Of a Child and a Dragon

The forest’s silence is a beauty one cannot comprehend with words. It is an experience understood only by the denizens who reside in its tranquility. Few things disturb the melody of the stream as it rushes round the bends- over rock and root, carrying little fish and leaves in the burbling waters. Or the hushed chorus of leaves dancing in the breeze. Bugling elks and howling wolves add their solo to the masterpiece of the forest.

This silence was a song Etephyr had grown accustomed to over the centuries. He had listened to it when the forest was young, squeaking and groaning as the harmonies grew. His finely tuned ears knew every twig, every blade of grass, and squirrel that made noise in his kingdom.

Etephyr shifted under the warm autumn sun. Moss and bits of small rock tumbled down his hide and clattered onto the grass and stone floor around him. His home had once belonged to a thriving kingdom of forest elves. Their cracking mosaic courtyard served as one of the best sunning shelves for miles. From where it rested along the cliffside, Etephyr could see, for miles, a rolling sea of green. The pillars that surrounded him like a mock cage were the only signs of any man-made artifacts for miles beyond the miles of his forest.

Birds nested in what used to be lamp posts that lit elegantly kept pathways. When brave enough, deer trimmed the overgrown gardens with their dull teeth. Raccoons and other crawling, scavenging creatures made homes in the abandoned buildings leaving their mess among the paintings and tapestries. Everything else, some structures included, had fallen apart, either from age or Etephyr’s less-than-careful maneuvering. It had been a shame when he had accidentally knocked over the statue of one of the elven goddesses. He could not recall her name, but she had been a marvelous beauty. Now she lay in tiny little pieces along the eastern courtyard a little ways from where he dozed.

“My Lord,” a gruff voice broke the silence.

Etephyr grumbled. His body coiled tighter in a vain effort to ignore the wolves that now slunk into his resting place. Knowing they would not leave until addressed, he sighed deeply. “What news, Ashfur?”

“Many pardons, my lord. Understand, I would not trouble you if I did not think the news I bore required your attention.” Etephyr admired Ashfur. He was an old boss male, due to retire once his son was ready to take up the mantle of pack leader. The old gray wolf and his mate, a tawny, spirited female by the title Bramblepaw, had been some of the best stewards under his instructions in some time.

The green dragon lifted his head to face the wolf pack. His long neck slowly rolled up, allowing the sunlight to glint, dulling off the iridescent scales not covered with moss. The younger wolves backed away as the dragon’s ancient bloodstone eyes examined them. Their elders stood firm. Years of working alongside Etephyr had removed all sense of unease. Well, most of it. There was still a faint scent of fear deep within the elder wolves, but their graying faces did not show it.

Repositioning his forelegs, Etephyr waited for Ashfur to continue. To his surprise, the boss male stepped aside and let a similar-looking gray and brown male step forward. His inheritor, the dragon guessed.

“My Lord Etephyr,” the younger male began, his voice shaking only a little, “I am Crow-Speaker, Ashfur’s chosen heir as pack leader. It was I who made the discovery, and we had agreed that I would be the one to tell you. While my fellows and I were hunting deer along the southeastern bend of Rock River, my sister’s keen ears heard the wailing of some strange creature. Allowing my fellows to continue the pursuit, my sister and I followed the noise into Moonmore Grove. It sounded akin to a fawn. We had been excited by the idea of an abandoned youngling. One of them, plus the deer the others were hunting, would be enough to keep the pack’s bellies full for several weeks.

So we followed, eager for an easy kill. But when we came to the spot, we saw it was no fawn. It was no animal that we had ever laid eyes on before. It was all pink, furless save for an odd patch on its head. Its only coverings were of some strange hide that smelled of… something. I’m not sure. I’ve never smelled its likeness.”

Etephyr listened carefully. “Did the creature walk on two legs?”

Crow-Speaker tilted his head and then replied, “Yes. Clumsily, though.”

“Were there any other signs of activity? Did you smell any similar creatures nearby?”

Crow-Speaker lowered his head. His back hunched and ears pressed to his skull in guilt. “N- no… We didn’t check. We were so taken aback by the creature that I ran straight here.”

The dragon could not blame the young wolf. Not entirely. Humans and elves had long since abandoned the Caleway Wood. Finding even a hint of new activity from them these days was unheard of.

It sounded to Etephyr as though one of the two races attempted to brave the woods without him knowing. And that they had, for the most part, failed. Or, he turned his eye to the old stone altars that now lay in rubble; perhaps this was a sacrifice. A gift to beg permission to reenter the place that had once been crawling with two-leggers.

The why did not matter at the moment. Etephyr needed to investigate.

Rising slowly to his feet, Etephyr gave himself a languorous stretch, waking his muscles from their nap. Then he unfolded his wings and turned his eye toward Moonmore Grove. The wolves scurried out of the way, ducking into buildings or down the forgotten city streets. Wise because as the giant dragon beat his wings, dust, rocks, and fallen branches were picked up in the gale, preparing for flight. Small creatures like them would have been blown away and tumbled from the shelf to the forest below.

With a grunt, Etephyr launched himself into the sky. His weight pulled him down before the wind caught beneath his wings. An updraft allowed him to glide most of the distance between the ruins and Moonmore Grove. It was a perfect day for flying, he thought idly.

Far below, he heard the cries of the wolf pack as they followed. He was glad for the rushing winds in his ears. While he admired wolfsong in the discordant melody it provided to the forest, he despised the yelping and yapping the wolves made as they ran together. Unnecessary chatter, in his opinion.

He reached Moonmore before the wolf pack. Etephyr set himself down as gracefully as possible to find an open space to land in. However, the impact of his bulk still shook the earth. A lithe red wolf stepped out of the foliage to greet him.

“Great lord, welcome. I am Zephyrus, I do not believe we have had the privilege to meet.” She lowered her head and pawed the air in front of him.

“Well met, Huntress. I have been told you have a strange creature under your guard?”

Zephyrus yipped and ran back into the forest. The trees in this area were too narrow for Etephyr to fit through, so he found a patch of grass, still warm from the midday sun, and waited. It did not take the wolf long before she came bounding through the brush with a strange sight to behold following behind.

When the wolves described the creature, Etephyr imagined the squalling pudgy beasts two-leggers were before they grew into smaller, coltish versions of their adult form. What came out of the brush was one of those plump creatures covered in mud and cuts that had been licked clean by an attentive wolf tongue. Still, he- for he was, indeed, male as the shredded remains of a blanket he wore barely covered him- walked carefully, aided by a carved wooden staff.

This specimen was slightly muscular, which looked out of place on such a small body. This child was not as fat as some mortal toddlers Etephyr had witnessed. His long, matted hair had a reddish hue under all the dirt. Freckles decorated his body in thick patches giving his tanned skin a slight ombre effect. But the boy’s eyes caught Etephyr’s attention; Large and intelligent, they were the same bloodstone shade as his own.

Dragon and toddler stared at each other for some time. In the interim of silence, the rest of the pack had caught up and watched from the trees. Zephyrus, apparently having formed a bond with the boy, stayed by his side.

“Hmm,” the dragon finally hummed. “Strange child. You are not what you appear to be.” Etephyr took a breath and gently blew a cloud of sparkling magic onto the boy.

The little thing sneezed and shook his head as the purply-blue cloud settled over him. Then his body began to glow as a series of intricate tattoos became visible. They traced down his arms, legs, and neck before gathering into a bundle of ancient text centered on his belly.

Elf magic.

Etephyr leaned closer and read the markings carefully. His scales rose as he considered the possibilities and the reasons behind the use of such powerful magic. The sigils cast upon the boy kept him preserved, healthy and protected from disease and harm for ages. But now the spell was waning. He could see, even now, the markings beginning to fade away.

Etephyr leaned back and gazed down his muzzle at the boy. The child hadn’t so much as flinched while the dragon inspected him. He had even placed a comforting hand upon Zephyrus as she remained, trembling, by his side.

Another tendril of magic wove through the dragon’s teeth as he spoke a command. “Your body is young, but your mind is ancient and keen. I grant you the power to speak- tell your tale, mortal.” The word, mortal, left his lips with a tone of irony.

The amber-colored tendril wrapped around the boy’s throat before sinking into his flesh. He gagged and cleared his throat, “I… n-no know--” He fell into a coughing fit, then received an encouraging nudge from Zephyrus. Taking a breath, the boy tried again, “It hard tell. I been so long. No one. All gone.”

He spoke in the same broken pattern all animals used when Etephyr first spoke with them. Curious, the dragon thought to himself.

“Are you elf or human?” asked the dragon.

“No know,” the boy responded.

“What is that staff you carry with you?”

“Mine.” The child pulled the staff closer to him, guarding it. His expression was fierce at the thought Etephyr might take it from him.

“I have no need for it. I will not take your staff.” There was an enchantment in the wood to make it grow with the child. It was clearly magic. A conduit, perhaps? More powerful magics all for some strange infant.

Etephyr dug his claws into the dirt as he pondered the situation. He did not want any two-legger, elf or human, in his forest. The child should be destroyed before he grew too old or powerful; it was difficult to tell which would come first. However, Etephyr’s natural draconic curiosity was getting the better of him. There had to be more to this child than what he was seeing.

“Where have you been living, little one?” asked Etephyr.

“Hole.”

“That is no place for a boy to live,” said the ancient dragon. As he lowered his head once again, his voice took on a fatherly tone. “Perhaps you would like someplace more comfortable?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. His shoulders drooped, and it became evident how tired the child was.

“Do you have a name?”

“Name…?”

That was a clear enough answer. Etephyr grumbled as he thought. Then he reached down and offered his large forepaw to the child. “We will figure that out in time. For now, let us return to my home. There you will be given a proper bed and shelter. My friends,” he said to the wolves, “will you do us a kindness and bring something for the boy to eat. The spells that sustain him are fading quickly; he will be quite hungry.”

The boy inspected the paw with a critical eye. Deeming it acceptable, he eased away from Zephyrus and settled into the calloused palm. He was large enough that Etephyr needed to curl his talons around the boy’s frame but small enough that his feet would barely dangle out of the dragon’s hand if he were to lay down.

Once the boy was secured, Etephyr spread his wings. With a few strong pumps and a powerful push of his muscular hindlegs, the ancient green dragon launched them into the air. He could hear the child laughing and giggling as they flew. Etephyr was still confused by the sudden strange arrival. How had he never noticed a mortal child in his realm?

Were he a younger dragon, he would have destroyed the child without a second thought. Now… The circumstances were far too strange for him to ignore. He would need to keep this one close at hand.