Lesser

“I am a dragon.” she tells herself. Technically, she is; as according to the book she’s stolen from those passing wizard scholars, she was indeed a type of dragon. It didn’t feel that way, though…no wings, and no fire, and the size of a hunting dog.

“Lesser Ohricalculum Drake.” she reads, tapping the pages of the book with a claw. Lesser…that was rude. Continuing to read, she’s surprised by the sheer quantity of dragon species that the book details. Was this what wizards studied, then, besides magic? Dragons? She’s pleased to know that she at least counts as one, if only barely.

Something cries nearby. She looks out of a hole from the inside of the tree where she’s made her lair; with sun sparkling over silvery-bronze scales, she curls out of the tree, spines stretching as clawed hands find footholds in old wood. Yellow eyes dilate in the sudden brightness, and soon enough she catches sight of the source of the noise; a rather young human child.

“What’re you doing out here, huh? Some beastie might come along and eat you.” she says, scrambling over to check the apparition out. She didn’t often meet humans.

“Dragon.” the boy says, eyes wide as she curls around him.

“I don’t suppose you speak my language?” she asks.

“A little dragon…” the boy repeats, seeming very interested in her tail. That would be a no, then.

“Hey. Hey, what are you doing?” she asks. Tiny hands are grabbing at her tail, fumbling with the spines and frills on the edge.

“Do not put it in your mouth.” she hisses. The child seems to understand her intent, and freezes.

“Some dragons eat little kids like you, you know that?” she asks.

“Tail.” the kid says.

“You’re really lucky I’m not that type. I wonder…” she says, running off and back up into her tree.

“Come back!” the boy says.

“Shush, I’m just getting my book!” she snips, grabbing the leatherbound item from her small collection of stolen objects. It wasn’t much of a hoard, but she grabbed what she could when she could.

“See? Just this.” she says, placing the book in the grass. “I suppose you’re wondering why I took it. A book is hardly treasure. I guess…I guess I just wanted to make sure if I was a dragon at all.” she sighs.

“Dragon.” the boy says.

“Thank you.” she answers, gratified, and opens the book to the page with her species.

“Danger level…two out of ten. Don’t I get at least a four? What kind of dragons even do get a four?” she wonders, turning a few pages.

“Chainsaw Devil, danger level four out of ten. Native to the country of Darren’s Hold…they live in burrows under the sand and jump out to devour any passers-by they sense the movement vibrations of. They’re named after their rotating rows of teeth that can shred steel and their rumbling growl.” she reads. So that was a four out of ten…she herself had no special claws or fangs, and all she could breathe was smoke.

“Good on you for getting lost in Barrier Forest instead of Darren’s Hold. I wonder what it’s like there…I’ve never been a more than few miles away from this forest, you know? I grew up here.” she says to the child. She’s often seen far greater dragons than herself soaring above, or entering in conflict with the wizards of the local wizard tower.

“Are you a wizard’s kid?” she asks, watching the boy look at the colorful pictures in the book. The art for the Chainsaw Devil is particularly detailed, with close focus on a narrowed green eye. Perhaps she should bring him to the wizard tower. They’ll probably know what to do—and they might even give her some shiny magic bauble as a reward.

“Come on. Let’s go to see the wizards.”

After putting the book back in her tree, she starts pushing the child to follow her as she walks through the forest; aside from occasionally thieving things from wizards who came to collect magical plants from the forest, she didn’t have contact with them much. Luckily for her, Lesser Ohricalculum Drakes were not considered much of a menace (which she had found out both through life experience and through reading the passage on her species in the book), and so the wizards more or less left her alone.

“Can’t you go any faster?” she asks.

“Pretty flower!” the boy says, tugging an orange lily out of the ground. He shoves it in her face.

“Thank you?” she says, taking it between two claws. At a loss of anything else to do, she places it between where her headspines press on her horns.

“Do I look nice?” she asks.

“Pretty flower for the pretty dragon.” the boy says. Oh. All right, then.

The walk to the wizard tower mostly consists of her doing her best to herd the child in the correct direction.

“I’m tired!” he says, sitting on the ground. She flicks her tail at him.

“Don’t you want to get home?” she asks. He doesn’t understand her, though, and lies back on the ground, hands ripping up the leaves of a nearby plant. She watches as bits of green fall to the ground. Well…maybe she can’t expect a human child to travel such a distance so quickly.

“You’re so squishy. Can’t believe you’re going to be a wizard someday.” she says. Wizards—the most powerful of all creatures, really. The more experienced ones could take down even the strongest of dragons; even the ancient wyrms that made their lairs in the burning insides of the earth, on the heights of the coldest mountains. She stole things from wizards, but only what she figured they wouldn’t miss; if a wizard of any decent level of skill came after you, you were more or less doomed.

She sits down, and sighs. She’s not big enough to carry the kid, so…well, they weren’t too far away from the wizard tower. She tilts her head back and whistles; and her whistle is a keening music, slipping with smoke from her teeth. The noise dances into the air, dipping and weaving in tone.

“Music!” the boy says, watching the smoke that pours from her maw curl and twist in time with the notes of her voice. Ohricalculum dragons could not breathe fire, nor ice, nor acid—no, what they breathed was song.

“I don’t believe it.” a voice says. The dragon turns, and sees someone walking through the trees towards them.

“We’d all known there was an Ohricalculum dragon living in the forest nearby, but—they’re so rare, this is amazing! I never thought I’d have the chance to record one of their songs.” the approaching man says. He is young, and wears a cloak gilded in golden symbols. A wizard, then.

“Buddy. There’s a lost child.” the dragon says, cutting off her song with a clack of her teeth. She peers curiously at the spinning green device in the wizard’s hand. That was the recording thing, wasn’t it?

“What—Jordan, what are you doing out here? Oh my God…” the wizard says, noticing the boy and running over to him.

“Uncle!” the boy says, grinning as the wizard picks him up.

“You need to watch your young more closely.” the dragon sighs, her eyes still fixated on the green device. It was shiny and made clicking noises. She wanted it.

“Did you take care of him?” the wizard asks.

“Obviously.” she answers, knowing full well he couldn’t understand her. It was an unfortunate fact that humans who could speak the tongue of dragons were far and few between—never mind the sheer quantity of different dialects in said dragon language.

“Let me guess, you’re the one who keeps stealing Owen’s stuff; every time he leaves something out, it goes missing. Thank you, dragon.” the wizard says.

“Give me the recorder.” she snaps, considering jumping on him for it. But then again, she doesn’t want to start a fight.

“You want something in return, don’t you? I know dragons are intelligent beings.” the wizard says, shoving the recorder in his pocket. She hisses, watching as he takes out a golden disk inlaid with a brilliant cameo.

“Know what this is?” he asks. She shakes her head, eyes wide—she’ll give up the recorder for that, it’s so pretty.

“Magic charm, for protection of a home. It will keep your possessions safe against all but the strongest intruders. I made it a while ago; it’s an old recipe, the spell to create one. And they only function when given as gifts.” he says, and tosses it to her. It lands with a thump in the grass, and she sniffs it. Doesn’t smell like magic much.

“Wait, I’ve got to activate it—need to bind it to you, if it’s to ward your home properly. For that I’ll need your name.” the wizard says.

The dragon stares at him for a long moment.

“Dragons don’t have names.” she says. Didn’t everyone know that?

“Wait—oh. Dragons don’t usually have names, do they? I forgot.” the wizard says. She huffs out a line of black smoke.

“Errr…maybe if I give you a name, it’ll count for the spell?” he asks. She blinks at him. A name. It was an odd concept that most dragons had no use for; they simply existed. They didn’t need a title for their existence. Even dragons that interacted with humans often would simply go by Dragon, which probably caused some amount of confusion, but it was traditional.

“There’s a tiger lily between your horns…can I name you Lily? For the spell?” the wizard asks. She considers it. The idea of having a protective charm for all her pilfered items was rather tempting.

She picks up the charm, indicating acceptance, and encounters the familiar taste of gold. The wizard smiles, shifting his hold on the child.

“Thank you for protecting Jordan, Lily.” he says.

“You’re welcome.” she answers, flicking her tail, and for the smallest moment, she wishes that the wizard was able to understand her.

Lily walks home with a flower on her head and magic between her teeth.