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Post by saerphe on Jul 15, 2010 19:55:29 GMT -5
AARGH! Sorry this took so bloody long! I'd almost lost my rough draft for the next few chapters, but I found them again! Yay! XD Anyway, here's chapter five. Enjoy! ~*~
Chapter Five
The next day, after helping Declan restore the forge to its original state, Damian took a bow and a quiver of arrows and headed into the woods to search for his dragon. Remembering that it had flown north after being wounded, Damian decided to travel that direction first. It couldn’t have gone very far in the state it was in.
After walking for about an hour, Damian came to a clearing filled with branches that had been forcibly snapped off of their trees. The earth was torn up, as though something had fallen and struggled to get up, clawing at the ground as it staggered.
Damian quickly started searching for further clues as to which direction the dragon could have gone. He found a trail of more broken branches and churned earth and began to track his quarry with a well-trained eye. He soon stumbled upon another clearing. The bare side of a cliff was exposed, revealing a cave in the rock face. And enormous mass of green scales lay just outside of the cave. Damian was about to approach the beast when it drew a deep breath and moaned pitifully Damian stumbled back a few feet, startled; it was still alive.
Drawing an arrow and notching it to the bow, Damian carefully walked forward, shifting around until he stood before the dragon’s face. The creature looked up at him with sad golden eyes. Its wings were splayed awkwardly beneath it, broken. Its scales were falling off, paws bleeding, and one ear was badly torn. Damian lowered his bow, staring at the once-powerful creature now laid low before him.
“I did this…” he whispered. He stumbled back a step, feeling sick with guilt; boiling, nauseating, heart-wrenching guilt. He swallowed and tried to look away, but his eyes fell on a pile of bones, picked clean and bleached white by the sun. He could pick out a wing, a horn, a claw… it was the skeleton of a dragon. An old and rotted spear lay between the long-dead dragon’s ribs, a bundle of red feathers tied to the end. Damian recognized the spear as one belonging to his father; he always used red feathers on his arrows and spears so he could find them later if he lost them in battle. Damian looked back on the wounded dragon, realising that his father must have killed its mate. The dragon looked up at him forlornly and uttered a pitiful moan. Damian fell to his knees before it, clenching his fists.
“Look at us,” Damian muttered bitterly, “we both wanted revenge and look where it’s gotten us.” The dying dragon watched Damian with an intelligent gleam in its eyes; it almost seemed to understand him.
“I did this,” he whispered, “this is my fault.” It became a mantra, repeated over and over in his head. I did this. My fault, my fault, my fault, MY FAULT. Guilt and shame overwhelmed Damian and he felt tears sting his eyes. He reached out to stroke the dragon’s muzzle, knowing full well that even at its weakest it could take his whole arm off it so desired. It did nothing of the sort, however, and as Damian touched the warm, smooth scales he found himself sobbing uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured, leaning into the dragon’s neck, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He continued to cry into the dragon’s scales and it rumbled sadly. “I’m sorry too,” it seemed to say.
Damian and the dragon stayed this way until long after the creature’s heartbeat had ceased and its scales began to cool. His tears used up and his body and heart drained of all energy, Damian fell into a restless sleep, still leaning on the dragon that he had slain.
~*~
It's a sad chapter... but it'll pick up again later, I promise!
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Post by saerphe on Aug 13, 2010 7:09:38 GMT -5
Bah! Sorry for the long absence, peeps! What with it being summer and no motivation and not having a regular routine to fit writing into, I went and got lazy. But I typed up the next chapter last night, so I'm posting it now! I hope y'all enjoy. ~*~
Chapter Six
When Damian finally woke and raised his head from the Dragon’s body, the sun was preparing to set in a blaze of pink, gold and purple glory. He sighed; George would be wondering where he was. Damian hefted himself to his feet with some difficulty; kneeling on the ground and leaning on the dragon for hours had made him stiff.
Damian stretched out his aching muscles and began to gather his possessions together for his long walk home when he paused; there was a rustling in the long grass by the cave. He paused and stared intently into the dying light. There was nothing to be seen or heard. Damian frowned, his eyebrows knitting over his blue eyes and shrugged it off.
A loud squeal pealed through the evening, making Damian jump half a mile in the air with a yelp. Something had tumbled out of the tall grass and nearly collided with his leg. He leaped back away from the creature, wary of it despite the fact that it was no bigger than a border collie. It squeaked and recoiled, rustling the large growths on its back. Damian squinted at them before he realised… they were wings. As he stared at the creature he soon made out many other features: tiny, just-sprouting horns, large green slit-pupil eyes, paws with needle claws, and hundreds of pebbly gemstone-like scales.
There was no doubt about it. This was a baby dragon.
Damian and the dragon hatchling stared at each other for several tense moments. It leaned out its small head, its long neck straining slightly, and sniffed inquisitively at him. Damian felt the heart-wrenching guilt build again; the dragon he had slain must have been this hatchling’s mother. He had done to this tiny dragonlet what its mother had done to him. The mad desire for vengeance had orphaned them both. Damian could have laughed at the irony if it wasn’t so tragic.
Damian reached out a hand to the dragonet, which it sniffed politely, lipping his fingers slightly. He gave it a hard rub on the ridge of its horns, which it seemed to appreciate. As the dragonet purred and leaned into his fingers, Damian came to a realisation; the dragonet, by its size, must have been a newborn. Without someone to provide for it, it would surely die.
He was faced with a very serious decision: He could abandon the dragonet here, go back to his life in the village, become a blacksmith and save up the money to rebuild his family’s farm. Or he could take responsibility for his actions and raise the dragonet until it was old enough to fend for itself. It was clear which would be the easier decision.
Dragons were hated in his village. They had killed hundreds of his people, including his parents. He had been instructed since birth that dragons were evil and should be killed on sight, and taking the dragonet in would certainly be forbidden. Damian knew he would have to raise it in secret, but if he were discovered it would surely mean banishment, or worse.
Damian bit his lip. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that doing the right thing wasn’t always easy, and doing the easy thing wasn’t always right. He knew in his heart that killing the dragon was wrong; he could see that now; but there was nothing he could do to change that and so he would have to learn to live with it. But perhaps he could make things right by taking in the dragonet he had orphaned, and doing his best to give it a good start in life. They were both orphans. But the dragonet had no one to care for it. George had been ready and willing to step up and become like a father to Damian. Damian knew it was the right thing to do the same for this dragonet.
But that, in turn, would mean betraying the trust of everyone in his village. Damian groaned and put his head in his hands. What was he going to do?
The dragonet sat patiently, watching as Damian struggled to work through his dilemma. It tilted its head, and moved closer until it could nose at his hand. He looked up at the little creature with sad blue eyes. It opened its mouth wide, displaying tiny needle teeth, and chirped. Damian couldn’t help a smile.
“You must be hungry.” He said to it, reaching around for his pack. He pulled out a few strips of dried meat and ripped them into smaller pieces. “Here you go. It’s not much, but it should be enough to get you through until morning.” As the dragonlet carefully accepted the offered food, Damian knew he had made his choice.
The dragonlet was his responsibility now. There would be no turning back.
~*~I'm leaving to go to my grandparents' place for a week on Wednesday, I think, so I'll do my best to give you guys one more update before then. No guarantees though.
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Post by saerphe on Aug 26, 2010 12:44:12 GMT -5
Back from my Grandparents! Had a grand ol' time; t'was very relaxing, and even though I'm not altogether pleased to be stuck at home again, it's okay 'cause it means I can update! This one's pretty short, but it works. ~*~
Chapter Seven
It became a regular routine. Damian rose before the sun, walked to the clearing, fed the dragonlet and returned home before anyone realised he had gone anywhere. He would help Declan in the forge until the sun was at its highest point when Declan normally dismissed him. Any chores around George’s house would be done as quickly as possible so that Damian could return to the clearing and spend the rest of the afternoon until sunset with the dragonlet.
After a few days of this, Damian not only tired from walking so far every day, but also decided it would not be in the dragonlet’s best interest to have to live so close to its parents’ graves (he had since covered the dragons in leaves and branches, as they were too large to bury and a funeral pyre would attract too much attention). After scouting for three days he found another suitable clearing, with a spacious cave and a small creek halfway between the village and the dragonlet’s old home.
The dragonlet quickly adjusted to its new home as well as to Damian’s daily routine. It had taken several tries for it to learn that it was not allowed to follow Damian home. It had tried to trundle after him when he left the night he decided to care for it, but he simply picked it up and returned it to its cave. He had had to do this several times before the dragonlet got the hint.
When it realised that it was not allowed to come with him, the dragonlet began to wail wretchedly and Damian had to bite his lip and strengthen his resolve. He spent a sleepless night, wondering if he’d done the right thing by leaving it alone overnight and worrying for its safety, but when he went to check on it the next day it was unharmed, if somewhat shaken. Damian’s fear for the dragon’s safety soon faded, as did the dragonlet’s separation anxiety.
The dragonlet soon became an object of intense fascination for Damian. The tips of its horns barely came to his knees at first, but it went through a series of growthspurts, and by the end of their first week its shoulder was level with his thighs. Its webbed crest would rise and fall with its moods and the spade-shaped tip on its tail grew from being leathery and almost pliable to hard and sharp in a matter of weeks. Its horns continued to grow, and whiskers sprouted from behind its flared nostrils and the scaled edges of its jawbones. It had fins similar to its crest on its tail, just behind the tip, which Damian guessed served to stabilize the creature in flight.
When the dragonlet grew to the size of a German Shepherd, it began to rear back on its hind legs and flap its wings rapidly. In the weeks after it started to flap, Damian began to see greater muscle definition in its chest and shoulders. It still hadn’t lifted off the ground yet, nor had it shown any interest in breathing fire beyond a few small puffs of smoke, so Damian assumed it wasn’t ready to start hunting on its own yet.
“You need a name.” Damian finally admitted to the dragonlet during one of their play sessions. They had been rolling around in the soft grass, wrestling. From the moment they first began to play at wrestling, the Dragon had been careful never to use its teeth or claws, or the tip of its tail after it hardened. It was also excessively dainty when it accepted food from Damian; it seemed to him that the dragonlet was simply polite by nature.
The dragonlet stopped its game of tugging on Damian’s boot and sat back on its haunches, regarding him with interest. It rumbled softly – its vocabulary was another thing that grew rapidly, it seemed – and blinked. It had been almost two months since they’d first met and Damian was certain by this point that the dragonlet was a female… though how he knew this he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t continue just calling it ‘the dragonlet’ forever. The dragonlet flared its nostrils and released a soft whuff as if to say ‘I’m waiting’. Damian blinked as its hot breath wafted in his face. It smelled faintly of smoke.
“How ‘bout ‘Smoky’?” He joked. The dragon snorted and gave him a look that clearly said it was not amused. “Alright, alright. I’m being serious now.” He cast around the clearing for ideas. His eyes fell on the stream that ran through the clearing and he thought about giving it a name that had something to do with water; after all, the dragon’s scales were a deep blue like the ocean. Though the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He took a deep breath and smelled the cool dampness in the air. It had rained earlier.
Rain.
Damian opened his eyes and smiled. “How about Fearthainn?” He asked, “It’s one of the words for ‘rain’ in the old Irish language.” The dragonlet blinked slowly, seeming to consider and purred, its eyes crinkling at the corners. Damian took that as a yes and smiled back, happy that Fearthainn was pleased with her new name.
Fearthainn nosed at Damian’s hand and he obligingly lifted his arm for the dragonlet to snuggle under. He stroked Fearthainn’s velvety, webbed crest until she purred and they sat in companionable silence until the sun began to sink, casting a golden hue onto the forest.
~*~Well, I hope y'all enjoyed chapter seven, and chapter eight is in the works, so hopefully I'll be able to update again soon. And I got Fearthainn's name from here: www.irishdictionary.ie/dictionaryThere's at least one other word for 'rain' in Irish Gaelic, but this was the one I liked best. I apologize in advance for any translation errors.
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Post by saerphe on Aug 30, 2010 12:00:40 GMT -5
Look an update! Enjoy! ~*~
Chapter Eight
Damian stumbled into Fearthainn’s clearing, jerking his foot to shake loose the vine that had wrapped around his ankle. As important as the thick foliage was to hide the clearing, he couldn’t help but curse it when he got caught in it.
“Fearthainn!” Damian called the dragon’s name and was immediately bowled over by a Shetland Pony-size, blue blur. Waving her tail in the air happily, Fearthainn snuffled in Damian’s ear and licked his face with her long forked tongue. Damian burst into laughter and hugged the dragonlet around the neck. She purred and they stayed that way for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. Then Damian sat up and gently pushed Fearthainn away so he could get up.
“Come on, we’re going to try a new game today. We can’t exactly play wrestling anymore; you’re getting too big! One wrong move and I’ll be a Damian pancake.” He scratched the dragonlet under the chin and moved to a wide flat space in the clearing. Fearthainn wriggled happily and bounded along after him.
Damian searched around until he found a good stick; long enough to be of a reasonable size to play fetch with, but straight and no sharp points or branches that might hurt Fearthainn’s mouth. He showed it to Fearthainn, who gave it a cursory sniff and burbled in the back of her throat, and then he threw it across the clearing.
Fearthainn stared after the stick, then sat back on her haunches and looked at Damian as if to say ‘What do you expect me to do now?’
“Right.” Damian muttered to himself. Fearthainn was a dragon, not a dog. She couldn’t be expected to understand what fetch even was, let alone how to play. Thinking on it, Damian wasn’t even sure if she could be bothered to play fetch; Fearthainn had already demonstrated multiple times that she was far more intelligent than any animal Damian was used to interacting with, maybe even on par with human intelligence. He had also noticed that Fearthainn was somewhat vain; she might not even deign to play a game like fetch. Nonetheless, Damian decided to show her how it was done. He ran across the clearing, picked up the stick and brought it back.
Fearthainn cocked her head with mild interest as Damian demonstrated the game a few more times to be sure she understood. Then he threw the stick one more time and watched to see what Fearthainn would do now. She happily bounded across the clearing and tried to pick up the stick… with her front paws.
Damian’s jaw dropped as he realized what Fearthainn was trying to do and had to worry for the first time how being raised by a human instead of a dragon would affect her behaviour. What if she wouldn’t be able to survive in the wild? Damian wouldn’t be able to teach her to hunt, let alone breathe fire or fly. He chewed on his lip as he considered the consequences; his adopting Fearthainn could turn out to be a death sentence rather than an act of kindness.
Meanwhile, Fearthainn was continuing to try and fail at picking up the stick with her front paws. After a few more failed attempts she simply wailed despairingly and flopped in front of the stick with her head on her paws. Feeling guilty, Damian walked over to her and gave her a comforting scratch behind the ears. She looked up at him with despondent yellow-green eyes. Damian picked up the stick and whistled to her to follow him. She hauled herself up off the ground and followed Damian back, her tail dragging in the dirt.
Making sure Fearthainn was watching carefully, Damian threw the stick again, then crawled after it on all fours and tried to pick it up with his mouth. It was a lot harder than it looked. Finally getting a hold on the stick with his teeth, Damian crawled back over to Fearthainn and dropped it, spitting out bits of bark and sand as he did so. He wrinkled his nose; disgusting. Then he threw the stick again.
Fearthainn tore after the stick with renewed vigour, grasping it between her ivory fangs and trundling happily back to Damian. She dropped the stick at his feet and flagged her tail, obviously pleased with her achievement. Damian ruffled her crest, praising her for successfully fetching the stick. They continued to play for a time before Fearthainn began to lose interest.
They drank from the stream; the water was clear and cool. Then Damian sat down cross-legged and Fearthainn curled her steadily lengthening body around him and folded her paws one on top of the other. She stared steadily at the stream and Damian took a moment to see what she was looking at; their images were clearly reflected in the calm water.
“We’re different, you and I.” Damian remarked. Fearthainn whuffed softly and he continued, “You’re a dragon. You can do loads of things that I’ll never be able to do, like breathe fire and fly.” He paused for a moment. Fearthainn watched attentively. “And I can do things that you can’t do either. Like pick up sticks with my hands.” He chuckled and Fearthainn made a chuffing noise that Damian recognized as her form of laughter. He briefly wondered if normal dragons laughed or if it was a behaviour she had learned from him.
“And I’m sorry,” Damian continued, “because I can’t teach you how to hunt or fly or do any of those things. You’ll never be able to function like a normal dragon.” Fearthainn nudged Damian’s hand and looked at him with serious eyes. ‘It’ll be alright’ she seemed to say and for the time being, Damian felt assured.
“Yeah, I know.” He murmured and gave Fearthainn a hard rub on the horn. She purred and settled her head in his lap. Damian smiled absently and continued to watch the stream as it rolled leisurely by. He knew they would have a lot of challenges to face in the future, but they would take them on together, one at a time.
Damian returned home that night feeling much more confident about Fearthainn’s future, as well as his own.
~*~Don't forget to review on your way out!
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Post by saerphe on Oct 10, 2010 22:08:15 GMT -5
Sorry I haven't updated in a while! It's hard to find time to write during the school week... just don't have the motivation... but your reviews are helpful! Thanks for sticking with it this long, and for all the wonderful comments! But here's the next chapter, so enjoy! Feel free to let me know what you think. ~*~
Chapter Nine
“You’ve sure been spending a lot of time outside lately.” George observed over supper that night. Damian stiffened and swallowed uneasily. He slowly put down his fork, frantically trying to think of what excuse he could use to put George off of his trail. If Fearthainn was discovered… he didn’t want to think about that. Deep down he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the dragon secret forever, especially once she started to get bigger.
“I’ve been exploring the forest.” Damian finally blurted. “Like you said, I need to get to know the area if I’m going to be able to help look after the village.” George raised an eyebrow, but did not press the matter. Damian resolved to take more varied routes to visit the clearing to better keep anyone from following him in the future. The longer Fearthainn remained a secret, the better.
*****
Damian pushed aside several branches, finally stumbling into Fearthainn’s clearing. It had been two weeks since George had interrogated Damian and he’d been taking longer and more circuitous routes to the clearing to keep Fearthainn from being discovered. It was an arduous process, but all the more crucial, as Fearthainn had hit another growth spurt and was now the size of a large cow and as long as one of Keith’s fishing boats. Damian vaguely wondered how large Fearthainn would grow and how long it would be until she could fend for herself.
Thinking on it, Damian could hardly remember what life was like before Fearthainn, and certainly couldn’t imagine being separated from each other forever. They had grown very close and if it weren’t for the need for secrecy, Damian thought they might never leave each other’s sides.
Damian looked around the clearing for Fearthainn, but she was nowhere to be found. He even searched her cave, the stream and the thick forest around the clearing but it soon became clear that she was not there. Damian was standing in the center of the clearing, worried about Fearthainn and wondering where she could have gone when a shadow passed over his head and a loud bugle erupted from somewhere above him. Damian’s head snapped up and he gaped as Fearthainn swooped and spiralled down to make a less-than-graceful landing in front of him. Once she was steady on her paws, she approached Damian, wearing a more-than-smug look on her face.
“You flew!” Damian cried incredulously, “That was amazing! How…?” Fearthainn’s luminous green eyes crinkled at the corners and a rumbling noise emitted from the back of her throat. She was clearly pleased with herself for figuring her wings out on her own. Damian ran a hand across Fearthainn’s shoulders and wings, feeling the velvety membrane and corded muscles that allowed her to rise into flight. Fearthainn arched her back into his fingers and purred happily.
While examining the anatomy that allowed Fearthainn the power of flight, Damian found himself concocting a plan in the back of his mind. He could see how all the parts fit together into a cohesive whole and wanted nothing more than to race back to the forge to start working on it. He had to remind himself however that Fearthainn was still a beginning flyer and that he’d have to wait for her to get a little bigger and stronger before he could put this plan into action.
“Show me again!” Damian told Fearthainn, his blue eyes shining with excitement. Fearthainn rumbled, then crouched and took off at a run. She galloped across the clearing and bounded off a rock, her massive wings pounding down and lifting her into the air. She spiralled up and around until she rose above the trees. Damian took note of how she used updrafts and currents of warm air to give herself additional lift. Despite her rather clumsy take-offs and touch-downs, Damian noted how graceful Fearthainn was once she was in the air. He laughed as she ducked, swooped, twirled and ascended again, spiralling around until Damian felt dizzy. As he observed his dragon in flight, the designs that Damian had formulated in the back of his mind were altered until it fit better.
Fearthainn arched around in the air, flipping upside down until her nose pointed to the ground and she descended in a dizzying free-fall. Before she could hit the ground, she unfolded her wings to the fullest extent and back-flapped until she slowed enough to land without harming herself or Damian. Her hind feet touched the ground with a puff of dust and a soft scraping of claws, followed by her front paws. Her tail curled around her paws as she settled softly, blinking at Damian contentedly. Damian walked up and sat beside Fearthainn. She lowered her head to his lap and Damian stroked her long muzzle.
“I’ll admit I was worried for a while that you wouldn’t be able to fly,” Damian murmured. Fearthainn rumbled softly. “I guess I underestimated you. You’re very clever.” He moved his hand to scratch behind his friend’s ear and she closed her eyes happily. “I’m really proud of you.” Fearthainn lifted her head until she was eye to eye with Damian. Her luminous yellow-green eyes crinkled at the edges and she seemed to smile. She whuffed a breath of hot air into his face, ruffling Damian’s hair affectionately before she laid her head back down. They sat together in a companionable silence as the sun began to sink in the sky.
“Alright, I have to go.” Damian patted Fearthainn’s head and she obligingly lifted her head so he could get up. He stretched for a moment, letting the feeling come back to his legs before he picked up his pack and headed for home.
*****
Damian tapped a stick of charcoal against a sheaf of parchment, deep in thought. The sun had long since set and his candle was burning down to a nub. The dim light was making his eyes ache faintly, but he knew that if he didn’t get this idea of his down soon he would forget exactly how it had been laid out in his mind.
He finally put the sharpened end of the charcoal down on the parchment and began to sketch out a rough draft of his idea. There was a strap here… it connected there… it had to be split slightly here to accommodate for the shape of Fearthainn’s body… buckles, buttons, snaps… it would have to be light and flexible… Damian began to mark down notes in the margins of his designs, materials he would need, a rough estimate of how much, as well as how much he would have to accommodate for Fearthainn’s continuing growthspurts…
A thought struck Damian just then; how much would Fearthainn grow? Would she stop growing at a certain age or did Dragons continue to grow for as long as they lived? How long did they live, given that they weren’t slain before they grew too old to continue providing for themselves? Did dragons have some sort of system for caring for their sick and elderly or was it a survival-of-the-fittest type of deal?
The more Damian thought about it, the more he realized that there was a lot that he didn’t know about dragons, and considering that many of the villagers had a ‘kill first, ask questions later’ policy regarding them, he suspected there weren’t many people who knew much about them either. Although, there was one person he could ask…
Damian stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes; he knew better than to focus on drawing designs in dim candle light, but there was nothing to do about that. As for asking anyone about dragon physiology, that would have to wait until he had put in his hours at the forge tomorrow morning.
~*~Thanks so much for reading! Stay tuned for the next update... I'm working it even as I post!
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Post by saerphe on Oct 15, 2010 21:48:27 GMT -5
Hey all! In honour of both the release date of CT's Christmas Album on Tuesday and the DVD of How to Train Your Dragon today, I give you... Chapter ten! Enjoy! ~*~ Chapter Ten
“Phil!” Damian jogged up to the house of the village elder. Phil had been the leader of the village before he retired and passed the title on to George. He had lived in the village for so long that he must have observed many dragon attacks, perhaps had even seen dragons outside the battlefield, so to speak. There were many rumours that Phil had, in his youth, snuck off to observe dragons in their natural habitat and if this was true then perhaps he might have some information that could be useful to Damian.
Phil was sitting in an old rocking chair in a patch of sunlight just outside his house, making notes in what looked to be a journal. He looked up and scrutinized Damian as he approached.
“Ah, young master McGinty,” Phil greeted Damian, shutting the journal with a crisp thump, “to what do I owe the honour?” His eyes sparkled with laughter as he shook Damian’s hand.
“Well,” Damian began somewhat apprehensively; Phil could be an intimidating character at times, “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?” He fidgeted slightly under Phil’s gaze; it was more disconcerting than being stared down by a dragon.
“What about, lad?” Phil inquired, “There a fine young lady you’re interested in, is there?” Damian’s bright blue eyes widened and he flushed a deep crimson.
“Wha-No! No, nothing like that.” He vehemently denied the accusation, even as Phil burst out into hearty laughter. Damian waited for a moment until Phil had stopped laughing. “I was wondering actually, if you know anything about dragons.”
Phil raised an eyebrow and leaned back into his chair, eyeing Damian with renewed interest, “Why the sudden interest, my boy? I thought you were of a mind to kill dragons like many of our neighbours in this village.” Damian thought fast; it wasn’t as though he could tell the truth about Fearthainn. No way could he ever consider that an option until long after Fearthainn could look after herself.
“Well, know your enemy and all that.” He shrugged, trying to brush it off as casual interest, “Just curious I guess.” Phil gave Damian a sideways look for a moment before hefting himself from his chair.
“Come inside then, my boy. I have a feeling we could be here a while. You always had a penchant for asking questions when you were younger and I expect that that’s one thing you haven’t grown out of.” Phil winked and retreated inside his house. Damian smiled slightly before following. “As for those rumours you must have heard…” Phil settled himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, “You may have already guessed, but they’re true.” He laughed. Once Damian was seated at Phil’s dining room table Phil folded his hands and fixed Damian with another of his stares. “What would you like to know?”
“Well…” Damian began, trying to gather his thoughts together into a cohesive structure, “How big do dragons get? I mean, I’ve seen some pretty big ones, but when do they stop growing?”
“Quite simply,” Phil answered, locking his fingers together, “They don’t. As far as I can tell, dragons grow throughout their lives. It’s hard to say around here of course, considering most dragons get killed before they can get to any really impressive sizes. When I was your age, Dragons longer than thirty feet from muzzle to tail-tip were a common sight. They’ve all been killed off though, and few survive to grow longer than ten feet anymore. It’s hard to say how long it takes them to grow to such lengths.”
“Okay then,” Damian murmured, allowing the information to settle in his brain for a moment; he may have to adjust his designs according to Fearthainn’s growth, if dragons really continued to grow throughout their lives, “How long do they live then, considering someone doesn’t kill them first?”
“Ah. That’s another one I don’t have an answer to. A very, very long time is all I can tell you about that. Longer than any human could hope to live, that much is certain. For all we know, they could live indefinitely, as long as they aren’t felled by disease or dragon-slayers. It’s hard to say also, if they have a system for looking after their sick or elderly; they tend to live very far apart from each other, but they’re also very clever, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
How could I not have noticed? Damian thought to himself, but he said nothing.
Phil turned to look out of the window for a moment, “I honestly would not be surprised if they had some sort of larger, widespread social network to keep in touch with each other. I’ve seen many breathe puffs of fire and smoke into the air for no apparent reason, and many also like to display shiny and reflective on the edges of their territories, where they can catch the sunlight. Perhaps they use these objects to signal to each other? It’s not really certain, but they have far better eyesight than we do; it’s a distinct possibility.” Phil turned back to Damian with a small smile.
“That would explain why they all attack the village together instead of just one at a time.” Damian mused. Phil nodded. “But they must signal to each other with sound too, right? I mean, they sure roar pretty loudly when they attack us.”
“Well, perhaps.” Phil conceded, “From my observations though, dragons don’t roar very often unless they’re injured, frightened, or enraged. As long as they aren’t provoked, they’re quite quiet and docile, although they do seem to love music.” Damian blinked incredulously.
“Dragons are music lovers?” He asked, not quite sure if he had heard Phil correctly. Phil chuckled.
“Indeed! Or at least, as far as I’ve surmised. There was one in particular that I often observed visiting a clearing that was constantly filled with songbirds. I even spotted it hiding in the bushes as our healer gathered herbs; she sang often while she worked, she did have a charming voice. Nervy old creature it was too; wasn’t afraid of humans in the least.” Phil laughed again. Damian quirked a half-smile, not quite sure what to make of this revelation; perhaps he would have to try playing music for Fearthainn sometime.
“But what exactly would give dragons the predisposition for music is something that always escaped me.” Phil mused, “Their bodies do seem to move with a natural rhythm, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that some of the sounds they make sound like singing. Have you ever heard one bugle while in the midst of flight? I could swear that they do so in the key of D!” Phil chuckled again, “yet another mystery we may never solve.” He smiled bemusedly, tapping his index finger on the table.
“Hmm.” Damian looked outside, taking not of the sun’s position in the sky; Fearthainn would be wondering where he was. “Well, thanks for answering my questions, Phil. You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.” Damian smiled as he shook Phil’s hand one more time before taking his leave. Phil watched Damian’s departure through the window.
“There’s something strange going on with that boy.” Phil muttered to himself with a frown. “I just hope he doesn’t get himself hurt.”~*~ And that's Chapter Ten! I am working on Chapter Eleven, so hopefully that'll be up soon too. And on another note, this is the first update from my new house! Yay? XD
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Post by saerphe on Oct 23, 2010 6:43:32 GMT -5
Well, we're going away for the weekend, so here's a last minute update before I leave. Enjoy! This one is special because... it's in Fearthainn's point of view. Tell me what you think. ~*~
Chapter Eleven
The sky is clear today. The air is chilly, but not unpleasantly so. Despite the cooling weather, there are plenty of updrafts and thermals; perfect for flying. I beat my wings downwards, revelling in the strength of my limbs and the beauty of my form. What could be more perfect than the dragon in flight? I breathe deeply, savouring the feel of the cool fresh air that tingles in my nostrils. My tail fins automatically adjust to the air currents, keeping me on course. It is a perfect day.
The thought makes my heart smile. I cannot smile on my face though; it is too armoured with scales and my horns are too heavy to be able to create such expressions the way my companion does. My companion is a young human male that I call Sky-eyes. He calls himself Damian. I like my name for him better.
My parents called me Sea-wings, for my colour, although my human calls me by a different name. My mother was Bright-sight. My father was Strike-tail. I remember little of my parents; they died before I got my wings. But I do remember what they taught me. They told me all about dragons, my people. They taught me about the sky and what prey was good for hunting and what plants to use whenever I fell ill or was wounded. They taught me the history of the dragons; the ancestral knowledge of my kin.
They also taught me that humans were dangerous and that I must kill them if they chased me and I couldn’t get away.
Sky-eyes is a human though. He is not dangerous. At the very least, he has given me no reason to fear him. He cared for me before I could hunt, while I was still small. I can catch my own prey now, but perhaps he doesn’t know that; he still brings me food. I like his food better; it is very tasty. But there is still nothing quite like making your own kill; the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of being able to feed yourself. Hunting is my most favourite thing in all the world.
Except for flying. I sometimes feel as if I could fly forever.
Sky-eyes will always be my most favourite thing though. He is my companion, the friend-of-my-heart. I owe him my life; I would most certainly have perished if he had abandoned me in the forest. If he was a dragon like me, perhaps we could hunt together. But he cannot even fly; he has no wings.
I feel sorry for him.
My keen eyes spot something moving on the forest floor. Even from this high, I can see everything in the forest. I also have very sharp hearing and a sense of smell that is beyond compare, but they are of little use to me when I fly. The wind and cool air blow all the smells away and fill my nostrils with the scent of water and sky.
My senses are clearly much keener than Sky-eyes’. He seems to only use his eyes, but even then he still does not seem to notice all that I do; a shrew burrowing through the leaves, an owl swooping silently among the tree branches to its nesting site, squirrels scurrying up and down. None of these creatures is large enough to fill my belly, nor are they fierce enough to view me as prey, so I leave them alone.
Though Sky-eyes uses only his eyes to see the world, when I am on the ground I use my entire body to create a picture of my surroundings. I can see the movements of other animals, hear the rustling in the trees, smell if food or water is nearby and feel vibrations in the earth from large things moving about. Everything communicates with each other, if you know how to listen.
I hone in on the movement, searching through the tree branches and creating a picture of my target. It is a deer, small, with a greying muzzle. A doe. She is old and weak, but still has plenty of meat on her. I have not eaten for three days, except for what Sky-eyes brings me. I do not need to eat often, but any creature would be hungry after three days, and Sky-eyes bits of dry beef and pork are hardly enough to satisfy a dragon. I feel the hollowness in my belly and rumble in the back of my throat; if I can catch this old doe… and I know that I can… I will eat well enough tonight to hold me over for three more days. Maybe even four.
I beat my wings harder to gain altitude. Then I take aim and angle my wings until I descend in a dive that becomes almost a free-fall. The old doe will never know what hit her.
***
That was delicious.
I am lying in the clearing where I made my kill, finishing the last of my meal. My parents taught me that we must never waste any part of our kills; they gave us their life to feed us, so that we may continue living. It would dishonour our prey to eat only certain parts of it. We even eat the bones, using our tough back teeth to crack them open and grind them down until they can be swallowed.
I am gnawing the scraps off of one last rib bone when I hear it. A sound carried to me on the breeze, so faint that even my keen ears almost miss it in the rustling of the trees. Sky-eyes is calling me by the name he gave me. I can hear it more clearly now that I know what it is.
“Fearthainn! Fearthainn, where are you?”
I crack the bone between my teeth and deftly finish it off, savouring its rich flavour. Then I get to my paws and stretch my wings; it would not do to keep Sky-eyes waiting. I would cross the world to find him if he called.
I lift off with some difficulty; my meal has made me heavy and sluggish. Perhaps I ate too much. Ugh.
When I land in my clearing, Sky-eyes runs up to me and embraces me around my neck. He is pleased to see me, and I him. I ruffle his hair with a puff of my hot breath. This makes him laugh and he uses his hand to scratch just above my eye-ridges. I like when he gives me scratches and I purr so he knows this.
Sky-eyes pulls away and reaches into the bag he always carries. He offers me some strips of cured meat. I am very full from my earlier meal, but I snap up one or two to be polite. He shrugs, and pulls something else from his pack; a long roll of thread. He chatters away at me as he wraps the thread first around my neck, then takes it away and wraps it around my forelegs, chest and torso. I think he is using it to measure me, though I cannot think why he would need to.
Sky-eyes puts the roll of string away and chatters at me some more. I am getting good at picking up bits of his speech, but sometimes if he talks too fast I cannot catch the meaning of his words. The way his words form when he speaks makes it tricky as well. Perhaps I should teach him Draconian speech. Then I could understand him better. And he could understand me.
I have tried to mimic the sounds he uses to speak, but I do not think my throat can produce such sounds, and my forked tongue is no better for the purpose. Even if I tried to teach him Draconian, he may not be able to speak it with his throat or tongue either. Dragons use their whole bodies to talk to each other, the same as we use it to listen to the earth. His senses may not be able to pick up the other, subtler parts of our language either, as his sight, hearing and smell are clearly not the same calibre as a Dragon’s.
I come to the conclusion that it does not matter. Even though we do not speak the same language, we can understand each other well enough.
We sit together by the stream. Sky-eyes takes the coverings off of his feet (I think he calls them boots) and dangles his bare feet in the water. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the forest. The rushing sound of the water alone feels refreshing. I breathe the cool, fresh air in deeply, savouring the scents of the forest, and exhale in a hot sigh. Sky-eyes reaches up absentmindedly and strokes my neck. Suddenly Sky-eyes is making a noise I have never heard him make before.
It goes up and down. It is smooth and sweet and sad all at the same time, but it is also like flying. It swoops. It soars. Flying without flying. I start to think how strange it is until I am swept up in the sound again. It is more rhythmic and melodic than the forest itself. It is all these things and more. I cannot describe it in a way that satisfies me.
And then he stops and I crash back down from my waking dream into reality.
Sky-eyes chuckles at me and says something that I do not quite catch as he strokes my neck again. He makes the sounds that signify his farewell and hugs me around the neck again. Then he walks away towards his home, where he lives with other humans and waves his hand before he disappears. I am left to settle in my cave for the night, thinking about the events of this evening.
Humans really are quite strange.
~*~See you all on Monday!
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Post by swimgurl96 on Oct 23, 2010 13:13:40 GMT -5
Great update!!! Loved it!
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Post by CelticLass91 on Oct 23, 2010 16:09:40 GMT -5
OH! I loved it! =D thanks for giving us an update to tide us over! Hope you have a great weekend!
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Post by celticbear on Oct 23, 2010 18:46:13 GMT -5
Sae! I love this UPDATE The Best! Because it tells the story from Sea-wing or Fearthain's point of view! I LOVE Her name for Damo! It fits him perfectly! I know why he was measuring Sea-wing. Can't wait for the next Update! Have a good Weekend!
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Post by Myna Chan on Oct 23, 2010 19:19:06 GMT -5
Ooooooooo! Interesting! Love it! Can't wait for more!
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 3, 2010 0:28:25 GMT -5
oh, god, i started this AGES ago but forgot about it! now i have an insane amount to catch up on.
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 3, 2010 0:32:23 GMT -5
to be precise, i read it in may--got up to chapter 5, according to the comments.
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Post by orinocoflow on Nov 4, 2010 0:46:28 GMT -5
caught up, and i love it! update soon!
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 11, 2010 2:57:42 GMT -5
update soon!
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