Living with dragons

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. I mean, there weren’t always red and black dragons in the Valley. The original dragons were golden. Then, due to the climate changes and extra minerals in the water they drank, leached by the activities of the town villagers who were mining for precious metals, the dragons began to shed their outer skins and scales more often than previously, and underneath their old and discarded skins, some would show iridescent colors that would shine in the sunlight: blue hues ranging from baby blue to petroleum blue; pearly colors, shimmery pink (especially the female baby dragons – those were the cutest and my favorite)… when they would fly back to the caves they lived in, at dusk, what a spectacular sight those mother, father and baby dragons made in the sky. The grandfather and grandmother dragons had grown a woody film on their bodies which weighed them down, so usually they were too bogged down and therefore too tired to fly, and spent their days close to the caves, bathing in the bubbling thermal streams and brooks and foraging for medicinal flowers and plants to ease the pains in their aching wings and claws. Sometimes they would rub up against the nearby metamorphic and rough granite rocks, to slough off parts of that heavy, brownish shell they were getting encased in, and which made their lives so much more difficult in every way.

I became friends with a pink baby dragon, in the most unusual way imaginable: I had finished my day’s toil in the fields and was heading home, taking the long and winding road in between the hillocks and meadows that at that time of the year were filled with pretty yellow, red and blue cornflowers, and was looking up at the last remnants of the summer sky before nightfall, when I heard what seemed like a kitten crying. It was not exactly the sound a small cat would make: it was more of a hoarse sound, which I wasn’t able to pinpoint what animal would do that sort of noise. So I tried to follow the clues it was giving out, and, among the tall grass and pink and purple poppies, found the cutest little baby dragon crying for help. I approached cautiously, because I knew from the tales my granddad would tell me at night that even baby dragons have the capacity to throw flames and scorch the land and anyone who’s nearby, because they haven’t yet learned to harness the power of the fire and smoke coming out of their mouths. The baby dragon seemed fine. I didn’t see any broken bones or wings, and she was not caught in the nets the villagers would sometimes lay, to trap them. It was pink so I knew it was a baby girl. I wondered where the mother was. Could she be nearby, watching me intently through, hiding behind the bushes of flowering camellias? I stayed still for a while, not wanting to bring any attention on me. I knew what the consequences could be, if a mother dragon was on the prowl for “food”, which I could be classified as, in the eyes of the dragon realm. About 10 minutes went by and I heard nothing stirring, so I took small steps towards my find. There she was, the prettiest little thing with the cutest big eyes. When she noticed me, she stopped crying and started making a sound that could only be described as a purr. She was purring! I never knew dragons could purr! That made me feel more confident in approaching her. I felt she would not harm me. So I came close enough to her and touched her. She softly enveloped her tiny wings and claws on my hand and laid her head inside my open palm. Well, I can’t describe the feeling of love I experienced at that moment for that tiny creature! I wanted to protect her always, and provide for her always, and have her as my companion from then on for the rest of my days… could that be possible? Is it possible to have a baby dragon as a pet or a mascot? A flurry of questions invaded my thoughts…