poppy.” I greet, tipping my head in acknowledgement. “I am Serpentarius. It is nice to meet you.”

“Serp…erpen…Pentar?”

I chuckle at her attempts. Clearly her verbal skills are…still developing. “Sure. Pentar.”

“Hi, Pentar.” Encouraged, a smile breaks through the muck and sadness.

“Where are your parents, Poppy?”

“I don’t know.” She whines.

“Where do you live?”

“In a village.”

“Do you know where your village is, little one?”

“No.”

“How did you get here?”

“I don’t know. I was sleeping.”

I breathe a heavy sigh. I’m not getting anywhere with the child. She is too young to be of any help.

“Wait here.” I command.

I unfurl my wings and launch straight into the air. I allow myself to catch an updraft and soar high above the sequoia treetops. I circle for several minutes, scanning the area for any signs of human activity.

Then I spot it, multiple columns of smoke rising from a clearing several leagues way. The little village is home to only a smattering of houses. The single street running through is dark and unoccupied.

Unsurprising. Humans have always been fearful of the night.

Very wise of them, I would argue. Such small and fragile creatures should fear what they cannot see. Many things larger and stronger than they haunt the dark. Myself included.

I pull my wings in tighter, allowing myself to drift ever downward toward waiting child. She stands right where I left her, having not moved more than an inch. Good. She can follow instructions.

“I found a village not far from here. I will take you.”

“Okay.”

“Climb onto my back. We will fly.”

She’s hesitant at first, but eventually approaches me. I bend down, extending my wing to make climbing easier. She clumsily tries to scramble up but lacks coordination. After a moment of impatiently watching her struggle, I swing my head around and grasp her in my jaw, careful to avoid my sharper teeth. I lift her gingerly and place her between the spikes at the base of my neck.

She’s surprised by the assistance at first, but quickly starts laughing. The sound is one of pure joy. Despite being terrified only moments ago.

An image of my son Orik as a hatchling flashes through my mind. His emotions were as fickle as winds. He would cry and wail one second then get distracted by something else and laugh like nothing happened. Oh, how strange the minds of children.

I push the thought from my mind, a touch of guilt seeping in in its wake.

“Hold on tightly.” I tell her. “Do not let go.”

“Yes, sir, Pentar.”

As gently as I can, I push myself off the ground and into the sky. I catch the same updraft as before, once again circling high into the air. Once above the trees, I angle toward the meager village.

For the duration of the flight, Poppy inundates me with near inaudible commentary of our surroundings. She’s fascinated…enthralled by the sights. She cannot contain her laughter.

I cannot blame her. She is one of few humans to experience this, though I doubt she understands the magnitude of that.

More than once, I have to prevent her from slipping off my back, reminding her to hold on.

Despite that, I find her endearing.

When we get close to the village, I drop down behind a giant tree. Against every instinct, I make as much noise as I can to stir the villagers. Soon, the glows from several torches make their way into the street. Murmuring villagers pour out of their homes searching for the cause of the commotion.

Still hidden, I lift Poppy from my back and set her on her feet.

“Go.” I urge.

Before emerging from the shadows, she flashes me a huge grin—the kind of grin only an innocent child could muster—then runs out to rejoin her people.

I turn to leave, but something stops me. I can’t help but peek around the tree, careful to stay in the shadows. I watch Poppy run…well, more like waddle… toward the gathering crowd. The villagers in the street—mostly men— are focused on their search, no one noticing Poppy’s approach.

“Uncle!” She shouts.

Several of the men look around for the small voice, but one freezes in place. He slowly turns toward the child, a horrified expression adorning his bearded face. When other villagers notice her, a whisper spreads across the crowd.

I only catch snippets, but something isn’t right here.

“Uncle!” Poppy shouts again, this time toddling toward the bearded man.

“STAY BACK!” He screams, his voice cracking with the effort. “Stay away from me!”

The whispers grow louder. I can hear them now.

“Cripple.” Says one.

Another mutters a prayer to the gods.

“I thought they dealt with that.” I hear. Bile rises in my throat, disgust at their treatment of the girl.

Poppy freezes in her tracks, no longer sure what to do. She glances back toward my hiding place but does not see me.

“Un—uncle?” She mutters, unsure of what to do. She steps forward, but the villagers recoil. Only her uncle stands his ground.

I can’t help but pity her, true. But I feel more anger than anything. How could these people turn their backs on an innocent child?

She hesitantly toddles forward, reaching out to him. He tries to pull away, but she grabs the side of his nightshirt.

“Get off me!” He squeals, slinging his hand through the air. A resounding smack echoes through the clearing as Poppy staggers backward. With fear and rage in his eyes, he swoops down, grasping Poppy’s tunic at her shoulders.

Unbridled fury courses through me like a raging storm held back only by my will.

Before he can do anything else, I leap from the shadows— teeth bared, a low rumbling growl escaping my throat. Fire roils in my maw, itching to taste the aggressor’s flesh.

Uncle’s eyes slowly rise from the child, taking in my ferocious form. Several of the villagers scream and run from terror. Few brandish torches and tools. As if their meager weapons pose a threat.

“REMOVE YOUR HANDS.” I command, the force of my thought slamming into all of their minds.

Several of those remaining drop their weapons and bolt after the others.

My focus remains on Uncle. Uncle who stands frozen before me. Uncle who has yet to release Poppy.

“RELEASE HER.” I force my thoughts into his head. He cries out in pain, dropping Poppy’s tunic and clutching his temples.

Now free, Poppy runs around me, taking refuge behind my hindlegs.

“RUN.” I push the thought to anyone stupid enough to still be in my presence. The remaining scatter. Save for Uncle. The vermin, just regaining mobility, tries to scurry away. “NOT YOU.”

The force of my mind knocks him to the ground again. He rolls onto his back cowering beneath my gaze.

To hurt a child is unforgivable. To do so in front of me is a death sentence.

“Close your eyes, child.” I whisper gently in Poppy’s mind.

I suck in a deep breath, spreading my jaws wide. With a flick of my neck, a jet of flame sprouts from my maw, bathing the cockroach in shining blue.

A second later, darkness returns to the little village, the last remnants of Uncle smoldering in the dirt.

With the grisly task done, I turn back to the child. She still has her hands over her eyes. “Come. We are leaving this place.”

Excitedly, she reaches out to me as I go to lift her on my back, her imperfect hand trying to grip my snout.

And together, we fly into the night.

Together, we travel far from the bigoted village.

I care for Poppy for quite a while. I watch her grow. I raise her. And before I know it, she is hunting alongside me.

Despite her…disadvantage…Poppy learns to fight and hunt and fish. She is curious and brilliant.

I don’t know when exactly it happened, but she became my child…in all but blood.

Years pass like minutes, and suddenly two decades have come and gone. It is only a blink… a drop in the bucket in my lifespan, but Poppy is a grown woman now. As much as I care for her, I can tell the separation from other humans weighs heavily.

For myself, I have not returned to my brood in all this time.

At first, I wanted a break. I wanted adventure. Poppy gave me that. We traveled the world, saw sights unreachable by land. Over time, it became easier to not return.

Besides, how could I explain Poppy to them? Humans aren’t exactly welcome in my land. Far too many wars have been fought between our peoples. I could not ask my mate to set that aside.

As time creeps by, I notice a shift in Poppy.

She looks longingly at the cities and people as we fly overhead. She asks about humans often, wondering about their culture, their beliefs, their technologies. Though we are as close as ever, I know in her heart she wants to be among her own people. If only to slake her curiosity.

I have watched her come into her own all this time, and I hold nothing but pride and love for her.

As we sit by the fire tonight, I listen to her tell fictional stories of fantastical adventurers, a ritual we started years ago. I am captivated by her tall tales, as she all but dances around with her gesturing.

In this moment, she reminds me of Ultar. He was always so animated. He could entertain his siblings for hours joking and carrying on. He has wanderlust as bad as I, but he always came home to share his adventures.

A pang of guilt and sadness cross over me. In this flash of anguish, I realize how badly I miss my family. I yearn to see them again, and not just Orik and Ultar, but all of them. My daughters: Freya, Junara, Zel, Althea, Sigrid, Revna. My sons: Podric, Rohir, Mythrax, Torsten.

And my mate: Kinra.

Oh, my dear sweet Kinra. Would she forgive me for my disappearance?

I long for her. For her touch more than I can express.

“Little one.” I say flatly.

“Hm? Is something wrong, Pentar?”

A sad smile cracks my face, amused by her use of the childish nickname. “There is something we must discuss.”

“Oh?” She sits down hard on a log. Leaning back, she crosses her legs, folding her hands behind her head. “What’s that?”

I take a deep breath, steadying my resolve, “I think it’s time you return to the humans.”

A deafening silence falls over our camp. Poppy stares at me, eyes wide, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“I—I—” She finally manages. “I…What are you talking about?”

“I see the way you look to their cities. I hear the way you ask about them. I feel you lean off my back for better views. You belong with them, and I think you feel it too.”

“It’s…curiosity that’s all!” She protests. “I wouldn’t even know what to do around them!”

“You will learn.”

“No. No. I’m not…You can’t leave me.” Shocked tears well in her eyes, the liquid twinkling in the firelight.

“I must. But, more importantly, you must leave me. It is for your own good.”

We go back and forth, arguing about this decision. She begs me not to do this. More than once, I almost cave, her heartbreaking pleas tearing me apart. But I hold firm. By the end, she resigns herself to it.

In the morning, Poppy packs camp and takes her place atop by back without a word. I launch us into the air, feeling her tightly grasping my spines. When I touch her mind, I can feel her anguish resonate with my own.

And my heart shatters.

After flying a few hours, I spot a small human city nestled between a cliff and the sea. I delay landing as long as I can, wanting to spend every last second with my found daughter.

I set down in the woods not far from the road. Poppy slides off my back, gathering her bedroll, but she hesitates to leave.

“Will you visit me?” She asks, unable to look me in the eye.

“One day, I will.” I offer. “At sunrise, look to the west. When I return, that is how you will know.”

With a last parting hug, Poppy turns away, rushing off to her own kind. Despite the weight on my heart, I know this is the right thing.

With a last glance, I leap into the air and fly toward home.

Several week and thousands of miles later, I spot the mountains I called home for so many centuries. I swoop to the landing outside our cave and land with an audible thunk. I hesitate at the doorstep, unsure of what I could say.

Slowly, but surely, two adolescent dragons— one brilliant blue like me, the other shimmering gold like her mother— emerge from the cave. Mythrax and Sigrid. They look at me as though I am a stranger, but I recognize them immediately.

From behind them, Kinra stalks out. She stands tall, regal, glistening in the early morning sun. She stares into my eyes, deciding, I’m sure, what she should say.

I drop my head, shamed by my actions. I step up to her, placing my head at her feet, a sign of respect and apology. It symbolizes putting yourself at the other’s mercy. If she wished, she could crush neck or gouge my eyes.

Instead, I feel her snout brush against my neck. The gentleness startles me, but I feel her mind touch mine.

“I am glad you are alive, husband.” Her words echo in my ear. “You will make up the rest to me later.”

It was not a suggestion.

Over several months, the rest of my offspring return home for various reasons. Each one of them justifiably angry with me. Orik and Ultar both ream me out for abandoning their siblings. They care deeply for them and picked up my slack, despite having broods of their own.

It takes time, but eventually I make peace with all of them. I watch my youngest five grow into fine young dragons, each strong and powerful and intelligent in their own right.

I do not see Poppy again for another half century.

By then she is growing old and gray. She has children as old as she was when we parted, and grandchildren on the way.

She never ceased being the bullheaded, determined, frenetic woman I watched grow up.

We sat together for hours, then days, catching up on our lives.

When it came time to part once again, it was exactly like fifty years ago for me. I nearly wept as she turned away from me this time.

The main difference: this time, she was content. We each had our families to return to, but we’ll always be a part of each other.

I leave knowing this may be the last time I see her, but…

I leave knowing she’ll be alright.

familyFantasyLoveShort Story
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About the Creator

Kevin Barkman

Somehow, my most popular story is smut. I don't usually write smut. I did it once, and look what happened. Ugh.

Anyway, Hope you enjoy my work. I do pour my heart, soul, sweat and tears into it.

PS: Please read more than my smut story.I beg

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