The Dragon Seller: A Tale of Love and Dragons

by F. G. Ferrario

  I know you haven't changed. I know you're still my little dragon.

  I brought my hand out toward him and opened it. On my palm was the red ball, his favorite. The dragon's face was pure surprise. He looked at the ball with wide eyes and he shook his long tail. I let it fall, and the ball bounced against the rocks all around the cave. Whiskey lifted his paws in the air, trying to catch it. In the end he was able to smash it against the ground with his right paw, and roared a deafening WAAAAAA! of satisfaction.

  "Jack!" Raleigh yelled from the entrance. "Jack! Is everything all right?"

  "Y-yes, more or less. I hope".

  I still didn't know if Whiskey had taken me off his menu of the day, but I didn't move.

  Whiskey raised his snout from the ball and brought it just a few inches from my face. He snorted from his nostrils, messing up my hair and he smelled me. Then, he opened his jaws and...

  I know for a fact that cows' tongues are nine inches long, and horses' can be even a foot. Well, now Whiskey's tongue was almost three feet.

  Being licked by such a monstrosity is like getting a hot wet towel in the face, which then wipes all over your face. Geez, a tongue like that can really leave some slime on you. But who cares?

  "I knew you weren't a monster", I murmured with tears in my eyes and cheeks moist with dragon saliva. Laughing I petted Whiskey on his neck and under his throat and he gurgled.

  We were together again.

  FOR HAPPY ENDING LOVERS, this moment would be the perfect end to the story: "...and then the youngsters and their magic dragon went toward the rising sun, and from that day on they lived happily ever after on their farm".

  I would really like to write it, but it would be a lie.

  The Dragon Hunt was still on the go. The National Guard was combing through the area, and we had to move a twenty-three foot dragon (including the tail) without being noticed. We were in trouble. Big trouble.

  Mustang type trouble.

  The American Mustang (Dragons Manual)

  Species name: Draco Occidentalis Americanus

  Length: between 35 and 44 inches

  Weight: 11 - 14.3 pounds

  Wingspan: 6.5 feet

  Tail: 14 inches

  Average life span: Unknown - hypothesized: 50 years.

  Scale color: dark or light blue, with some white striping on the abdomen.

  Eye color: light grey.

  ABOUT SIX YEARS AGO a new and never before seen species appeared in some auctions reserved exclusively for Breeders that were enrolled in the register (some would say secret auctions). Only eggs were available at the auctions, never adult specimens, and furthermore it was specified that the buyer could not resell the dragons born from those eggs, and there were other limitations as well.

  The aura of mystery that surrounded these auctions attracted the interest of a few of us (colonel Roberts and I, for example), but discouraged the majority of breeders: in fact only a few bought dragon eggs whose adults specimens they couldn't sell, or show clients or bring to competitions - beauty pageants for dragons.

  Therefore almost nobody bought them, many auctions remained deserted, and only 42 eggs were bought in the entire United States. Roberts took me to one of these auctions close to Houston and together we bought five eggs. He kept four of them, I - who was always low on money - took only one of them. A few weeks later, to the great surprise of us Breeders, dragons with blue scales as hard as steel were born from those eggs.

  The legend of Mustangs began.

  And Mustangs are the dragon species that is most similar to the monstrous creatures of legends.

  They're bigger (almost twice the size of French Pinks), they're more aggressive, and they haven't been domesticated yet. The public information on Mustangs is really scarce, but just like Brits are Antone Davis's specialty, Mustangs are mine. And being part of the small group that breeds this species, I think I've come to know them far better than the limited information found on manuals, old and new. In these years I've observed my dragons and their way of behaving with great care. I can't say I've reached definitive conclusions, but what follows is more or less everything I know.

  The origin of Mustangs goes back to an experiment carried out by the U.S. military. Their primus was called Freedom, even if according to some her real name was Columbia (my main source, colonel Roberts, says the issue is debated even within the military).

  The idea of the Pentagon big shots was to use dragons as a support for troops during special operations. But the experiment proved to be a failure, and not just because the trainers became too attached to their creatures. The main reasons are two:

  1) Mustangs are territorial dragons,

  And

  2) Their loyalty goes only to their breeder and matron.

  The issue of loyalty is simple: if the breeder that gave the imprinting dies in a fight (not such a rare event: if the dragon is to go into battle, so must the breeder) a Mustang won't answer to anyone's orders except its queen's - and if she herself is the queen, then nobody at all. From a practical point of view, this detail on Mustang psychology is a big problem, because these dragons turn from war machines into deserters according to who gives them orders.

  The territoriality is another problematic factor.

  The Mustangs' totem plant is the cherry tree, and once they've settled into the tree, that's their reign. An expert breeder - who knows their Command Language - can take them away for a short time, but after a couple of weeks the distance from their tree makes them nervous and irascible, and nobody wants to go into a mission with a Mustang in a bad mood.

  As with Outbacks, if they're separated from their tree for too long, Mustangs get sick. I know the Navy had the idea of putting mini greenhouses with cherry trees on their aircraft carriers for their team of dragons, but then the project was discarded.

  Luckily, if I may add. Mustangs need large trees. In fact, the bigger the cherry tree, the happier the dragons are. The cherry tree in my Garden is a Utah Giant Cherry, that I got from an old jam factory, which I personally grew using the most aggressive and efficient plant steroids on the market (similar to the ones used in experiments in Pandora now, but less powerful). Result: the plant grew abnormally, and in a short time reached twenty-six feet in height. Every year it produces no less than two hundred and twenty pounds of cherries as big as marbles. Of course I can't touch a single one of them, but my Mustangs are happy. And if they're happy, the city is safe.

  Even if their empire is larger than normal cherry trees, I have the impression they're starting to feel crowded. When Lutezia reaches sexual maturity - she's a year and three months younger than Deirdre - I'll probably have to plant another cherry tree just for her and any males she brings along.

  Most animals are territorial. Mustangs, however, are "politically" territorial. Their behavior is like no other in the animal world. The absolute power in the dragon empire is reserved for the queen, or rather the oldest, strongest and most clever Mustang. The males and her female rivals live underneath her. The males' objective is to earn the Queen's temporary favor (because she never gives herself to just one suitor for too long), the objective of the rivals is that of taking the males away from her. Because of this, when they're not busy eating or sleeping, Mustangs spend their time plotting against one another.

  Once in a while I see them hanging on branches occupied in what I call "meetings of the imperial senate". On those occasions Mustangs spend hours hissing against each other with scorn, but I admit I don't know why they do it (and between us, I'm a bit afraid to find out).

  The hierarchy is set in stone, and it can be broken only by a rival who - strong enough to challenge the Queen - chooses to leave the totem tree to establish her new reign. At that point, according to my friend Roberts, who has two "reigns", in the first the political fights die down after a while (the rivals that remain stop competing, he thinks), and the fights move onto the second reign, where the new queen waits for her daughter-rivals to grow enough to challenge
her. And so the process goes on.

  And the breeder? How does he fit into the Mustangs' scheme of power?

  As far as I understand, for Dìdi I'm a sort of mother-queen of the Big Garden. I'm a step above her, but I have no direct power in her house and on her male dragons.

  The imprinting entails two things: thanks to this I have the loyalty of all my ten dragons, but even loyalty has limits:

  - I can't touch their cherries.

  - I can't get near the females if they're sexually mature and Ecstasy is under way.

  - I can't modify the tree's structure (I'll have to trim it sooner or later and I already have goose bumps).

  - I can't even move the nests.

  - And obviously I can't butt into their secret fights for power.

  For what concerns all the "outer-reign" activities, instead, thanks to the Command Language the Mustangs usually follow my orders.

  And now some physical data for who has never had the pleasure of seeing one of these bizarre and incredible dragons in real life.

  Regarding dimensions, Mustangs are the biggest dragons. From the tails to the point of their snout they can reach almost five feet, and their wing span is about six and a half feet. They're muscular dragons, with strong shoulders and developed abdomens, which allow them to put out three Fire Breaths (instead of two like other dragons).

  Given their dimensions, they're heavier compared to other species, but most of their weight is because of their outer body. Their scales, in fact, have a characteristic structure that herpetologists call a "keel", because it looks like one (a keel is the divided bottom of a boat).

  The keeling diminishes the surface exposed to impact, and this factor, along with the special chemical composition of their scales (a secret the Marines have no intention of revealing) makes Mustangs' outer body bulletproof. The layer of overlapping scales is so thick that if you look at a Mustang up close, you'll think it's a dragon wearing a sort of coat of mail over its normal scales.

  But it's not the dimensions that make Mustangs lethal. What is most striking when you observe them in action is their speed. The average horizontal speed is 68 mph, with a maximum of 186 mph. Their reflexes are so developed that they can dodge bullets (I myself was skeptical on this point, before Roberts showed me in person how his old matron, LoneStar, could avoid bullets in flight). Furthermore, their claws are so sharp that samurai swords seem like kid scissors in comparison.

  All together, these characteristics make Mustangs true "battle" dragons, like the noble race of mastiffs were at one time, and justify all the restrictions and permits a Breeder must abide by to own a specimen of this species.

  They're not "mean" dragons. I know some people like to portray them as such. They have their instinct and their social rules, but besides this they behave like all other dragons: they love to eat cereal, have their chins scratched and hang from any ledge. And most of all, they're vegetarian!

  Lots of stupid Hollywood movies started the trend of comparing Mustangs to great white sharks, but do you know how many people are killed by sharks each year? Less than five. And how many by cows? More than twenty.

  And even so I've never seen a movie with a killer cow as a main character. Nobody ever suspects cows.

  Deaths caused by Mustangs are ZERO, and that's because we Breeders have to have a degree and undergo special training to be able to manage these dragons, besides paying a license every year and respecting strict safety measures. But we accept our duties happily because our philosophy is "respect dragons and they'll respect you".

  So far, it's worked like a charm.

  Plan B

  "The Fort Pierce Police Department unveiled their newly acquired mine-resistant ambush protection armored vehicle. The 61,700-pound, six-wheeled battle wagon is a rolling fortress and is meant to give the SWAT team protection during high-risk situations. Though it’s worth nearly $700,000, the Fort Pierce PD purchased the like-new vehicle from the Department of Defense for only $2,000, New York Daily News reports.

  “If you see my SWAT team roll up in this, it’s over, so just give up,” said Police Chief Sam Baldwin".

  Brent McCluskey on www.guns.com

  WHEN I CAME OUT OF WHISKEY'S BURROW, Raleigh ran toward me and hugged me tight. I let myself be cuddled a bit. After the moments of fear I had gone through in the cave I really deserved a good hug.

  "It's all okay", I said to her when we let go.

  "What happened?", she asked me. "Where's Whiskey?"

  I turned toward the back of the dark cave and shook my head.

  "You were right, honey. He was lonely and scared".

  Just then a helicopter flew above the top of Wolf Mountain. The sides were painted in dark green and you could see the military code and National Guard emblem. Hidden in the cave, Raleigh and I watched it make a couple of rounds above Johnson Creek and then head south. Sooner or later the military would be in those woods, and they would find Whiskey's hideout.

  "We can't leave him here", I said to her.

  The dragon had stepped up to the entrance, stopping right behind us. He stretched his neck toward Raleigh. He smelled her, swaying is enormous snout, and licked her too, messing up her hair.

  "And how do you think...oh, Whiskey, hi", she giggled, trying to avoid the pink towel.

  "We could use the van", I said.

  It was the only thing that came to mind.

  Raleigh took a long look at Whiskey. Even if part of the scaly body was in the cave's darkness, it was pretty easy to guess his size.

  "Um, he looks about thirteen or fifteen feet. It'll be a tight fit".

  "It's either that, or we jump on his back and fly away".

  Raleigh's eyes sparkled. She smiled and raised her eyebrows.

  "No, don't even think about it", I told her.

  Sometimes I forget that Raleigh is Raleigh. Running away on a flying dragon is the type of adventure she wouldn't say no to. The only thing she would ask me is: to where?.

  "Okay. And how do you think we'll get him to the van, Jack?"

  "With a bit of luck", I answered. "Turn around".

  I opened the backpack Raleigh had on her shoulders and took out a vacuum sealed box. I had kept it since we left, a week before. Inside there were four Pitahaya fruits. All the ones I could find in Boise's shops.

  I showed one to Whiskey and the dragon straightened his ears right away. He licked his lips and gurgled with desire.

  "There, good Whiskey, follow me".

  The dragon almost trampled over me. He covered my hand with his tongue and with his teeth he tore the fruit away, swallowing it whole like a candy. Gulp.

  "Darn, that's not how I had thought of it", I said with my butt on the floor while Raleigh cracked up laughing.

  I shot a glance at her and walked about thirty feet away. I took another Pitahaya and waved it in the air.

  "Come on now, greedy dragon", I invited him. "Try to catch me!"

  Whiskey didn't have me say it twice.

  He crawled out of the cave and followed me beyond the clearing on all fours, into the woods. In the excitement, he knocked down a small fir with a shoulder, creating a cloud of splinters.

  "Here he comes!"

  I got out of the woods and went into the tall grass, holding the Pitahaya like a trophy. Just behind me, was Whiskey. His bronze colored scales glittered under the sun, reflecting golden light. With his body he flattened the blades leaving a trail of smushed grass behind him, his snout straight in front and his eyes focused on me.

  When I got to the pond I ran around it and he went into it creating a splash of muddy water. He stopped for a few seconds to shake the water off and I took advantage of the moment to go down the grass to almost the end of the Canyon.

  Once in a while I turned around to keep an eye on Whiskey and that's when I noticed Raleigh wasn't following me. I stopped to catch my breath and the dragon arrived like a battering ram. He floored me with a paw.

  "Okay, okay, I give up", I said out of breath
.

  I threw a Pitahaya at him before he licked me again.

  What the hell is Raleigh doing?, I asked myself.

  I got back up while Whiskey chewed his Pitahaya noisily, drooling on the grass, and I looked toward the woods. I couldn't see Raleigh anywhere. I was about to call her when she appeared on the field with something green in her arms.

  There are two types of people in this world that go into a dragon's cave: those who then run away with a dragon at their heels (me, here I am!) and those that wait for the dragon to follow the first intruder to then steal his treasure (Raleigh "Bilbo Baggins" Thompson, damn her). In this case, the treasure consisted of a small Pitahaya trunk.

  Whiskey started smelling the box in my arms, where the other fruits were.

  "No, no", I said taking the box away from his jaws. "If you want it you have to get me first".

  The rhythmic whoop whoop of a helicopter echoed in the grassy Canyon. The aircraft was coming back.

  Flying shit, they'll discover us!

  I looked around for shelter. Behind me, sixty feet away, the grass ended and where the two canyons met, close to the ravine, there was a small wood of wild hazelnuts and beeches. I took the third Pitahaya from the box and waved it in front of Whiskey's nose.

  "Come on, buddy".

  I took some steps back toward the edge of the woods and brought him inside it until even the tip of his tail was covered. Then, to keep him good, I threw the Pitahaya on the ground for him. Raleigh ran following the trail of flattened grass. She went into the woods with the plant shaking between her arms just in time, barely ten seconds before the first helicopter passed over our heads again.

  "Plan B", she said noticing my questioning look.

  Whiskey was still busy licking up the last pieces of Pitahaya from the ground when the helicopter swooped around again. The dragon raised his ears and let out a low growl.

  "Be good Whiskey. They'll leave now".