Monsters

Moonlight rippled lazily across the emerald scaled sea in the clearing’s centre. The beast’s wings were scrunched up and contorted, as he tried to fit them into the narrow gap between the trees. At full span, they were twice the size of his body and strong enough to carry him effortlessly on the sluggish springtime breeze.

But sore wings were worth it, for the tender meat of the boar that the beast sunk its teeth into. After weeks of nothing more than squirrels, this was a veritable feast. Game was getting harder and harder to find as the human settlements claimed more and more of the forests.

This clearing had once been in the heart of thousands of leagues of woodlands. Now, he had to make sure he feasted silently lest he startle the human village nearby and have them come with their pitchforks.

His emerald scales helped him blend into the woods, unlike many other dragons of reds or golds, that could be spotted from miles away. Even still, he was easy to see in the skies, and now only flew by nightfall. If he hadn’t made it back to his cave by daybreak, he would find the thickest shrubbery he could to hide in and wait. He was swiftly learning the cowardice of the prey he had once mocked.

It was this same cowardice, that made him flinch not growl, at the snapping of a branch behind him. He barred his fangs. And though heat built up in his throat, ready to blow flame at whoever dared disturb him, he held back, knowing the humans would go after the source of the light. He would need to use teeth and claws to take down this would-be attacker.

Only the creature that stumbled out of the brush, bloodied and purple with bruises, was no threat. At least not so far as he could tell. It was small and pale, barely the size of a dragon’s egg. It had matted short brown hair, with several twigs sticking unceremoniously out of it. Its face was coated in a thin film of dirt. Rayford would have assumed it was entirely wild, were it not for the loose-fitting clothes that hung off its skeletal body. Torn in more than one place and stained with blood and dirt in others, but a clear sign this child had been taught the shameful modesty of human civilisation.

It padded clumsily through the brush, making more noise than Rayford would have thought possible. Rayford knew that human eyes were different to those of a dragon, and they could not see heat as he could. The night was simply a blinding dark to them.

Rayford watched the creature curiously. He had observed humans for some time and always believed their young remained with their parents until adulthood. A thought almost unconscionable to a dragon, who left the nest upon first flight.

A dragon could fend for itself almost from birth, it had claws and fangs to strike and hunt its prey. But this beast was soft and fleshy and slow. Possessing all the survival talents of a ripe peach. From the unintelligible babbling sounds it made, it seemed to hold none of the cunning and cleverness of its elder kind. He scanned warily, for any larger human beast that might be there to claim it. But he could neither see nor hear any sign of one. If this was a trap, it was a most curious one indeed.

He supposed, he knew little of humans, and much of what they did was unnatural to him. They cut down forests to build caves of wood, tamed wild beasts to use as their steeds and rejected the way of the hunt by breeding and raising their prey like they would their young. Strange beasts indeed.

“Do you have a name?” Rayford asked, stumbling over the harsh syllables of the human tongue. Dragons communicated mostly by speaking to each other mind-to-mind, relying on making guttural sounds only to threaten or call a mate. The child did not respond. Was it disrespecting him? Or did it truly not understand?

The child stumbled closer to him. And Rayford realised two things, the first: it was not afraid of him and the second: it was attracted to the smell of the meat. Funny, he thought that humans did not eat it raw.

Sensing the child was not a threat, Rayford let it come closer without baring his fangs, wanting to see what the little beast would do next. As it approached his kill, he felt and suppressed the growl building in his throat. It was not a natural thing, for one to share their meal with another, surely not one as weak and small as a human child. If his belly was full and he was feeling generous, he might leave a carcass with meat on its bones for other animals to fight over the scraps - but he never shared. Even amongst dragons, it was frowned upon, except between mates.

And yet, he allowed the child to peel off a small chunk of raw flesh from the side of the boar carcass and place it between its lips. Some of the blood dribbled down its chin. It looked up at Rayford with a smile on its face as if to thank him. It was only then that Rayford noticed its eyes, pure black like ink had spilled over them. A demon’s eyes.

Rayford tensed but did not move. Demons were never children; they did not grow. Their bodies were forged in hell and animated by dark spirits bound to their bodies. They were not born but made. And yet here was a demon child. As if sensing his dismay, the child’s bottom lip began to tremble. Three glistening droplets seemed to rise from the abyss, a single broke away and marked a clear path down its dirt-stained face.

“Hush, child,” The dragon said, as the creature began to sob. “You’ve not enough water in you, to waste it on tears.” But the child did not heed his warning. Tears fell freely down its cheeks, and its little hands clenched into tiny fists.

The dragon sighed and let the little beast wail. He had never had a hatchling of his own and did not know how to tend to one.

Noting that the child was shivering, he took pity on the small and broken creature and blew a small flame. It was the size of an ordinary human campfire, which he figured wouldn’t look too out of place if spotted from a settlement. At least not suspicious enough to raise fears of dragons. Even still, he found himself itching to get out of there. How these past centuries have changed me, he thought, with a spike of shame.

The child stared at him. Mouth agape and eyes wide. It had stopped sniffling and instead was staring at Rayford, in a way he, perhaps arrogantly, interpreted as awe. The child rubbed the tears off its face; smearing dirt across its cheeks as it did so. It sat by the small flame and rubbed its chubby hands together, seemingly forgetting all its woes as it let the warmth seep into its bones.

“You’re just an innocent,” the dragon said with a sigh, watching the child wrap its arms around its knees. “And if those eyes are any indication, a powerful innocent indeed.” Rayford knew first-hand what a horrible thing that was to be. He had known many innocents with power in his time; the whole dragon race could be classed among them.

Dragons killed that is true. As the strongest of beasts, all other creatures were their prey. But they killed for two reasons: to eat and to protect. Such was the way of things. Such was the balance of nature. But in his centuries, this balance had shifted and humans so weak and small and fleshy; easy prey to all had changed and evolved.

Their strange hands began to hold that which a beast’s claws could not. They fashioned tools – that became their own claws and fangs of protection. A prey’s fear was held tight in the hearts of new predators. Such is a terrible, unnatural thing. When they forget to kill only to eat and to protect but decide to slaughter anything that reminds them, of their once meagre place in the world.

A dragon has no desire to eat a human - its meat is gamey with barely any flesh on its bones. It would only choose to consume them if there was no other choice. And yet humans had hunted and slaughtered his race for hundreds of years and proclaimed those butchers’ heroes.

His mate had been one such victim. Ariana her name had been, and she had been the loveliest and gentlest of dragons. Each of her scales was like a ruby, her eyes were the blue of the deepest ocean, and she had a smile that could melt even the coldest of dragon’s hearts. Her life’s flame had burned bright as a star and he had loved her from the moment he had heard her laugh, so deep and loud it could shake a whole mountain. A powerful innocent she was, that humans had named a monster.

“What say you?” Rayford addressed the demon child, “Are you a human or a monster?”

He had expected no reply. But quietly, the child shuffled over to him and reached out as if to touch him. Rayford was wont to allow it. But he was an old and curious beast, and he let the demon child wrap its hand around the edge of his claw.

And then his mind was awash with images. Sharp and crisp and clear, cutting and demanding his attention. Each felt like a glass shard jamming into his skull. He could feel the child select one and the pain subsided as he was thrown into their memory.

“Mumma,” the child said reaching out arms wide, to be picked up by a brown-eyed woman, who cuddled it tightly to her chest with all the love only a mother could muster.

The memory shifted, causing a spark of pain that quickly subsided. “We’ve got to keep you hidden,” it’s Mumma said, placing the child in a small box.

“Mumma,” the child cried, reaching up its arms to be held.

But she shook her head. “Please be quiet, my dearest.” She whispered and placed the lid over the box. He could feel the panic that wrapped itself around the child. The child wanted to cry, to scream but he did what his Mumma had asked. He stayed quiet, waiting in the dark. Until what seemed like hours passed, and she finally raised the lid and he once more felt light on his face.

It changed again. There was a banging at the door. A door handle was twisted furiously. There was flame outside the windows. “We just want to see it.” Men called from behind the door. “Jerry here says demon spawn are flayed. Mike says they have horns. Just let us settle the bet. Will ya, love? Just wanna see who’s right. Show us the kid, eh?”

“Leave us be.” His mother called, holding a kitchen knife in her shaking hand.

There was a loud banging – the men were trying to knock down the door. Mumma’s eyes turned to face him, as she begged him to run. And he did, racing from their home and then stumbling in the dark as he fled through the forest. He felt the child’s terror. Any shift in the brush, had it running even faster for its life. It had heard tales of the beasts of the forests and like all humans, he had learned to fear every one of them.

Finally, Rayford saw himself through the child’s eyes. Green scales and brown eyes, like his mother's, kind eyes, or so the child thought. He noted the blood on Rayford’s chin, not with fear, but excitement. You’re like me.

Rayford was wrenched from his memories, into the present moment. There was a sharp pain in his head, that was slowly subsiding. It reminded him of the pain of speaking with a fledgling dragon, while they first tried to make the mind bond.

“You have suffered much, for one so small,” Rayford said, addressing the child. Whose name, he now knew was Tom. Or Tommie as his mother would often call him. The child nodded, and a few fresh tears slipped quietly down his chubby cheeks.

“You will not survive on your own,” Rayford said, knowing as perhaps the child had not yet realised that their mother was gone forever. The child nodded once again.

Rayford let out a long sigh. He could practically feel Ariana’s spirit with him now, the two of them had always wanted a Hatchling but had never been so blessed.

“Come,” Rayford said, and bent down so that the child might climb onto his back, “We monsters must stick together.”