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Kindred

A Hidden Worlds Origin Story

By Lilly CooperPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 25 min read
7
Cover Art credit: Lee Hunter

The scent reached him down wind before the sound of boy’s steps did, rousing him from sleep. Lazily, he got to his feet and stretched, just like a dog. Not that anyone would ever say that to the dragon. He lifted his snout to sniff the delightful scent on the air, spreading his wings to their limit before snapping them shut again with a leathery slap.

- Mmmmmm, he gave a guttural purr, maybe I won’t have to hunt tonight. It seems dinner may be coming to me.

He stalked down from the rise he had been sunning on, following the smell and sounds of clumsy foot falls in the underbrush surrounding the clearing. Listening carefully, he judged where the noisy creature would break through and planted himself squarely in the trajectory of his prey. The setting sun shone from behind him, skimming the canopy of the trees which would blind the prey, giving him the advantage of surprise.

“Don’t even think about it Beag!” Sean stepped out of the tree line, hefting the sheep carcass he carried across his shoulders to the floor with a grunt. “Unless you don’t want me to bring your favorite meal anymore.”

- You were excessively noisy, Beag responded haughtily, that is very dangerous.

His friend snorted. “Rubbish. You despise the taste of human flesh. Besides, I know better than to creep up on a sleeping dragon.”

The dragon, roughly twice the size of his human friend, dipped his head towards the sheep trying hard not to drool. He had started salivating when he first caught a whiff. Now he was struggling not to lose control like a common house pet.

- How kind of you to bring one without it’s wool. Thank you, Deartháir.

Sean smiled at Beag’s endearment, meaning Brother in Gaelic, gave a nod and made his way across the clearing to the low cave that was the dragon’s lair to set up camp, as he had every Friday night for the last few of years. He tended to travel light, with just a bed roll and the basics he needed to hunt, catch or forage for his food and a change of clothing. He was quite accomplished at finding food in the woods. Beag supposed that anyone with the same start to life as Sean would probably have developed the same skills.

Then again, possibly not, he mused.

By the time the dragon finished the last morsel of his meal, the small camp was complete with cracking fire and Sean had headed to the stream with his fishing line. Licking his toothy maw, he ambled over to the cheery blaze and lay down, staring into the flames. Dragons didn’t need the warmth of a fire. Their unique circulatory system adapted to the ambient temperature meaning they rarely felt cold or hot, but Beag found the dancing flames, the drifting embers and the red glowing coals mesmerising. He had been feeling a bit nostalgic recently and staring into the fire bought memories of a very different time in his life bubbling to the surface.

Today he was a fairly impressive, even fierce looking apex predator who commanded respect from both the other members of his species and other creatures in the woods he called home. However, it had not always been this way. He had been the runt of six siblings from the same clutch at nearly half the size of his siblings. His name, Beag, was Gaelic for small.

Survival fifteen years ago had been tough for dragons. The constant threat from humans kept dragons to a limited area of land. The most immediate danger however came from their own kind.

Dragons fought and killed each other for food and territories. Hatchlings learned early to fight and hunt, competitively practicing on one another and the runt had been an easy target for his siblings. Hunting him became a game for the others that his parents encouraged. So much so that he rarely found a moments peace. Meals were no different. The strongest got the lion’s share of the food, muscling out smaller, weaker or less aggressive siblings. Beag survived on the scraps he could steal, and the lack of nutrients kept him undersized. However, it was possibly a combination of being smaller and having to be quick that ultimately saved his life the day a rival dragon looking for territory attacked his family. He was able to run and hide in a fissure in a large rock. After that, he found himself alone.

He survived hunting small animals and insects, foraging and stealing scraps from the others. It wasn’t an easy life, he had to duck and weave to avoid being caught but it was a life he was accustomed to. It was how he had come to the peaceful clearing he now called home. He had taken a risk stealing a morsel of a bigger dragon's who retaliated by giving chase. It didn’t take Beag long to work out he had possibly pushed his luck too far this time. Every trick and tactic Beag had learned, his pursuer countered. So, he did the only thing he could think to do in a moment of pure desperation.

He made a mad headlong dash for the human hiking trails.

Fear of discovery by humans had been written into every dragon’s blood since Lig Na Paiste, the last great dragon, had been ruthlessly imprisoned by Murrough O’Heaney, who was later made a Saint for his deed. An aged member of a Druid brotherhood used the last of his energy to cast a glamour on the dragons of the Emerald Isle, hiding them as common animals such as birds and wolves. The magic was not absolute however. Some rare humans could see through it. While rare sightings were usually laughed off as pure fancy, dragons still avoided areas frequented by humans instinctively.

The closer his mad dash got to one of the trails, the more his pursuer dropped back eventually stopping altogether. Beag kept up his pace, just in case, only slowing when he could see a clearing ahead. Cautiously, the little dragon had approached, on high alert for signs of danger and ready to run at the first sign of a threat. The clearing showed no signs of predator occupation and there was no human scent. With the stream nearby and the low cave, it was perfect for a runt like himself. Beag had found a new home.

Life was still far from easy, but he settled into his clearing and for the first time, he felt something close to peace. His proximity to human activity kept predators away, affording him relative safety. But it also left him alone. Loneliness was nothing new, though that didn’t make it any less intense. Despite circumstance forcing them to live in smaller Thunders than before the Saints George, Patrick and O’Heaney had carved names for themselves in dragon hide, dragons were still pack animals. He had not known love in his life, but he still longed for company.

His wish was granted in the most unexpected way.

The inhabitants of the wood were suffering through the worst winter in collective memory. The stream near Beag’s clearing had frozen over. Snow blanketed everything making hunting and foraging incredibly difficult, forcing him to range further from home than before. He had been tracking a mouse deep in the heart of the woods near the ancient standing stones that had fallen down many years ago. So intent was he on the trail of his prey, he almost ran head-long into the boy. Raising his head at the last moment, Beag skittered to a halt and sat back on his rump with a huff.

Now roughly the size of a medium dog, he sat almost eye to eye with the child who stood regarding him curiously. The intensity of the boy’s startlingly green eyes held the dragon's dark gaze hypnotised before losing his balance and falling squarely on his rear end. Beag blinked and shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. He probably should have been afraid. At a glance, he looked human and children this small were not usually alone. The intense green of his eyes alone marked him as something other than purely human. Matched with the rich mahogany of the unruly hair and skin a little lighter Hazelwood clearly indicated Tuatha Dé Danann blood in his veins. His skin was lighter than the Fay people native to this forest, which Beag suspected meant to child was a half-blood. It was uncommon, but not unheard of. A child resulting from an encounter between the two races often had a variation in coloring though Fay blood was genetically dominant. The physical characteristics were always more Tuatha than human.

The boy’s overall appearance told him a sad story.

His clothing was definitely of Fay origin, clean and tidy, but worn and threadbare like old hand-me-downs. Most likely, the boy’s mother was Fay and his father human. The Fay had long held a fascination with humans, their aristocracy even abducting human babies, leaving their offspring in the infant’s place, known as Changelings. Despite this, the Tuatha Dé Danaan placed great importance on genetic purity, ostracising mothers who tried to keep their half-blood babies. Mothers were made to leave the children in the woods. Some defied orders, leaving their children with the fathers. If she had been unable to find his father, the boy’s mother would not have been given a choice.

The dragon cocked his head to the side, regarding the child. He had never seen a half-blood before, only heard stories when he was young. He was not what Beag had expected. The stories told of abandoned infants, unable to hold their own heads up. This one could stand. Could his mother have kept hidden him long enough for him to grow, giving him a better chance than other half-blood babies?

The boy clumsily climbed back to his feet before lunching forwards to throw his arms around the dragon’s neck. Caught up in the surprise of stumbling across him, Beag stood rooted to the spot as the child held tightly to him.

In that moment, something strange happened. At first, he thought he was feeling just how crushing his loneliness really was. In the child’s embrace, he could feel intense loneliness of a son abandoned, unwanted by those who should love him. A mirror image of his own burden. The mirrored pain was there only long enough for Beag to recognise it before it began to melt away leaving in its absence a light feeling he could not quite identify. Something like the excitement he had felt in finding his home, or when he had found his favorite, a morsel of mutton, left over from someone else’s meal. The feeling was not quite the same, but it was the closest experience he’d had. He was also aware it was not his own feeling. The child was communicating with him somehow, in terms children his age understood. It was a strange experience for Beag, having never experienced joy or known what it felt like to be wanted. To be inundated with the boy’s emotion was overwhelming.

As the boy let go, the intensity of his emotions receded to the background, replaced by a vague feeling of hunger. Beag understood that feeling all too well. He scanned the area. The mouse was gone. He saw no point trying to pick the trail up again, the little rodent would be long gone. There were mushrooms under the tumble-down stones which would do just fine for himself, but the child? At his size, Beag was considered a fully grown dragon. Rarely did a dragon get much bigger particularly with a lack of resources like meat. The child would still be growing and certainly need something more substantial than a couple of mushrooms. He was not going to find much at this time of year, but experience told him there would be some edible soft roots under the cold soil. He put his snout to the ground and went to work.

It was not the best meal either of them had ever had, but it was their first meal together and one the dragon would always remember. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he knew he would have to take the child with him. It would be rough, taking care of a small child. Even with his help, there was a strong possibility the child would not survive, but alone would be certain death. If he didn’t become a desperate creature’s meal, hunger, dehydration or the freezing cold would take him. The affinity he felt with the child inspired a sense of responsibility he could not just walk away from. So he made his way home at the dangerously slow pace of a toddler.

Beag learned a few things about the boy in the years that followed. He could not say more than a couple of words in either English or Gaelic, but when Beag spoke the language of the dragons, the boy understood. In the blood of his mother’s people he had inherited the ability to communicate with dragons, though the ability remained underdeveloped which presented challenges. At what the dragon estimated to be around two years old, he could only express his emotions the same way he had his excitement and hunger when they first met. It took time for the dragon to become proficient at interpreting the boy’s moods and both of them suffered fits of frustration when he could not make his needs understood. But somehow, they managed. In time, they learned to understand each other.

That first winter, communication was just one challenge. Food remained scarce, the only fresh water was locked in ice, predators trespassed in Beag’s territory posed a threat to both of them.

It seemed the most insurmountable challenge was the bitter cold. Beag had never been taught to breathe fire. His parents had concentrated on teaching his larger siblings the offensive skill, seeing no value in teaching it to a runt be used in defense. He had never even tried to breath fire. Avoid it? Sure. Create it? He hadn’t a clue where to start. Out of the wind in his cave was certainly warmer than out in the open, but not by much. The child’s mother must have cared for him very much despite her culture’s expectations, because even though they were a bit worse for wear, he had been dressed in warm clothes. It saved his life that first night. He curled up to Beag’s side and slept soundly, most likely from exhaustion rather than comfort. The dragon watched him throughout the long night, watching intently for signs and sounds of breathing, fretting at every shiver or pause in breath. The next day was marked only by a slight lightening of the cloudy sky. He woke with a jolt. He hadn’t realised he had fallen asleep. He shook himself awake and turned to the boy, looking for breathing. He saw none. His heart skipped a beat before it started racing. He nudged the child with his snout. The child’s exposed skin felt so cold.

Nothing. No response, no breath.

- Nononononono! Please no!

He tried again, nudging harder this time.

The child stirred, burrowing further into Beag’s side. He had never felt so relieved before. The cold of the boy’s skin bothered him though. He needed heat. He carefully pulled himself away from the still sleeping child to search for dry wood. It was not an easy task. Not having hands or opposable thumbs, he could only carry as many sticks and branches as he could fit in his mouth. He would have been humiliated if another member of his proud species had seen him carrying a stick in his mouth like a common dog. Even more so when he tried to be more efficient by carrying more than one piece at a time but only succeeded in dropping the ones he had already picked up and fumbling comically.

With his pile of sticks stacked to the side of the cave plus some in reserve, the dragon sat on his haunches and stared the fuel. He had no idea where to start.

He had once accidentally come upon his father teaching his sister to breathe fire while running from one of his brothers practicing hunting skills. Beag came to a stop, watching in awe as first his father, then his sibling spat a stream of flames across the open space. He had watched, hypnotised as they repeated the action. Unfortunately for him, this distraction gave his brother a chance to catch up. The resulting tussle drew his father’s attention. After that, the lesson had two students and they were encouraged by their teacher to use Beag as fire ball target practice. The memory stirred up something in him. He had never felt anger at his family for mistreating him before, just disappointment and hurt. But now, the sick feeling of hurt in his belly was replaced by a bubbling anger, spurred on by feelings of outrage that the child should have to depend on him for survival, such a poor substitute when his own people were perfectly capable but refused to do what they should. His breath came faster, snorting out of his nostrils in gusts of heated air. Beag focused on his pile of sticks, imagining each one to be someone who had let him down, someone who had let down the boy. His breath steamed at first in the chill air but soon became plumes of smoke. Some primal instinct made him take a deep breath and hold it until he felt his pulse thumping in his ears and the anger fill him to bursting.

Then, he opened his mouth.

The resulting jet of flame startled him so much he jumped back, snapping his jaws shut and cutting off the hot stream.

Fire! He had breathed fire!

- Yes! YES! I AM KING! He shouted leaping into the air in excitement.

He landed from his leap face to face with the child, who was watching him in fascination. Beag gave him the dragon equivalent of a smile and bumped his head against the child’s shoulder, who in turn giggled and grabbed the dragon’s neck to stop from falling.

The following years were some of the best of his life. The boy grew, as children do. They took the majority of what they needed from the forest and what the forest could not provide, they stole from careless hikers and campers. Life was good for them even if it wasn’t easy

The boy would have been around five years old when disaster struck.

Spring bought with it wonders Beag looked forward to all year. Blooms heavy with nectar, honeycomb for anyone with the courage to take on the bees, fresh wild berries, fish roe and bird eggs. Beag, had followed the bank downstream hunting for egg laden duck nests among the reeds of the stream near their home while the boy used his fishing net with some success. This was the time of year they ate the best.

He hadn’t realised how far he had gone from the child when he heard the boy scream. He abandoned his hunt immediately and bounded back the way he’d come. He could hear the child yelling as he came within view of the spot where the boy had been casting his net. It was not overly deep, a full grown adult could walk through only getting up to mid thigh. Just like the man standing on the bank, holding the kicking and screaming child, obviously had. He wanted to yell at the human that the boy was his, to leave him alone! He wanted badly to defend the boy the way he did from animal predators. But he couldn’t. Revealing himself would be catastrophic if he were seen for what he really was.

He knew how this would look to a human. A boy, a skinny child who obviously didn’t bath often, in dirty clothes that didn’t fit him properly, messy and unkempt. The child looked like a runaway, living in the woods alone. The human would not leave the boy here.

He watched as the only friend he had ever known was carried kicking and screaming from his sight.

Knowing that the humans would most likely come to search the area where the boy had been found, he buried the few belongings the child had accumulated over the last few years and the remains of the fire pit too. He turned around in a couple of slow circles, following his tail, before curling up with his tail wrapped around him, his chin on his front paws.

Utterly alone. Again.

If dragons could cry, he would have cried a river.

The humans came to search his clearing as he knew they would, looking for anything that told them what the boy was doing alone deep in the woods. Once they were gone, they did not return. Beag convinced himself that the child was better off with the humans, he was after all part human and not at all dragon. He would learn language faster, he would have a home, a warm bed, regular meals and people his own age. He would be happy.

Time marched forward as time in wont to do. Tired of the infighting amongst the once-proud dragons of the Glenariff Forest, Beag channeled all of his energy into bringing them together as one peaceful community. It was a mammoth task that he took on one step at a time at first with just a couple of supporters. Within two years after they took the boy, the majority of the dragons were working together in an alliance, protecting each other and sharing information. The hatchling survival rate increased dramatically and even in the hardest part of winter, there was enough food to go around. The benefits of the dragon alliance ushered in a period of prosperity they hadn’t seen since the time of the Druids. Beag had personally achieved amazing things his start to life had almost guaranteed were nothing more than dreams. He had found himself a safe home, was an accomplished hunter, fire breather and had become a leader of an extended Thunder.

None of it staved off the heartache he felt when alone in his cave. Telling himself that he was just being vigilant and responsible, he spent as much time as possible patrolling the forest, only returning home when he was exhausted enough to fall asleep immediately.

At the end of one of his patrols, he crossed an unexpected scent. It was strangely familiar, but at the same time different from memory. It took a moment to make his tired mind concentrate enough to pin down what the scent was.

- A half breed!

Beag followed the distinctive scent shed by those of Tuatha Dé Danaan blood to the outskirts of his clearing. Slowing his pace, he bought his head up from the ground, wary of what might be waiting for him. As he stepped through the trees, he zeroed in on a figure standing in the open facing away from him.

- Can I be of assistance? It is not wise to try and creep up on a dragon. He called out, hoping all half breeds were alike in understanding dragon-tongue.

The figure turned slowly to face Beag. A familiar cheeky smile spread across his face.

“Oh, I know better than to do something so silly, Beag.”

Afterwards he always denied what happened next. He bounded over to the boy, now around fifteen years old almost a man and ran around his legs in circles, nudging his torso with his head.

- Boy!!!! Look at you! You grew so much!

The boy-almost-a-man grinned and dropped, putting his arms around his old friend’s neck in a tight hug. “It’s Sean now.”

Beag lit a fire and the two sat and they exchanged stories of the last eight years.

Humans had not taken to the boy the way he had hoped they would. For the longest time, Beag had comforted himself with the thought his friend would be better off with his own kind. He had been housed, fed and educated. To their minds, humans had met their responsibilities to the foundling child. But they had shown him little love. Sean had not been able to understand why until he was older. Rarely did a human maintain eye contact with him, even as a child. They found something strange and off-putting in his appearance. The Tuatha Dé Danaan rejected him for his human blood. The humans rejected him for his Tuatha blood. And being an empath, he knew their feelings.

He had bounced from foster home to foster home until an older lady whose eyes reminded him of his own took him in. She understood him when others seemed incapable. It was in her home he felt almost normal. He had learned to grow food, take care of farm animals, cook and sew under Mrs. Brennan's tutelage. She taught him to light a campfire with flint, navigate by the stars, track through all kinds of terrain and find fibrous plants for weaving. She also tutored him in English, Mathematics and Science, enough to advance him from remedial classes to mainstream school. Sean was grateful for everything the woman had done for him, but he knew he would never be properly accepted in the community.

- I know it’s hard, but you can’t run away. They will come looking for you.

“I know,’ Sean sighed, ‘I tried once when I was younger. I made the edge of the woods before they caught up with me.” Sean looked guilty for a moment. “I explained to her about how important this place is to me; how important you are.... she has given me permission to come to the woods after school finishes for the week. I’ve been looking for the clearing for weeks.”

That had been nearly three years ago. Not everything was just right with the world, but it was much better. Neither felt the intense loneliness they experienced during their separation. The dragon felt it hanging in the balance though. What he had to do.... it was breaking his heart.

“Beag? Beag!” Sean’s voice bought him back to the present and he lifted his gaze from the fire to look at his oldest friend. “Your mind was a mile away. Not still wondering what would have been? If you had sired Aisling’s clutch of hatchlings, are you?”

- No! Beag bowed his head in the dragon equivalent of a blush, bashful an odd look for a creature his impressive size. Of course not!

Sean flashed his cheeky smile before becoming serious again. “What’s bothering you then? And don’t say nothing. Something has been bothering you for weeks. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. We are family. Share your burden with me.”

- Beag sighed. You know about the calling. I know you feel it’s pull through me. So, you know it’s getting stronger.

“Yes, I feel it.” The young man shifted uncomfortably.

- The dragons.... the Thunder has decided to follow the call. Beag let the words out and left them hanging in the air for Sean to absorb.

Sean frowned and the silence dragged out, the popping and crackling of the fire the only sound. “OK. When do we leave.”

- Sean... the dragons leave in two weeks. Before the summer. We will hunt and build up our strength, let the hatchlings grow some more. Then we leave.

“I know what you're thinking. And no, you are NOT leaving me behind. You are my family. I’m eighteen next week, no one will miss me, no one will blame or accuse Mrs. Brennan when I disappear. And there won’t be any dragons to be under threat even if anyone bothers to come looking for me.”

A weight lifted from Beag. He realised his fear had not been telling Sean he could not come. It was that Sean would just accept it and be content to be left behind.

- We didn’t know that all the dragons feel the call and have for some time. Beag blushed again. Aisling remembers her grandparents talking about the call, a pull that drew their attention Eastward. It is getting stronger and more urgent. We have to go.

Sean nodded. “OK. I’ll make my arrangements and I’ll bring you more food, as much as I can.”

Two weeks flew by. Sean said his goodbyes to the one person who had shown him any care and grace in his time with the human community before joining his friend for a journey into the unknown.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, the two stood watching the growing dark in the east.

- Are you ready?

“Absolutely. As long as we are together, we can face anything.”

Beag sighed, glad they had practice what was about to happen before tonight.

- Alright, climb on.

Sean climbed onto the dragon's broad back and held fast to a rope tied around between his fore legs and in front of his wing joints to give him a hand hold.

- So embarrassing, like a common horse! If it were anyone but you....

He laughed. “None could ever mistake you for a horse, Brother! Horses don’t complain!”

Beag couldn’t help but laugh too.

- Hold on tight! Here we go!

With that, Beag crouched, bunching his muscles and launched into the air, beating his wings and gaining height, a thrill running through his veins.

The Thunder of dragons behind them launched as one in what would have been an awe-inspiring majestic display if anyone had been able see it.

Image credit: DALL-E labs.openai.com

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About the Creator

Lilly Cooper

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

I may be an amateur Author, but I love what I do!

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Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insights

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  2. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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Comments (6)

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  • Gideon 6ixabout a year ago

    I really enjoyed the way you developed the dialogue- very good pacing and readability. The story is great, thank you for sharing!

  • Jason Kollsabout a year ago

    The story between these two could be its own short film. I could see the scenes play out and the bond between Sean and Beag was adorable. True friendship goals there. I will say that a few sentences ran long. The first sentence of paragraph 9 is a good example of something that could be broken into two or three lines and not lose any meaning. Some sentences will be long but the ones that are held together by six or more commas will likely flow better when broken apart. That being said, I enjoyed reading your story. I have read what feels like dozens of these dragon challenge stories, and I will happily place yours as one of the top for my "could be made into a Pixar short" list.

  • K. Bensleyabout a year ago

    Awesome story, quick one, was it supposed to say broad back or board back?

  • Antoinette L Breyabout a year ago

    nice story. Liked when the youngster grabbed the dragon around his neck , and he sensed his feelings. I know stated it slightly differently, but it was a cool concept

  • Cathy holmesabout a year ago

    Wonderful story. Well done.

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