The Difficulty of Growing Up

The scent of despair on the wind disrupts a methodical morning outing. Raw, subtle, like a haunting song in the distance.

Verphiryn stops short and breathes deep – the pheromones are consistent. As easy to track for them as blood in the dirt for any other dragon. But should I? Their search for a site to establish a lair is going poorly this morning, as it has for weeks. A distraction is a great excuse to chalk today up as another loss. But where there is despair, there is need, and what kind of being would Verphiryn be to ignore that need? If this forest is to be theirs, they must look out for anyone within it. They will be neighbours.

If you actually manage to get set up and don’t have to crawl back to Father in shame. Verphiryn ignores their own fruitless thoughts and focuses on the invading scent. Twigs and branches creak and crack as they creep towards the source.

It is smaller than expected. A tiny human thing, walking on miniature limbs and tearing at leaves with absurdly short, blunt fingers.

Can they converse at this age? It’s been decades since Verphiryn has engaged with humans, and never any like this.

“Where are you going, little one?” Human language is odd on their tongue, stilted and rusty.

The toddler turns to look. Blinking, her round, glassy eyes go wide, shining with soft blue.

“Green!” she declares with apparent delight.

“Indeed,” Verphriyn says, flexing one of their claws, “do you… need help?”

The girl seems to consider the question but does not offer an answer. Verphiryn creeps closer to inspect her in more detail.

“Hey! Careful! That’s my baby!” comes a high pitched shout from nearby. A blur enters Verphiryn’s vision – a second human. More substantial, limbs long enough to hold and wave a long stick in front of him. Or rather, in Verphiryn's face. He is the very picture of defiance for one shining moment before the true size of the dragon dawns upon him.

What must they look like to him? With teeth as long as his sister’s entire body, eyes bright and sharp? A hulking creature of pure power and muscle, of glimmering emerald scales, magnificent and majestic and terrible in equal measure? By all accounts a creature to be regarded with great respect and caution. Or so says Verphiryn’s knowledge of humans and their reactions to dragon kind.

Of course, this human is barely into childhood – it is impossible to say what he has heard of dragons thus far. Still, his instincts are intact; his arm wavers and the stick drops as his legs take him in rapid reverse. Once he reaches the other human he puts his arms around her shoulders, a protector.

“You’re big,” he says, his eyebrows creasing.

Inhaling, the girl’s despair – still quiet, but in the way a shriek of true laughter or pain can be, deeper than its louder counterparts – floods their senses. There is a faint trace from the boy too, but it is overwhelmed by anxiety that has the boy firmly in its grasp. Peculiar.

“What are you doing here, little ones?” they ask.

The boy glances around, eyes combing over the forest that dwarfs him in every sense He frowns and takes his sister’s hand. “We’re lost.”

Instead of saying well, obviously, Verphiryn sniffs the little girl. The despair is coming off her in waves, no lesser for her brother’s arrival but for the initial flash of relief.

“How did you get lost?” Verphiryn asks.

“We need food for Mummy and Daddy. We ate it.”

“But why are you getting it by yourselves?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“Why don’t you wait for them to wake up?”

“They’ll be hungry. They’ll need breakfast,” the boy explains, as if it is obvious. “We can’t eat the berries. Mum said so.”

“So you’re looking for food that isn’t berries, and got lost.”

The girl nods, a smile baring her teeth. “Yeah!”

The boy echoes her.

“May I help you?” Verphiryn asks them both. “I can keep you safe if we run into anything dangerous.” Theoretically.

There is a small pause. Uncertainty comes off the boy in ebbing waves that slow as he grips his sister’s hand tighter. Another nod.

Just like that, Verphiryn finds themself escorting the pair of tiny people through the twisting trees and vines around them. The vines are no match for Verphiryn’s formidable claws and teeth, and the children are small enough to fit through many a gap in the flora. The boy introduces himself as Cian. His sister is Orla. Ages four – almost five! – and two, respectively. Verphiryn gives their own name and patiently repeats it until Cian can say it correctly. As they continue on, Verphiryn learns to shorten the length of their sentences to ensure best possible comprehension on the children’s end.

"How old do you think I am?" the dragon asks.

"Two!" Orla screeches.

Cian laughs. "No! Eight!"

Verphiryn covers their snout as a wheezing laugh escapes them. "No. I'm one hundred and thirteen."

Cian and Orla stare. There is no comprehension behind their eyes.

"It's about the same as being twenty, for a human," Verphiryn explains, "... I think."

"I can count to twenty," Cian says with great pride.

"... well done," Verphiryn says, unsure of how spectacular this is.

Their travel continues in what the dragon hopes is the correct direction. Between the three of them, they determine a catalogue of acceptable and non-acceptable human food. It’s a lengthy, erratic process.

“You can’t trust Orla,” Cian says as he tries and fails to get leaves out of Orla’s mouth, only getting slobber over his hand for his trouble, “she’ll eat anything.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a baby.”

“Orla big,” the girl protests, with green flecked teeth.

“Almost big,” Cian concedes. “Come on.”

When asked why they and their parents are going through the forest to begin with, Cian says 'Daddy says it’s a shortcut to get home’ and leaves it at that.

There is several minutes of actual silence at one point that Verphiryn savours. It is broken by a yell, and the suspicious absence of the toddler.

“Orla, no!” Cian sprints to whack the tiny dark berries from Orla’s hand just before they reach her mouth. “Mummy said no.”

Orla blinks at him. The despair shifts into a spike of upset as she bursts into tears and howls. The sound is piercing and makes Verphiryn recoil. How could something so tiny make such an imposing, aggravating noise? Their whole body tenses and their wits try to scatter to the corners of the forest if only it will mean escaping this cacophony –

“Here, have these ones,” Cian says, unphased entirely and moving to a bush with different, scarlet berries. “These ones are okay. Like at home. Yummy.”

Once given the berries, Orla relinquishes her woes to the silence she had so violently broken, with just as much speed.

Orla, once given the berries, relinquishes her woes to the silence she had so violently broken. A new silence settles around them as her mouth is now happily occupied with quieter pursuits.

Verphiryn has no idea whether to be impressed or fearful. Perhaps both.

“You’re very good at this,” they say to Cian, who has a small, satisfied smile on his mouth.

“She’s my sister,” he replies, with a shrug.

“Orla,” says the sister in question, through a berry-filled mouth.

“Can you say Verphiryn?” Cian asks her.

She gives it a valiant effort and Verphiryn is actually impressed. They cheer her on and resume their walk. Verphiryn continues to sift through the warbling emotions of their new wards as the trio walk on, but can glean nothing new from their sixth sense other than these children seem to have wandered further from their parents than I thought.

Yawns begin to escape Orla’s mouth, and Cian takes on the role of entertainer while Verphiryn ponders whether or not they’ll need to stop and rest if it gets dark before they find the parents. After pulling absurd faces for a few minutes, Cian goes for Orla’s abdomen. When the girl shrieks, Verphiryn almost grabs the boy’s shirt to yank him away but stops short as they are overwhelmed by potent, raw adrenaline endorphins as Orla twists to avoid Cian’s touch but is unmistakably laughing.

“What… is this?”

Cian stops for a moment, eyes shining and mouth grinning. “Tickling! I’m a tickle monster.” He resumes his new occupation and Orla’s ridiculous noise returns.

The noise turns into running and chase. Which is all well and good until Orla disappears under a fallen tree trunk and Cian gets stuck trying to follow. The space above the log is crowded; if Verphiryn forces their way through, more trees might topple if they catch on their wings or limbs and get yanked.

They get Cian free with some lifting and wriggling and instruct him to grab the large scales around their shin and hold on tight. With the boy attached, Verphiryn can move more quickly to find a path around to locate the errant Orla. Soft rushing of the river makes it harder to hear her steps or stumbles, but her scents – physical and emotional – remain strong. They will not lose her easily.

Sure enough, there she is, her legs working double time. As Cian and Verphiryn call her name she turns to look and beams. Her legs continue to run and—

Orla runs right off the riverbank and vanishes into the water. Her scream is momentary and yet nothing has chilled Verphiryn's heart more.

Most young can't swim. This, Verphiryn knows, and the breakneck speed that Cian sprints to the edge tells them everything else.

"Stay here," they tell him, like they are sure about this in any way.

With a single leap they launch themself over Cian and into the air above the river. There's barely any room to maneuver but the snag of branches is the last concern on their mind.

Orla has been swept downstream fast and Verphiryn follows, their claw ready. Terror clutches their heart as they prepare to retrieve her. She is so small, their claw strong enough to snap her in half. Delicacy is needed but there is no time.

With a half prayer to their grandmother, the closest thing to a deity their family has, Verphiryn swipes their claw into the water. Contact. Curl around. Lift. Orla is out of the water. Verphiryn cannot bear to look if they have succeeded. Dry land first.

They land on three limbs and set her down gently with the other, near Cian. The girl is coughing up water and a nudge from a claw rolls her on her side so she does not choke. She seems to be intact.

Her adrenaline and panic and fear are an overwhelming cocktail that has Verphiryn's mind reeling. Their body drops, their back end dropping into the river, and the cold of the water along their scales helps temper Verphiryn's own tumultuous state.

Orla is alive. Orla is clutching her brother. Orla was very nearly neither and Verphiryn was the deciding factor in more than one respect. This is one child. Are you ready for a whole forest?

"We need to camp for the night," Verphiryn tells the children. "We can resume looking for your parents in the morning."

“No, we have to find them!” Cian slams his hand against the dirt. “They need to eat!”

“I’m sure they’ll be alright.”

“They’ve been sleeping for so long! They’re going to be so hungry!”

A knot curls in Verphiryn’s large stomach, more sizable than Orla herself.

“What do you mean?”

Cian thinks about it, but does not find an answer. Perhaps too difficult a question. Measuring time in the wilds can be hard for humans, they know.

“Well, you will need sleep before we can continue.”

"We're not tired," Cian protests. A snore from Orla undermines his words. Verphiryn snorts a little too loud and has to tilt their head up so that the blast of cold that escapes their nostrils floats nowhere near the children. "Woah."

Fire breath would admittedly be more helpful in this particular moment, as the dragon reaches out and snaps branches and twigs with little effort and assembles them on the ground.

"I don't suppose you know any fire magic?" Verphiryn asks, expectations non-existent. Every creature has access to some simple magical gimmicks, but at what age can be anyone's guess. As for what kind of magic manifests or gets passed down… it is, as people might say, a lottery.

Cian's eyes light up. "Yeah! I do the best fire magic! Mum was like woah."

He puts his finger at the stack of twigs and utters an arcane word with an adorable frown of concentration. Flame shoots through the air like an arrow shot true, and the wood catches.

"Very good," Verphiryn says.

"If you can't make fire, what can you do? Dragons have lots of magic, Mum told me."

"Like most of my green scaled family, I can smell emotions, and because I was born in the dead of winter, my breath is ice," they explain. "But as you may have heard, some dragons breathe fire, or lightning, and see through illusions. Some dragons even have as much magic as human mages. There's an elder dragon, much bigger than me, who has healing magic to rival a great bishop or paladin. She's terrifying, though."

Cian's eyes are like saucers. "Woah. What's she called?"

"Axiphyra," they say, "but I usually call her Grandmother."

Cian grins before it fades into a new frown. "But with no fire, how do you stay warm?"

"My hide is thick, cold does not tend to bother me."

"Do you have a house? Or a cave?"

Verphiryn sighs and rests their chin on their crossed claws. Their exhale shifts the boy's hair like wind.

"I'm trying to find one, a home, a place for myself," they say, "it's difficult. There are a lot of things I need for a place to be right."

"Not a small place," Cian says with a grin, “you wouldn't fit."

Verphiryn laughs and has to hold it back when the resonance causes Orla to shift. "No. But it's taking so long. I want it to be taken care of. So I can get on with doing everything else. If it takes too long, my parents might call me home. Say I'm not ready."

"But why wouldn't you want to go home?"

"Because I'm grown up. I need to find my own way."

"I'm not going to grow up," Cian says. "I'll just get bigger. That will be better."

Another laugh held in, Verphiryn's body shaking from the force of it. "Why didn't I think of that?" they ask.

Cian grins. "Because you're silly!"

The boy laughs himself to sleep. Verphiryn does not allow themself the luxury. One night without sleep is a small inconvenience at best; while it is doubtful any predator will come near something as apex as a dragon, the children are not worth the risk.

The morning is a chaotic blur of berry breakfast and toilet trips in bushes. From there, they make their way upriver until they reach the thick fallen log that serves as a popular crossing point for those without wings or magical flight.

“We came over this!” Cian says.

“Good, then we’re going the right way.”

The trunk is thicker than Verphiryn’s neck, more than adequate for the children’s relative safety. All the same, Verphiryn hovers above, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice, until they are firmly on solid ground again.

“Colours!” Orla shouts, spotting a bush of flowers in vibrant hues and running for it. She picks a flower and creeps closer to Verphiryn, holding the miniscule petaled thing, now half ruined, out to them.

The dragon, baffled, gives Cian what they hope is a look begging for explanation.

Cian giggles. Joy bubbles from him, breaking up the anxiety for a moment. “She’s giving you a present.”

Ah.

It takes every bit of delicacy. Verphiryn has to take the offering between two claw tips without getting the girl’s entire hand. Her face lights and the scent of her delight is so intoxicating that Verphiryn’s head spins. It creates a warmth in their chest like the time they had guzzled a barrel of human whiskey.

Fondness? Affection?

“Let’s play tag!” Cian suggests. “I bet you’re good at chasing!”

It seems that Verphiryn is now powerless to deny them, and can now only think of how to get that joy to smoke out the despair and anxiety. So they chase.

Peals of laughter echo through the forest as Cian grabs Orla’s hand and runs, slowing himself to keep pace. It is amusing how slow Verphiryn must be to not catch them immediately. They pad their feet quickly to give the impression of speed – sometimes while standing still. A game indeed.

With a safe distance between them, Verphiryn exhales a cold blast that covers the trees with a layer of frost and elicits shrieks from the children as the edge of the frigid air catches their hair and clothing.

They run and run until worries are but a blur among the trees.

Until the world catches up with them.

A small clearing houses a long dead fire and a couple of packs propped against trees. Crumbs and stray bits of jerky litter the ground. Two still forms lie near the ashes of the fire pit.

“Mummy! Daddy! We found them!”

Cian runs, relief and joy filling the air around them. Orla follows and they kneel by one of the figures.

“Still sleeping,” Cian says with a sigh. “Orla, no. No!”

Orla drops the berry she had picked up. Several are sprinkled around, dark spots against the dirt. Stains the exact shade of purple cover the fingers and lips of the parents.

The parents, who are empty of any emotion at all but for the smallest remnant of desperation. The only other scent they’re giving off is the tiniest beginnings of decay. Don’t eat the berries. Mummy made us promise.

The children’s voices fall away as nausea sets in. Usually a gut feeling having merit brings satisfaction. But the heaviness in Verphiryn’s stomach had never truly vanished, only been distracted from by the chaos that is children, and now it feels as though a stone has been added for every moment passed, every ounce of care felt for the little ones.

Orla looks up at Verphiryn. “Wake up? Go home?”

Responsibility is a milestone that Verphiryn has been trying to conquer, in the slowest of climbs. There have been days where they have wanted to whine like a youngling and others grouch like an elder. And yet, in this moment, it is the most natural thing in the world to be exactly what they have been struggling to embody all along. It’s bizarre; the world sees tragedy on a daily basis, of course, but what brings hope to so many is that sometimes things can be done about it. What is the point of being a dragon if one cannot achieve something extraordinary? Even if it is only for the happiness of four utterly ordinary humans?

“I can’t wake them up,” Verphiryn tells them, “but my grandmother should have just the thing. We’ll need to build some sort of basket to put on my back to carry you all. Help me find what we need.”

Verphiryn does not know if they can successfully get these children and their parent’s bodies to their destination safely. Verphiryn does know, however, that it is their only chance to fix what a simple plant has ruined.

They can only hope that they’ll be able to live down this particular favour within the next two centuries.