The Great Green Dragon and the Pearl

The Great Green Dragon. That is what they used to call me when man looked to the skies with wonder rather than anger. Long before my joints grew rusty and my scales grew moss. The Great Green Dragon. My once lustrous visage has grown dull with the years spent amongst the deer and bears in this ancient forest. I can recall the day I retreated here, however the years have grown so plenty, I could not possibly tell you how long ago it was. I have lost track of the winters, grown weary of the summers. My body aches, I am weary. Perhaps the time of dragons has passed. The Great Green Dragon. The time of man’s wonder faded to war. War against themselves. War against us. Against the races. Where once we all lived in harmony and harvest, the earth is scarred black from war. At least it was, last I checked. The forest is quiet. Always quiet. The food is bountiful this deep in. No man would ever wander here. I no longer soar above the tops of this haven, my wings stiff and back hardened from years of unuse.

It is summer again. The birds began their songs months ago, the heat breaks through the shades of green and I feel at rest. It is time to eat. Even as I stretch my limbs I find myself longing to return to my field. I had come upon it within my second year here. A beautiful field still surrounded by trees and filled with the fresh scent of wild flowers, now permanently pressed into the shape of my frame. The creatures here do not avoid me. They know that I eat only my fill and bother none other. There is a family of black bears that spends its summers with me. Taking shelter under my wings, rolling amongst the flowers. They make good company and I have begun to understand their speech. When was it last that I heard the tongue of man?

I recall their children's cries of joy and peals of laughter. Recall? Hear. Hear? I hear laughter. There are no nymphs nor elves in this forest. This laughter is young. Far too young to be alone within this forest. Surely it is a trick of the old mind. Shaking it off like the dust from my belly, I continue my walk. The deer should be just around this bend near the stream. This stream has sustained me all this while. Cool crisp water straight from the top of Mount David (as man had named it) as pure as winter snow. The deer and I have a sort of understanding. Those that have grown old wait for me. We are both too tired to run any longer.

The laughter rings once more, it is closer now. As my head breaks through the line of trees I see the source. A young man-child. No older than their third or fourth year, hair tousled and limbs smeared with dirt, they play in the shallow of the stream. The deer look on, curious but passive in their observance of this strange addition to their routine. I kneel at this point, joining the deer in their viewing. Where did this small creature come from? Surely there is no settlement yet. There would have been the rumbling of felled trees and the shouting of working men if there had been. It is dancing in the water, as if oblivious to the world around it. Its laughter joins the babbling of the water and the singing of the birds in a melody these old ears have missed. Oh the laughter of children.

I recall once, in my younger years when they would swing from my great horns and slide down the leather of my wings. When man was as soft and kind as their flesh. This child is too young to know of war. Too young to recall the fires, surely. Too young to know fear at all. Which is why when their foot slips and their soft body splashes into the stream, carrying it away, it has no sense to cry out for help. It simply allows the stream to drag its head under. Shall I leave it to nature? Perhaps there is a guardian looking on. I shall wait. How long can man live without breath? I no longer recall. I walk along the stream, viewing the child’s struggle. Will it not swim? Does it not know how? Where is the seed giver? The child bearer? Will they not come claim their offspring? I hear no movement in the trees, nor is there the call of man to the child. Are they alone? In this great green forest the Great Green Dragon is the only witness to this potential tragedy.

I know this will make my simple life more complicated. I thought my empathy for man had burned with their cities, razed by bitter anger and hardened over with time. But as the child’s head dips beneath the water a final time and refuses to surface, I find myself worried for it. My body breaks the trees around me as I press past them, falling to the sides of me. I dip my maw into the stream, lifting its fragile body out of the cool and onto the warmth of the bank. Nuzzling its chest, I push the water from their small lungs. Lurching with a cough they cry out with the ferocity only a fearful child can muster. I retreat a few steps, my ears unused to the sound, and lie there. Minutes pass before they calm themselves and reopen their eyes. The tears they cried mingle with the water, taking time to dry, even in the summer heat.

The stuttering breaths fade to calm and they finally set their eyes upon me. Widening with wonder, I notice the dark brown, as deep as the river mud and as brilliant as the bark of redwood. They rise, tilting their head to the side. The once red hair now dark with water, drips over their shoulders as they take their first steps towards me.

“Dragon! Dragon!” Their laughter returns as quickly as it was drowned and they trot towards me, arms outstretched as if their plan is to capture me. I dip my head towards them, allowing them to grab onto my nose. The fearlessness of children is and always will be admirable.

I raise my head and the child painfully clings to my nostrils, eliciting a grumble from my throat. The child finds it entertaining, laughing even greater, either from the height or the sound, I know not. I shake my head gently, their legs swaying with the movement before I rest them back on the grass. They fold their legs beneath them and look up at me expectantly.

“Have you no guardians?” I am grateful my tongue remembers the movements of speech.

“Papa said he’d be back by sunrise.”

“Has the sun not risen? Where is he?”

“That was three days ago. I don’t know. I’m really hungry. Do you like fishes? Will you get me fishes? How do you talk? Do all dragons talk? Why do you have moss? Are all dragons in moss? Where am I? How old are you? I am four and a half, and in the winter I shall be five.” The questions stream out of their mouth faster than the river that nearly drowned them. I heave a great sigh.

“Patience and I will answer.” A harmless promise that I have no intention of fulfilling. “I do not eat fish but I can bring you great veal.”

“Papa makes veal too. I know that is made from deers. Do you eat all the deers? Do you like the deers? Can you blow fires from your mouth like in the stories?”

“I only eat my fill and no more. Can you climb onto my wing? I shall carry you up to where the deer meet the river.”

“I’m the best at climbing. I once climbed up to the very top of the tree by the schoolhouse that not even the boys could climb. I didn’t even falled either.” The child lumbers onto my left wing with a grip tight enough that I believe their tale. I lift them into the air enough to help them roll onto my back, however the child stays fixed into place.

“You can let go now, man-child.” I shake it ever so slightly to get them to release.

“I’m not a man.” A fit of giggles sounds from their lips and I find myself smiling.

“Are you not of the race of man? I see no pointed ears for elves, nor pointed teeth for orcs. You have not the smell of fae, though you seem as devilish.”

“No no no! I am a girl!! I am not a man. Papa is a man.” the child’s giggles turn to laughter making the words difficult to decipher.

“I see! A girl-child not a man-child. And what name has your papa bestowed on you girl?”

“Pearl!” the child finally releases my wing and slides down to my back with a screech of joy. “Cause I took so long to be made and killed mama when I came out.” I shake my head and let out a low chuckle.

“Are you certain that is the reason? Is it not because you are precious and rare?”

“No. Papa said it’s cause I took so long to be made and killed mama when I came out. Pearls can only be taken when the fishes is dead.” I can feel her small hands pick at the moss on my back.

“It is true. The oyster makes the pearl for many years and will never see its beauty. Pearl, are there great burns on the land near your home?”

“Burns?”

“Great black fields that grow no food nor grass nor trees.” I turn my head back to her, gazing at this curious creature.

“Nuh uh. There’s flowers everywhere and the farmers have lots of food. But papa says it’s too expensive which is why we take from the fields at night when the dogs and workers are sleeping.”

“Expensive? Is there still the exchange of gold?”

“What is gold?”

“A metal that shines like the sun itself.” I feel my skin itch, recalling the hoard I once held.

“Nuh uh. We use money.”

“What is money, Pearl?”

“It's a special paper that makes people happy!”

“Paper? As in for scrolls?”

“What’s a scroll?”

“A long stretch of paper for writing great things. Like letters, books, and records.”

“Oh! Like the ones we made in school that roll up? People used those a long long looooong time ago but don’t no more. Now we use sheets.” I turn my head back forward to scoop up an elder deer that has settled for my lunch.

I do not let the child, er, Pearl see me kill nor cook it. As I do so she tells me great tales of the city beyond her village. Where men ride horseless carriages and kings are called mayors. Where streets are no longer dirt but built of stone. Where buildings are built with metal and brick and glass. She makes no mentions of elves nor orcs nor fae. She only speaks of man and beast, as if they have simply vanished from the memory of man. We eat together, though the few bites she takes is not enough to make a dent in the veal. I take up the rest in two bites and she looks up in awe.

“Pearl, if your papa does not return, where will you go?” she hums, deep in thought as if she knows many places to go.

“I will stay in the forest and wait forever. Papa must come back eventually.” great sadness fills me as the gravity of this situation washes over my heart. Three days have passed. The likelihood of Pearl’s father returning is as high as her survival alone in this great forest.

“Until he does, would you like to keep me company? I have spent a long time in this forest alone and it can easily swallow up a little thing like you.” Pearl puzzles over the offer for a moment.

“I guess. But you have to make me more of that yummy deers.”

“I can easily fulfill that.” I stretch out my wing and she climbs atop it.

Time with Pearl passes easily. Days fade to weeks and the moon waxes and wanes twice. The summer sun has begun to chill and still there has been no sign of the scoundrel of a father that left her behind. It must have been near the Fall Equinox when she began her pestering.

“Why do you walk everywhere? Do your wings not work? Can dragons only fly in stories? What happens when you fly? Are you too old to fly?” Day after day after day. Questions regarding my adequacy as a flying dragon.

The moss on my back is all but gone with how much she moves me. I have managed to push answering off as much as possible. The impossibility of explaining that the risk that comes with soaring above the copse is too daunting a task. A child of four, and as she insists, a half, has no need to be taught the violence of her forefathers. As the light fades in the west and I set our, now routine, fire, she begins her usual questions. Drawing a sigh from my lungs with a new weariness that I did not know possible.

“I shall tell you a great story Pearl, but you must promise me one thing.” she looks expectant for the request. “You must save all your questions till the very end.” when you shall hopefully be asleep and silent.

“But what if it is really important and I don’t know what is happening in the story?”

“In that case you may, but only one at a time.”

“Okay deal!” she snuggles up into the crook of my forearm and gazes at the fire.

“Long long ago, before your time and before I came to the great forest, the dragons lived among all the five great races. Man, Elf, Goblin, Fae, and Orc. We lived in the caves, the forests, the mountains, the seas, the rivers, and plains. Everyone was together in peace. There was food for everyone and no one had to pay gold or money to be full. Trade was plentiful and everyone felt happy. Around this time, I was hatched from an egg near a village of man and given the name Benigno. Hundreds of years I spent living amongst men and watching them trade amongst the races.

“As time went on there came from the mines in the mountains a few metals, soft to the touch, shining as the sun, and deemed precious. As the mountain's supply of gold, silver, bronze, and copper began to deplete, the hearts of the races saw a change. Even the great dragons began to thirst for and hoard the metals-”

“What does hoard mean? Is your name really Benigno?”

“What did I say about the questions?”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“My name is Benigno. To hoard means to gather up large amounts and keep it from other people.”

“Oh like when me and Papa cut down trees in the summer to build fires in the winter and no one else can have our wood?”

“Exactly, clever Pearl. The hoards of metals were selfish and greedy. This is what grew in the hearts of us all. Greed. It is a nasty feeling that makes one ache and ache and never feel full. A hunger that eats at your mind, not your stomach. The feeling caused even me, the Great Green Dragon, to hoard up a mountainous pile of gold in a cave. The hoards of man were stolen, spent, and otherwise redistributed amongst each other. The hoards-”

“What’s redisti- redistri- that word?”

“Re-dis-tri-bu-ted. It means to take from one person and give to another or many others. To share in a way.”

“Oh! Redistributed.” she whispers her newfound word.

“The hoards of elves were turned into great gilded cities that stood amongst the rivers and forests. The hoards of Orcs were hidden in their valleys and the Goblins hid theirs in the caves. Only the Fae stayed far from the metals. It is said that they were the ones who made it, bestowing the gift, only to make sure it would poison us. The hoards of Dragons were the greatest of all and they made all who touched them fall mad. Once one touched a dragon’s gold, their heart was filled with greed and they would only think of gold. They could never be satisfied and would pass away, refusing even food and water. This was because Dragons had so much greed in our hearts, it poisoned the very hoard we sat upon. Many tried to take my hoard, many lost themselves to madness.

“Time went on and there came a point when all the gold and silver had been taken from the mountains. There was no more to be made into coins and cities. The lines had been carved out and people realized there would be no more. Man was the first to march against the other races. Smelting armor of iron and steel, weapons called swords, they trained themselves to be warriors. These men trained horses to be part of their wars. They ran against the other races. Beginning with the foolish Orcs who knew nothing of war and fought with their teeth. The Elves followed suit, their craftsmanship, that was once used for fine jewelry and sparkling clothes, was turned to armor of linked chains. They marched upon the Goblins, luring them into the forests, then taking what was held within their caves. When the Elves and Men had seen each other’s prowess, they began to trade with each other.

“They flourished, their stolen riches building greater cities, forging greater war machines like catapults and battering rams. Do you know what those are Pearl?”

“I have seen them in story books. Catapults send big rocks into castles and battering rams break down great doors.”

“Why are these in your story books? Is that not far too violent for children?”

“I thought you said only one question at a time, Benigno?” her soft chuckle denotes mischief far beyond her years.

“You clever creature, you caught me in my own web.” the rumble of my laughter sends night birds into flight around us.

“They aren’t scary books. Just fairytales about knights who slay… oh… um, nevermind.”

“Who do the knights slay?” I look down at the small child beneath me.

“Dragons. All knights slay dragons.”

“I see,” I shake my head in disappointment. “It is true that the dragons were the next in the path of Man and Elf. They sought our hoards and would do anything to get it. Many dragons fled from their caves, abandoning their glittering gold for safety. Others sought war against the feeble creatures of flesh. Razing their fields with elemental fury. Giving the gift of fire on their towns in return for the slaughter of our brethren. We burned all we could. Consumed what we could not. Some men and elves sought peace. Those that saw the effect of greed sought a new way to resolve the wars.

“They begged to help the dragons in their fight. Or perhaps for us to help them in theirs. We made deals with them. Allowing them to fit us with saddles of leather and armor of dragon heated steel. They coated our talons in our own gold in order to insight madness amongst the enemies. This was how we waged war. This is the choice we made. The Orcs and Goblins chose either to hide or to join a side. Most chose to hide. The wars lasted one hundred and thirty seven years until both sides were nearly decimated. After watching the loss of my brethren, I could not stay in the wars. I was not the first to leave. A blue dragon was the first to seek peace, her rider bonded to her through trust, changed the hearts of many. Many followed after, and I was one of the last. I came to this forest and have remained here for so long.

“When I had arrived, the Men and Elves blamed the Dragons for abandoning them in their wars. It became a sport to hunt us. To surround the Dragons and take their anger out on us, even at the sacrifice of their own lives. I swore, when I found this peace, that I would no longer fly. For once I take flight, the safety I have built here runs out. Do you understand Pearl?”

“You’re scared.” her sleepy voice didn’t portray the wisdom of her words, but we both knew it to be true.

“I am scared. I do not miss the sound of battle.”

“If you aren’t scared in the summer, can I fly like a dragon rider in your story?” I chuckle and add more wood to the fire.

“If by the summer you remember to ask me, I will.” there came no response on that fall night, only the soft sound of a sleeping child’s breath. Sleep brought no peace to me that night, the movement of the fire dancing behind my second lid stoked the dreams of war and carnage. Memories that would remain unspoken.

Fall faded to winter, when we kept warm within the heart of Mount David. The winter passed and the spring sun melted the snow. Days of walking through the forest were followed by nights of telling stories of the past. Pearl has taught me many things about how humanity has progressed. The way there are no more Elves or Orcs or Goblins. How the Fae are now called Fairies and are only found in stories. The way that Man has forgotten the wars of my time but have had more since. The way the cities and the villages are rich for those who can afford it but inaccessible to those who cannot.

She is now five and determined to remind me of my promise. The reminder of waiting till summer comes passes between us daily. The time has given me the chance to stretch my wings and straighten my spine. The tail I have ignored so often had to be retaught how to extend and retract. As summer arrived, she made short time of reminding me to fly with her.

“Benigno the sun is hot now. We can fly now right?”

“We must first make sure you do not fly off my back.”

“How?” Her spry voice is carried easily on the wind from my back as we walk.

“By getting you a saddle of course. I was a war dragon once as you know. When I left, I was still wearing it. The saddle should be at the very top of Mount David. We shall walk there then return by flight as promised.” The gentle memory of my former rider and friend removing my saddle as his last act of kindness crosses my mind.

“Do you really mean it? Are we really gonna fly?”

“Yes Pearl, I made a promise. Besides, I suppose it is time I see how large the forest is and where man has found himself.”

“What if you see people? Will you be scared, Benigno?” her concern for me continues to touch me. I am often surprised by the kindness she has within her.

“If they are anything like you, I have nothing to fear.”

The journey to the top of the mountain passes quickly. Conversation occasionally drifts to silence until she finds new questions to rattle off. It seems she never truly runs out of curiosity. Pearl has become a treasure that surpasses the hoard I once had. Teaching her to saddle me and tighten the straps enough to keep her safe was more of a challenge than I care to admit. The leather was stiff and cracked in the seat but the straps seemed to have stayed supple. The work of Elves proving the test of time once more.

“Now remember Pearl, keep a tight grip on the seat. If you do not, I will not hear your body float away. You will not recover from a fall at the height we will fly.”

“What if the saddle breaks? Will I float away?”

“Let us not think of that. I do not want to consider that possibility.” she giggles and I half heartedly join her. My stomach lurching at the image of her small frame becoming lost in the trees. We reach the precipice of the rocks and I pause, flexing and stretching the wings that have lain dormant for so long. “Are you ready to breathe in the aethra, Pearl?”

“What’s that?”

“The upper and clear air. Where the light is all around you and the air is joyful and shifting.”

“Hmm, yes I think I am Benigno.”

“Then hold on tight.” I leap from the rocks, hearing them crack and fall behind me from the force of it.

As my body leans downward and my speed increases I extend my wings. The air catches us, lifting us into the air and I remember the elation that comes with it. The pure freedom of being lifted into the height of the sky and soaring above the world. Pearl’s laughter rises above the roar of the wind. Joy. That is what flight is. The feeling of joy. The build in your throat, the bubbles in your stomach, the popping of your ears like the fireworks of man before cannons took their place. My wings ache as I lift us higher, each pump reminding me of every year I neglected them. But the sound of joy upon my back makes it fade into an afterthought. We soar above the trees, my Pearl and I. We fly until the sun sets, bringing the night chill with the shining moon.

“Benigno, can we fly every day in the summers?”

“Pearl, if you manage to learn to make leather under my instruction, and fashion a cloak, you may fly every day year round.”

“Really? Every day?”

“For as long as I can lift us.”

It has been 15 years since Pearl and I first took flight. We have seen every inch of the forest, flown to every mountain, soared above the sparkling cities of man in the night. Her father never returned and after only a year she stopped expecting him. In her 10th year of life, she mourned his loss. The realization of her abandonment sweeping over the fragile heart of the child with the fury of a summer storm. I still recall the echoes of her screams into the silent forest as she grieved. When the grief passed over her, she stopped mentioning him. She has never lost her laughter. In time, she will return to man. As each craves the company of their own. I know that the lives of man are short, her heart will long for that missing love. The one that I no longer crave, due solely to her company. But until that day comes, I shall hoard my living treasure. For the Great Green Dragon shines once more, as iridescent as a Pearl in the sun.