Stay

Heavy breathing rose from the group of horses in the chill evening air. Dappled coats were slicked with sweat from the harrowing ride through the mountain pass, their riders now gathered in the house up the hill to talk of pressing matters. Soldiers and war were all well and good, thought the young girl as she crept quietly through the barn doors, but there were wilder things in the night worth looking for.

The familiar smell of clean hay and animals washed over Marie as she approached the horses. They had been hastily tied in the center aisle of the old barn, several of the poor animals right in front of her own horse’s stall. Murmuring gentle assurances to the half-frenzied beasts, she carefully drew away those that blocked her path and tied them up elsewhere. She’d have liked to take care of them, remove their saddles and rub them down, bring them blankets against the frigid night air, but time was not on her side tonight.

Once the path was clear she led her own gray gelding out of his stall and over toward the tack room. Leather and oil mixed with the smell of hay and horse, filling the dry air. Marie took a moment to simply breathe it in. But only a moment - those men were in a hurry, and they weren’t here to stay. She had only a few minutes to make her escape.

“Come, Specter,” she cooed, leading her already-saddled gelding out into the night. Years of riding had made her a quick study in the art of saddling a horse. With what she figured as time to spare, rider and horse took off down the road toward the pass.

The night was bitter but clear, stars pricking the heavens like glittering jewels. A soft wind blew through the bare branches of the winter trees, a chorus of creaking and clacking underlain by the soft whispers of the conifers. Marie rode low over Specter’s neck as they raced along the road, her lungs burning as she gasped in the cold night air.

At the fork in the road she tugged Specter’s reins sharply. The horse, having been along on these adventures before, anticipated this and cornered gracefully onto the hidden third path that joined the other major roads. Through sharp winter thorns they pushed forward, until the path became clearer and Marie gave Specter his head. The gelding knew where he was going.

As they cantered somewhat precipitously along the narrow trail, Marie’s thoughts wandered back to earlier that evening.

“Young lady!” her father had shouted, his plump face as red as the crab on the table, “You know it isn’t proper for you to go careening off into the woods at any hour of the day or night!”

“Father, it isn’t ‘careening’!” she’d responded, upset that her secret forays into the forest had been discovered. “Specter is perfectly reliable, and I haven’t gotten seriously injured once!”

“It’s dangerous!” her father had puffed, slamming a fist down on the table. “Just look at your arm! Not to mention it’s entirely inappropriate for a young lady of your station! You should be sewing your little samples, or whatever they’re called, or reading poetry, not carousing with wild animals in the forest!”

Marie had started to reply, her anger rising, but her father had slammed another fist on the table. It was enough to make the cutlery shake, and one of their finer glass goblets had tipped over and shattered. They both watched in silence as the dark wine bled into the pristine golden tablecloth.

After a moment of silence, her father spoke once more.

“Look, I know it’s most likely because Grena passed away when you were so young, but just because you have no mother figure in your life doesn’t mean you can start acting like a wild boy.”

His voice was calmer now, but every word he said caused Marie’s throat to tighten with frustration.

“Now go to your room, and work on women’s things, appropriate things. I’ll send Surrie with you to keep an eye on you.”

He motioned to the butler standing near the doors, but before Surrie could move a loud knocking sounded throughout the house. The raps were sharp, like gunshots, their wild stiletto sound forming purposeful patterns. Marie watched as the color drained from her father’s face, and he nodded to Surrie who scurried off to get the door.

He turned back to Marie only briefly, “Room, now,” before following after Surrie.

Marie had been quick to slink out the back door while her father and the butler were preoccupied. Reports from the battlefront never bode well, but they were usually brief. She only had a moment to escape.

A branch whipped out and caught her cheek, bringing Marie back to the present.

“Ow!” she exclaimed, raising a hand to the stinging cut. Her fingers came away with blood on them, but not enough to worry about at the moment. Specter had been moving more quickly than usual, spurred on by the low temperatures and the moaning of the forest through the wind. They were almost there.

The cliff face loomed in front of them, split down the middle as though a bolt of lightning had cloven it in two. The jagged formed a passageway into the mountainside. Marie slowed Specter to a stop, dismounting and looping his reins around a solid branch. With a pat on his soft gray flank, she turned and made her way into the cave.

The sound of the wind faded to a soft murmuring as she picked her way into the darkness. The torch was where she had left it, along with the means to light it. She struck up a flame, and with light moved now more swiftly into the deep. She’d left it as far back as she could, worried it would make noise and attract predators, or worse, people.

To her relief, it was still where she’d left it the day before, its glossy black hide rising and falling to the rhythm of sleep. The flickering torchlight shimmered off of its scales, refracting into dazzling patterns that danced along the walls. Marie found a solid cleft between two boulders and stuck the torch in.

“Hey, little one,” she said softly, moving cautiously toward the sleeping creature.

It stirred, huffing as it opened one gleaming starlit eye. The iris was purple, like the sky before dawn, speckled with little twinkling lights. It reminded her of the great swath of stars named the Warrior’s Belt that arced across the sky each night. A long red tongue flicked out between ivory teeth, licking its lips as it watched her approach.

It seemed to have learned not to fear her, the aggression she had experienced on her first approach long gone now. Its paper-thin wings opened silently, little black veins pulsing in the torchlight as the little dragon stretched.

“How are you doing today?” Marie asked, keeping her voice calm and steady. The creature may have accepted her as a friend, but her heart still raced whenever she was near it. Dragons were dangerous beasts, and everyone was taught early in life that to be around them was to invite being eaten.

Being no stranger to the wild forest, Marie knew well to avoid creatures that might consider her their dinner. But when she had come across the small dragonlet on her secret trail, bloody and bruised, she hadn’t had the heart to leave it where it lay. The arrow had been frightening to remove. Marie knew little about medicine, and was grateful that it had punched all the way through the poor creature’s leg. She had broken off the arrowhead and carefully removed the shaft, waking the dragonlet in the process and procuring herself a few deep scratches on her arm. Hiding those from her father had been no easy feat, and had in fact been the tell that led him to discover her night riding.

Marie moved slowly to check on the bandaged leg. The bleeding had stopped, and it appeared as though the wound was healing well. Nothing was swollen, and the flesh had closed on itself neatly behind the scales. Sighing with relief, Marie re-bandaged the leg and sat back on her hands. The little dragon had been watching her intently, and even now those glowing eyes were on her. She smiled back.

“You’ll be alright, I think. I don’t see myself getting back here anytime soon, so I’m glad it looks like I won’t be needed for much longer.”

The dragon kept its eyes on hers, the muscles in its face contorting. It looked as though it was thinking very hard, effort lining the little scales around its mouth.

“N…” it said, a dark, guttural noise that filled the cavern around them.

Marie flinched, startled. Until now the dragon had made only small noises, cries of pain or grunts or snorts. Animal noises. What came out of its mouth now, however, sounded distinctly like speech.

“N… no” it continued, struggling through the syllables, “st… stay. fr..iend, stay.”

Those eyes held hers, drinking in the firelight. Marie stared back, her own eyes wide in surprise.

“I…,” she began, unable to find her voice for a moment, “I can’t…”

“Stay,” the dragonlet said, its voice growing smoother as it learned how to wrap its mouth around the words. “Al...one, no one other, friend, stay.”

“You don’t understand, my father…” Marie continued, her heart fluttering. Dragons were intelligent, but nonetheless animals. It was said in legend that they could speak as well as any man, but nobody had heard a dragon speak for thousands of years. Many doubted the old stories were even true. She was unsure of how to explain to the little dragon why exactly she would have to leave it there.

“Pl...ease,” the beast said, its voice sounding so pitiful. “Alone, not want alone, friend, stay.”

Marie was silent, the beginnings of a crazy plan hatching in her mind.

“Stay,” the voice said, and with its deep rumbling made up Marie’s mind.

“No,” she said, “I won’t stay, but neither will you.”

The dragon cocked its head at her, confused.

“You’re coming with me,” she said, reckless bravado filling her with giddiness. “I’ll have to make it work, I know I can hide you somewhere. For now, you can sleep in the hayloft. Gidion is shy and I can make him keep quiet, he’s our stablehand, oh but we can figure that out later. You’re a difficult thing to care for, you know that?”

The dragon only looked at her expectantly, what Marie took for hope shining in its eyes.

“Friend, stay with me?” it asked, as though not quite grasping what was going on.

“Yes,” Marie said, moving to help the dragonlet stand. “Yes, that’s more or less the plan. Now come on, we have to get you back to the barn…”

The little dragon curled luxuriously into the hay, like a cat into a soft pile of furs. Its little tail twitched to and fro, accompanying its soft murmurs as it drifted off to sleep.

“Friend, friend stays…” it mumbled, its voice deep and content.

Marie smiled, throwing an empty sack over it to keep it warm. The men and their horses had long gone, and now the only obstacle left for the night was explaining to her father where she’d been. She’d deal with Gidion and the dragon in the morning.

The ridiculousness of it all had begun to sink in as she walked back to the manor, but there was no way to turn back now. Looking up at the sky bathed in starlight, she reached her hands upward and let out a triumphant shout.

“Stay!”

Giggling, Marie made her way toward the lights in the windows and a future full of uncertain promise.