The Broken Nest

The shattered eggshells stood out from the smoking nest like shards of broken teeth. Iskra let out another growling moan and nosed through the remains yet again. The nest was no more than a mulch of earth and gore and sharp edges.

Iskra arched her long neck, flexing her throat and letting out the chirping call to summon her young ones. A swirl of smoke swept past her face in the damp air.

There was no answer. A jay called in the distance, but the forest was otherwise still after her reckless charge earlier. The fires had not spread because of the sporadic rains this week.

Iskra raised her head and chirruped again. She strained her ears for a returning call. The eggs – all remaining five – were gone, destroyed, but she had not found any sign of her hatchling. Little Zabrielle: the first of her younglings to brave the world. She would be a fearless hunter, no doubt, black as her sire, with red patches on the underside of her wings to match the scarlet of Iskra’s scales.

Iskra bared her teeth and moved towards the rough path stamped through the underbrush. She could barely put any weight on her left foreleg, the wound still weeping crimson down the muscles, blackening the tracks between her scales.

Had they taken her? The men who had searched for her nest while she was out hunting.

They had waited until she had finally given in to her hunger pangs and left the nest, trusting little Zabrielle to guard her still-slumbering sisters. It was the way of things: Iskra herself had done it for her own nest mates when she was a few days old.

The men had shouted and bolted when she had swooped down, gliding on wings straining to support her full belly after feasting on the doe she had taken. Screaming, she had run after them, too heavy, too slow. Even her fire couldn’t catch them.

They had run ahead, every last one of them. When she stormed into their camp, she had made sure every tent, every wagon, every bit of manmade tools was ablaze. The men and women fled in all directions, leaping upon horses and snatching up their screaming children. One young man had thrown an ax at her, splitting open her foreleg, and that had slowed her down even more. She had nearly managed to bite him, but he had dodged past her and through a pen of bleating, panicking sheep.

She had ignored their camp when they settled in several months ago, shortly after she had laid her clutch of eggs. Humans and dragons had found ways to find peace with each other. Iskra preferred the rich taste of deer over the soft, buttery meat of sheep anyway. She had noted their hunting tracks when she glided overhead, and made sure she didn’t fly too low when they were riding their horses through open meadows.

She had tried to keep peace, and now Zabrielle was missing, and she would never meet her other daughters.

Iskra snarled. She wanted to sink her teeth into something and shake the life out of it. She lowered her left wing and used it to keep the weight off her wounded leg. The wind puffed, fitful and damp.

She halted and stood up on her hind legs, chirping loudly. Nothing. She scented the air, opening her mouth to breathe in any sign of her daughter. All she could taste was smoke and wet earth and her own blood.

Iskra dropped to all fours, a crooning sound coming unbidden from her throat. Gone. All gone.

A mewling cry wavered through the air.

Iskra spun, barely noticing the stab of pain in her foreleg, claws flinging up little bits of sod. She called out, the chirp piercing as the jay’s call from before.

The cry came again. Iskra turned to the left and rushed deeper into the woods. I’m coming, Zabrielle!

She was still too heavy from her hunt to fly, but she used her wings to claw through the underbrush. Blood rushed down her leg.

The mewling grew louder. She was close!

Iskra burst into a small clearing and let out a piercing cry. There was a slim black form stretched out in the grass. She sprinted towards it, and was within a few leaps when she saw the little human stooped over her hatchling.

She balked midstride, leaped again, and slid to a stop right next to her hatchling and the small child. Zabrielle was very still, her wings crumpled against her side. The little human had been showering her body with clumps of grass and leaves.

Iskra reared up, forelegs splayed, rage leaping hot into her throat. Her muzzle curled in a silent snarl, saliva sweet with anticipation. She could destroy the human hatchling with a single burst of flame, with one bitter snap on that rounded, soft little body, with a vicious lash of her tail.

It lifted up its face, round and curious, eye huge and pale like an owlet’s. It had a shock of hair, fuzzy and white as a dandelion seedling.

“Cold,” it said.

Iskra paused, teeth still bared. She lowered herself to all fours, tilting her wounded foreleg.

The child looked down at Zabrielle’s body and patted her side with a soft, dimpled hand.

“Cold,” it said again, and looked back up at Iskra with those wide eyes. It looked down and picked up another leaf, gently draping it over Zabrielle’s wing.

Iskra stepped back, hissing in realization. The child was trying to keep Zabrielle warm. Her limbs suddenly felt heavy as stone, and she slumped to her belly, sidling her face along the length of her little hatchling’s body. She let the mourning song hum from her throat, squeezing her eyes shut, breathing in the scent of her firstborn one last time.

Grass rustled, and something warm pressed against the corner of her jaw. She snapped her eye open to see the human hatchling nestling up against her. She growled and let her teeth snick together in warning. Every muscle in her body tensed, fury stiffening her scales and lifting her hackles.

The men had killed her younglings. Would it not be fair to kill theirs? They had abandoned this little nestling in their panic, while Iskra had carefully sought out her own children. Was she not a more careful parent? Had she not spent over a year hunting down a mate, choosing the most eligible bachelor due to his size and athleticism and beauty? If she met Halamir again, she would have to tell him their clutch of eggs had not made it, and all because she had been too trusting of her human neighbors.

She let her amber gaze bore into the pale blue eyes of the little human. It didn’t seem scared at all.

She could teach the humans not to trust her. It could be over in one snap of her jaws.

The child reached up and stroked Iskra’s muzzle. Snarling, she leaped to her feet, stumbling as her wounded leg buckled. Fire roiled in her throat.

The human hatchling tumbled over and let out that mewling cry again, so like her little Zabrielle.

Iskra spun away with a scream. She halted, trembling and panting, the fire disappearing with a rush of smoke from her nostrils. When she turned around the child was curled up in the grass, shivering and crying softly.

She limped forward and flattened herself to the ground, stopping with her snout a few feet away from the child. She could mimic any birdsong in the forest, could copy the mating calls of deer and elk, but it had been a long time since Iskra had manipulated her vocal chords to imitate human speech.

She rocked her chin against the ground, working her throat muscles, then called out softly.

“Cold?”

Sniffling, the child looked up, eyes even wider than before.

Iskra flexed her throat again, more confident this time. “Cold?”

The child nodded, little arms folded around itself like a pair of wings.

Iskra lifted her head and beckoned with a dip of her nose. The little human stumbled to its feet, tottered forward, and half-fell against Iskra’s face, wrapping its arms around her muzzle.

Iskra breathed in sharply, startled, her lips curling instinctively, but the child’s scent hit her nose, rolling over her tongue.

It was a girl.

It was a daughter.

She shuddered, and the rage flittered away from her body like ash in the wind. She gently pulled her head away, and those blue eyes stared up after her.

Iskra tilted her head, working her throat again. “Your name?” she managed.

The owlet eyes blinked. They were so blue. “Vera.”

“Vee-ruh?” She had never mimicked that name before.

The child bobbed its head, pale hair ruffling, and showed its little flat teeth. “Yes! Vera!”

“I am Iskra,” she intoned. She felt a little rush of pride at how well she was doing. Vera clapped her tiny hands together and then patted Iskra’s neck.

“Iska,” she said.

Amusement narrowed Iskra’s eyes.

“Good. Come.” She stood up, towering over the little girl, her injured leg wobbling. She needed to find a place for both of them to rest and for the child to stay warm. She craned her neck forward and nudged Zabrielle’s body, cooing a goodbye.

Vera walked over with her strange upright gait, then crouched down and pressed her little mouth to the top of Zabrielle’s head. Iskra cocked her head at the odd gesture. The little human turned and looked up at the scarlet dragon.

“Come.” Iskra reached down and scooped up the child in her jaws. She turned her neck, gently placing her on her shoulders. A little chattering sound – like a squirrel – came from the girl, and she snuggled down against Iskra’s scales.

“Hold on,” Iskra said, and she started walking gingerly back into the woods, turning away from her broken nest and the humans’ smoldering campsite.

She would find a way to feed the child. She still had plenty of dragon milk, and she knew that humans ate some meat and also berries and roots. She would seek out and consult a faun on how to provide schooling and clothing: there was much she did not know.

But she did know this: the child would grow to trust dragons. And perhaps – someday – more humans would do the same.

Iskra paused and looked over her shoulder. Her little owlet was sitting up on her shoulders, one tiny hand stroking the leathery skin of her wing.

Iskra lowered her head and chirped. Vera stared at her with open eyes and chirped back.