How to Mend the Broken Heart of a Dragon

“Dammit! Not another one.” Gravanmore sighed deeply, smoke issuing from his nostrils as he exhaled. “Why do they keep giving me their children?” The earth shook as he paced. “I wasn't even a good father to my own kit, what makes them think I'm capable of raising another two-leg.” The dragon ran his scaled hand down his face as though he could erase the image of the small human seated before him.

The child tilted its head, slowly swinging it back and forth, before reaching for the massive beast.

“Oh, no,” he howled. “I am not taking you in.” Gravanmore quickly backed away, tripping over his tail in the process. Hitting the ground with a resounding thud, the child chortled at the sight of the ferocious animal flailing about like a beached whale.

With wings and arms entangled, the mighty dragon leaned back in resolution. Laughter pealed through the caverns, bouncing from the stonework that bracketed the door. Dust drifted from the ceiling, tickling Gravanmore's sensitive snout.

“Achoo!” A twenty-foot burst of flame erupted from his nose, singeing the edge of the oak wardrobe and illuminating the buried crystals in the rock surrounding them.

The child's laugh became a coo of amazement as light danced among the quartz facets before fading from view.

“Again! Again!” Clapping with glee, the small human implored the dragon to recreate the magical vista on the cave roof.

“...no...” Gravanmore finally replied. His limbs sorted, he sat up and stared at the toddler. The boy couldn't be more than three or four, barely out of swaddlings. The dragon smacked his forehead in disgust. At least he wouldn't have to house-train it.

Peering out the front opening, he cast his gaze down the path to the closest village. Nothing moved. He could smell smoke from their fires. And the scent of livestock. But no noise carried to him on the dying breeze. Dense clouds clustered overhead foretelling a nasty night. These brief moments of stillness might be the last until morning.

A tug on his tail brought him back to his newest quandary. The child.

“Bapi?”

Oh, good grief.

“No, not bapi.” Gravanmore groaned. He was certainly old enough to be the kit's grandfather, but there was no way he was taking that role. Not again.

In three hundred years of existence, sixty-seven of them in proximity to this village, he had taken in five tiny humans. After losing Schwen, he just couldn't raise another. Why they couldn't live longer than a mere sixty years baffled the mighty beast. Gravanmore hardened his heart. This one would have to go back. It was time to move from here, to find a more secluded valley, where humankind had not yet arrived. Somewhere he could live, unmolested by chewing toddlers with their drool. He flicked his tail out of reach, causing the toddler to stumble.

“Bapi?” The boy's voice broke as tears welled up in his baby-blue eyes.

The dragon's shoulders slumped in defeat. Why did children come equipped with such weapons? He had always been a sucker for their big eyes. And by the time they grew into them, you couldn't give them back. Gravanmore sighed and turned away. Maybe if he ignored it, the child would wander off and find its way home.

Instead, he felt the faintest tickle of tiny hands and feet as the toddler climbed over his tail and snuggled into the pocket created by his massive legs. Trailing a frayed blanket, the child tucked itself in and was soon sleeping. Gravanmore raised his snout, his shoulders dropping even further. Now, what was he supposed to do? You never wake a sleeping dog—er, child.

Hours later, the dragon resorted to picking the child up and depositing it in the wardrobe. He needed to hunt and it would be best if the youngster did not wander about the woods at night. He would have to take him home in the morning. Stretching the kinks out of his stiff muscles, he flopped his wings open to let the blood flow, preparing for his evening flight. A sniff of the breeze confirmed the storm was still hovering in the distance, but he should have an hour to find something tasty.

“Bapi! Bapi!” Cries tinged with fear and a hurried pounding on the oak door announced the child's awakening. Gravanmore cracked the door open, intent on reassuring the toddler, not removing it from its place of protection.

“Bapi!” Small arms reached for him, tear stains on the child's cheeks melting the dragon's heart one more inch. The boy scrambled out of the opening and clung to the scaly arm as though it were a life raft on a turbulent sea. So much for his hunt. Gravanmore's stomach grumbled in protest. It was bad enough to miss a meal when there were no bones left to snack on. Looked like he would be missing a few more until he sorted out this mess.

Thunder rolled through the clouds, chasing the lightning that creased the sky. Well, it appeared the child had saved him from a thorough soaking. Rain pelted down. The rapidly darkening twilight lit up briefly with each shaft of electricity. There would be nothing to hunt during this storm.

“All right, kit,” Gravanmore said. “Let's take a walk or something.” With the child attached to his arm as though it was a burr, the mighty dragon lumbered deeper into the cavern. Remembering times past and the fears Schwen faced upon his first foray into the darkness, Gravanmore stopped to flick a tiny flame into the lantern hanging near the back wall. Feeble light pushed the black back just far enough for the child to see. Gravanmore had no use for the flickering light, nor the adjacent shadows, but it might keep the toddler from crying again. He really didn't want to comfort a scared kit any more than necessary. It could go home tomorrow.

The noise of the storm faded into the background as they moved farther into Gravanmore's catacombs. Side chambers glistened with gold and silver. The walls seeped with moisture and the air became heavy. Moss and iridescent lichen appeared in the cracks of the footpath leading to the dragon's home. From beyond his sight came the ever-present drip and trickle of the waterfall, the droplets bouncing from the rocks to play in the pool of indigo water at the centre of the cavern. Here, the mighty beast could relax, well beyond the sight of intolerant humans.

Here, too, lay the memories of his last house guest, of Schwen. Brought to him at the ripe old age of six, Schwen had followed Gravanmore through the tunnels on his own. The dragon had tried to repel the child. Had even left him in the front chamber without light. Schwen had been too stubborn, too scared, and too smart to stay behind.

Gravanmore picked up a piece of paper from a pile on the floor. He had tossed Schwen's things around after his death, unable to process the grief. A silver tear slipped down the scales of his cheek to splash on the painting. It was so unfair, that he should lose his friend. The pain was too much. He had raised the boy – well, they had raised each other, made the other better. Gravanmore learned to be more tolerant, learned how to be a friend instead of a guardian.

Schwen was the only one to stay beyond a few years. The others had made their way to the surface and vanished. The dragon knew that heartache would surely follow if he kept this kit. He resolved to return the child to the village in the morning. For the moment though, he needed to take care of the basics.

Tossing his head in a circle, he shot out a delicate burst of flame to ignite the oil pits carved in the walls. Fire lept to caress the rocks adding heat and warmth to the dank underground cave.

“Now, kit, I am going to put you down. Don't fall in the water.” Gravanmore was serious and stern, a tone he had adopted when Schwen was little. A shake of a talon reinforced the order as he set the boy on the floor.

Disentangled from the child, Gravanmore stepped back. Casting a look about, he realized how little he had cared about his living condition over the past few months. He sighed and began the arduous task of putting away anything too small or too dangerous for a kit. After sixty years, he was back to caring for an infant.

“This is annoying,” Gravanmore whined. “I was just getting used to the mess.”

Stacks of books collected during their forays to distant lands still smelled of Schwen. They probably always would. Gravanmore's heart clenched. Everywhere his eyes landed, he could still see his friend, an invisible reminder of life's impermanence. More tears dropped to decorate the stones, the granite mirroring his movements as the puddle spread. Great sobs wracked the dragon as he sat back on his haunches, his wings drooping with grief.

From the corner of his eye, Gravanmore spotted the kit, the child's wobbly gait making slow progress on the slippery surface. Concern for the child's safety forced the dragon to wipe away the remnants of his pity party and guide the boy away from the water's edge.

“Bapi,” the child said firmly. “Bapi sad.”

“Yes,” Gravanmore admitted. “Bapi sad.”

“I help?” the boy asked, as he climbed up onto Gravanmore's lap. The child pulled the blanket up to cover the dragon's knee before patting it gently. “I share.”

Gravanmore smiled through the veil of fresh tears. His heart burst open at the gesture. The pair sat and watched as the oil lamps cast shadow pictures across the ceiling.

“Bapi better?”

“Thank you, kit,” the dragon said, stroking the child's head. “Bapi better.”