Hide Nor Hair

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. But usually there were at least a dozen. Often, the exact variety depends on the weather. On a sunny day you can usually expect to see a few glinting Flares, some stony Rock-Gobblers, a handful of zipping Whistle-Wings, and never less than a troupe of hanging Leaf-Bobbers all mulling about in the Valley. You would never see a Flare on a rainy day, but you might see a whole colony of Mud-Slithers! The Valley was usually a treasure trove of dragon activity, which is why dragonologist Eris Fenley loved the place.

Eris practically lived in the Valley; binoculars, sketchbook, and notebook all on hand. Day and night, all year round, she observed the dragons going about their lives. She picked up on their habits and personalities, on how they interacted with one another. Flares were flashy, but surprisingly shy and she had seen them hide under their reflective wings whenever too many other dragons were looking. Rock-Gobblers seemed like slow and glutinous creatures, but the rough-skinned giants ate far less than most other species; and while they were as snail-paced as a tortoise, they were very graceful and almost light when they did move. Whistle-Wings could be quite bold and impish, Leaf-Bobbers were acrobatic, and she had seen the extremely affectionate nature of Mud-Slithers on more than just a few occasions. And she had made many more observations than that. All carefully recorded in neat letters and drawings on looseleaf papers which were later bound into volume after volume.

However, today there weren’t any dragons in the Valley. Not only today, but for the last five days she had not seen so much as a dropped scale or passing shadow. Eris couldn’t guess where all the dragons went off to. If this were only her first year in the Valley, she may have believed they were migrating. But this wasn’t her first year. She had been out to the Valley nearly every day for the last eleven years. The dragons had never disappeared for so long before, and never so unanimously. It was as if they had some secret dragon council and had decided to move en masse. As far as she could tell, the Valley was the same as it always was. The weather had varied as much as was typical for late summer, and even the amount and quality of available food didn’t seem to be a problem. So where were her beloved dragons?

***

Eris paused a moment outside the wide wooden door and took a deep breath. She could hear and feel the vibrations of the people talking inside, the jovial raucous energy of the place overwhelmed her senses. Strong smells would hit her from every direction—scant few would be pleasant—and she would inevitably draw curious eyes as she made her way to the counter. Afterall, she was quite small and weak compared to the average adventurer; it certainly didn’t help that she instinctively curled in their presence, as if she could hunch or contort herself into invisibility.

They frightened her.

Even so, they were her best bet. For the dragons, she reminded herself. This is for the dragons, she urged herself forward. Finally, she opened the door built to accommodate people much larger than herself, feeling the weight swing on its hinges. She could just barely hear a bell jingle above her and felt it was out of place. She wasn’t noticed right away, but a few steps into the venue was plenty of time for the other occupants to see her. They could probably tell she was new. The regulars would definitely know, watching from the seats and tables they had all but written their names on. She cast her eyes down.

Mercifully, the path to the request counter was open. She darted to it. Placing her hands on the polished wood and looking up into the eyes of the receptionist, she spoke too quickly.

“Sorry, say that once more miss?” The dark-haired young man behind the counter leaned forward.

“The dragons are missing. I want to place a request for someone to find them. Please.” Eris tapped her forefinger anxiously against the counter. She could feel the eyes on her back. The receptionist efficiently took down the details of her request, making no comment about the nature of it. So long as she had the money to pay for it the guild didn’t care.

“There, all set. The posting fee and reward?” He looked up expectantly, waiting as she pulled the hemp purse from the hidden pocket of her cloak. She slid it across to him with a gentle clank and a scuff. Just like that it was over; far less painful than she’d anticipated. Soon her request would be tacked to the board and then it was a matter of waiting for someone to accept it.

She heard a loud scoffing behind her. “Of course, the drag’ns ‘re all gone! They smelled the blood o’ their dead on me and ran away!” She turned to see a rough man boasting loudly. He was broad shouldered and tall, his arms and legs thick like young trees. And covered in scars, so many scars. And drunk. He was also clearly very drunk because—

“I very much doubt that.” Eris spoke up softly, but they heard. His company had been laughing and smacking his back supportively. But they were all wrong. “Unless it was a sick dragon, or a hatchling, you wouldn’t be able to kill one. Not even of the smaller species.”

His booze-pinked face scrunched in offense. “And what woulda weaklin’ like you know abou’ killing drag’ns?” He stumbled towards her slightly, gesturing at her much smaller frame with a dark near-empty bottle. Some other patrons around them began to quiet as they took notice of the challenge. To the drunken man’s credit, he did not make any move to hurt her.

Eris huffed and fidgeted her hands together in front of her, turning fully to face him. It was obvious. “Your sword. Unless you have another of higher quality; even the best iron sword isn’t strong enough to cut through the scales of a healthy dragon.” She waved her hand at the iron broadsword strapped across his back. It was impressive; with a shiny well-tended blade and dark redwood hilt carved in the shape of an eagle. But any dragonologist worth their salt knows dragon scales are harder than iron, harder than most metals, in fact.

He frowned deeply, brooding at her. Eris tensed under his gaze. Then he began to guffaw, left arm belting his stomach. The other adventurers around them had similarly amused expressions, or else hadn’t cared to begin with.

“Oh man, she called you!” Presumably his friend said as he slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand a couple times.

Eris was confused. But she had finished her business at the guild. She decided to leave, turning.

“Ah, wai’ miss, what’s your name? Mine’s Abram!” If she couldn’t see it, she still could have heard the wide-smiled cheer in his voice. She turned back to see him gesturing for her to sit at their table.

“…Abram? My name is Eris Fenley.” She nodded politely, trekking closer through her nerves. Her heartrate was still too fast as she accepted the seat, and then he sat. Even sitting, he hulked over her.

“Eris Fenley?” A previously quiet woman with a long spear beside her leaned forward. “As in, the famous dragonologist of Harthwren? That Eris Fenley?” She raised her brows in exaggerated surprise. Eris nodded.

“Famous is a rather strong word for it, but yes, last I checked I was the only Eris Fenley around that studys dragons.” They looked suitably impressed as they ordered her a drink, continuing to pepper her with questions and share stories of their adventures.

“So, what’s all this abou’ the drag’ns goin’ missing, anyhow?” Abram asked. Eris shifted in her wooden seat.

“I don’t know,” her mouth tightened, “they’re just gone.” She could feel her eyes water. “All of them.” She looked at her hands resting on the table.

Abram reached a large hand slowly to her back, intent on offering comfort. Eris tilted her head up suddenly, sitting straighter than she had before. Abram froze at the firm set of her eyes.

“But I will find them.” She declared.