The Beat of Leathery Wings

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley,” this being said by our village Elder Everwind, “Was it not that long ago that we thought them only as legends of the old ages?” He looked about the semi-dark of the tent interior, at the worried faces of the village elders. We were convened in emergency council to address the coming of the dragons. The council was attended by the elders of all of the families in the center house, a large tent structure used for village functions and meetings. Torches lit the darkness, casting warm light across the worn faces of the elders as they engaged in a contentious discussion. There was much disagreement over what course to take in dealing with the threat of dragons. Our village mage Maythorn was being interrogated by several elders, who seem to regard her as something of a major Wizard, mostly due to her being adept at the healing arts. She is yet wise and honest and can debate with the best of us, but she was no Wizard.

One elder in particular, Stonewalker, a short slight man, still youngish by elder standards, insisted there was magic that can repel dragons. He demanded the mage perform some esoteric spell to drive the dragon from the mountain. Maythorn again explained, “This is not how it works. I use the natural properties of our land to derive the necessary ingredients to perform my tasks. I don't 'cast spells'. That is for charlatans and stage performers.” She made a face of disdain at the mere mention of the less-than-honest purveyors of magic 'powers'. Another elder suggested flooding the Valley. Everwind replied, “Where would we obtain the quantity necessary to inundate a whole valley?” A young bard from the city of Big had even said that he would sing to the dragon, as he claimed music 'hath charms', to which an elder replied, “So, the dragon will enjoy some music with its meal? Meal meaning YOU?” This caused an eruption of laughter among the elders. The bard slunk away, embarrassed. Such were the suggestions thrown into discussion this late autumn evening.

We had been aware of the presence of dragons for several seasons. The first reports had come after a hunting party to the Valley returned to the mountain, claiming to have seen large lizards with tiny wings lurking about along the elk trails near the stream that ran the length of the Valley. They wisely backed out quickly, as one of the hunters had seen one whip its tail across the path of an unsuspecting elk, breaking its legs and bringing it to the ground to be consumed. The party returned with a smaller than usual haul of elk meat, blaming it on the lizards. Later, it was decided to send a squad of warriors down to gather more knowledge of these creatures. We expected them to be gone only a week, but double that time passed before a single straggler stumbled into the village, his left hand gone, his arm and shoulder burnt black, his face swollen with blisters, half of his hair singed away. Maythorn was called, and after examining the man, proclaimed he was suffering from heat trapped within his skin. He was delirious as she tried to treat him, mumbling something about them 'having fire' and how the others were all dead. The young scout Mica died within a day from his dire injuries.

Most of the villagers didn't seem concerned about dragons coming after us as they believed they had neither the inclination nor the talent to climb the steep hills to our region with their short legs, and while we did mourn our dead as was our custom, we soon returned to our normal routines. We made it a point to avoid the floor of the Valley as much as we could but still hunt for meat. For another four seasons, life on the mountain ran as normal, with only the occasional speculation of big lizards. Then one fateful day, this very autumn, as many were going about clearing detritus from the forest floor for winter fuel and gathering acorns to trade in the city of Big, someone on the outskirts came running into the village, claiming to have seen something overhead that gave her a fright. At first, we were convinced it was probably just a larger than normal predator bird, but she insisted it was not. Everwind came around, followed by Maythorn and some of our hunters, all asking what the noise was about. The woman was excitedly trying to repeat her claims, when we heard something in the sky above us. At first, we thought it was the wind, a whooshing that rustled the treetops. But it was too regular, this sound. It had a cadence, whoosh then whoosh then whoosh again. We gazed at the trees, scanning the spaces between for some clue what was making that sound. Then, the sky went dark, as when the Sun is blotted out on rare occasions. Someone cried, and Maythorn said no, this is not a blotting, it is something else. The dark shape passed quickly, with another whoosh, sounding almost like the flap of a tent being turned, but much, much louder. Moments later, the sky fell dark again. The shape had come back from whence it had just gone. This time it made a noise as it passed overhead. A chill ran up our spines as we heard what seemed like a shriek from a predatory bird, but so deafening we had to hold our hands over our ears. Children screamed in terror and mothers gathered them up and hustled them into their tents. Men ran to get their bows and spears, while we scanned the pieces of the sky between the trees for that flying shape. We didn't have to wait long. With that dreadful whooshing and the horror of the sound of its voice, we witnessed the first dragon to fly over our village on the mountain. As if that was not terrifying enough, it skimmed just above the trees, dipped its head in our direction, and shot fire from its fang-laden mouth! The flame reeked of rotted eggs as it caught tree branches and several tents and villagers on fire. Two of our elderly were lost to being frightened to death. Several severe injuries resulted from the flames. We surmised that the dragon was scouting for new hunting grounds and found our village by sheer luck. Perhaps, Maythorn said, it was telling us its intentions, terrorizing us into foolish action so it may pick us off one by one at its leisure. Several elders murmured assent to the mage's wisdom. Maythorn directed others to assist in treating the injuries and taking the dead to be prepared for the funeral rites.

So now our council must decide a plan of action to defend against what appeared to be a fully grown dragon with fully functional wings and the ability to burn its prey. The discussion had not gone well, with every idea having been declined. Another elder, an older woman named Wishing Oak declared that we required assistance from the city of Big, they would have the necessary knowledge and weaponry to deal with such a threat. Several others seemed to agree, and eventually even Maythorn admitted this was the best course. It was decided that the village will send a squad of young warriors to plead for weapons and supplies from the Elder of the city. Maythorn interjected that she must also go, to assess the technology they may be able to obtain. After some initial objections, the council gave in and granted the mage's request. She made provisions that her assistants tend to the villagers in her absence. I, as the village Scribe, volunteered to accompany the band of travelers to record the journey. The gatherers loaded a cart with our season's take of acorns, as well as other sundries for the trip. The warriors, all young but experienced, girded themselves with their best armor and carried their finest weapons. Maythorn agreed to drove the team of jackees that pulled the cart, while I rode alongside our mage. We set off early this morning, the squad of warriors striding alongside the cart as we traveled. We watched the sky carefully as we headed away from our home and towards adventure. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that my name is Wordweaver, the Scribe of the village Berryhill, and this is my recounting of our journey. I shall call it The Beat of Leathery Wings.