by LJ Davies
Neither of them had acted the same towards each other since Tarwin had begun to ask more about her mother. She'd been a human I'd never met, joining the spirits in the beyond before I'd entered the world. Even so, I never got involved in their arguments. Though, unlike the other more passive things I chose to ignore, they occurred far more frequently and close to home.
My only tactic was to lay down again, lowering myself below the brewing storm. My eyes flicked up as her father attempted to greet her. I had to give him credit for trying – he at least wanted to make their relationship work, even so, her only response was a scowl.
"That's the last of the food, you'll have to go out again tomorrow," she announced bluntly, keeping her eyes focused on the flickering flames.
After a brief silence he responded, "I can't, tomorrow is the last day for fishing before the ice seals the sea."
She turned to him abruptly. "Well, fish alone won't be enough. I'll have to go hunting," she suggested, much to his disapproval.
It was just as I'd anticipated, the argument erupted between them on cue. I just tried to block it out, as neither side paid any attention to me.
I never really understood the constant friction between them. She was generally friendly toward me and others, but not to her own father? Then again, I didn't have anyone to argue with, so no real concept of what caused their apparent discontent for one another.
What I wouldn't give for someone to hold a conversation with though.
Whenever I tried to speak, I knew from their reactions they only understood it as some sort of growl or snarl, usually with negative repercussions. Therefore, to prevent fuelling the whole 'monster' idea, I didn't bother with their world of communication. My life revolved around my own thoughts and my affection for Tarwin.
If only she was a dragoness. That's if there are more dragons out there.
After a few moments of blocking out the commotion, I had no choice but to listen. They were arguing about the food supplies, especially how there wasn't enough to last the winter and at this point in the season everyone was preparing for the long, cold months ahead.
Tarwin desperately wanted to go out hunting but her father wouldn’t have it. Yet despite his objections he was unable to give her a sound reason not to go.
She had hunted many times, although lately it seemed her father didn’t trust the forest. He'd never told her outright, but now it seemed he had, and she wasn’t happy.
"I can't understand why, I mean they're just stories and it's not like I'll be on my own – Blaze will be with me!" she challenged.
"No!" he shouted, standing up quickly, casting an intimidating shadow across the room. As if that wasn't daunting enough, he raised his axe and with a loud thud, banged the blunt end twice on the floor.
Shaken from my lazy position I scrambled up, shocked and frustrated. Tarwin remained unfazed, arms folded as she blew hair from her eyes.
"That's final," her father added, before retiring into the room at the back of the house, giving her no time to respond.
She clearly wanted to pursue him, to vent her anger. But after a moment of indecisive groaning she slumped down onto one of the wooden benches surrounding the fire. I perked up, looking over as she peered down at her lap and sniffed.
Maybe I should go over? That always cheers her up! I took a step forward, only for her to groan and toss a pan across the room. Okay, maybe not the best idea, I'll just leave her for a while.
*
It was hours after their argument before Tarwin finally showed any signs of activity. She hadn’t fallen asleep and neither had I. I'd settled on a banister next to an open hatch. I would only go to sleep when she did, partly out of loyalty, but also because we shared the same sleeping space.
On clear nights, the opening offered me some comfort. It was where smoke from the fire escaped and the one spot in the house only I could reach. Tonight, the air was colder than most evenings, and from my vantage point I could hear the faint washing of the sea over the cliffs, while the blend of sea salt and torch-smoke created a rather peculiar odour.
While up here, my attention wasn’t directed to the village with its flickering braziers, nor the black horizon beyond the sea. I turned my head up towards the ocean of stars and the beautiful aurora that danced across the night sky. The majesty was all I needed to clear my mind, the one time I could talk clearly with the only one who could truly understand me – myself.
I would often wonder if I could fly all the way up to the stars; a stupid thought, I was sure, even if I was an accomplished flyer. I was the only one in the village who could fly, after all. Completely self-taught, not that it was that hard, pure instinct often drove most of my efforts.
The stars were one of the few things I was happy to ponder over at every opportunity. I imagined the night sky as a giant black sheet dotted with small holes hiding the sun, its bright light shining through small gaps in the material. Of course, that was when I'd been younger, my mind wasn’t so creative these days. All I'd been able to think about recently was the mundane reality of village life, the increasing conflict between Tarwin and her father, how long the food would last, and how much water was in the well – all things that Tarwin often fretted over.
If only she wondered about dragons out there beyond the forest. We'd practically be the same.
Regardless, time alone with my thoughts was interrupted when I heard my name called and used in the same sentence as the word ‘bed'. With that summons, I glided down to meet Tarwin as she extinguished the torches; leaving only the central fire to light and warm the otherwise dark house. Her bed was a pile of fur pelts suspended by wooden beams above her father's room at the far end of the building. A small wooden ladder provided her access, whilst I flew up. She swiftly navigated the ladder, crawling under the furs as I perched myself on one of the beams.
"You know Father doesn't like it when you fly in the house," she reminded me, stroking the back of my head as I crawled along the banister towards her. "Oh well, how is he going to stop you? You're a dragon, you're supposed to fly," she continued with a grin.
"If he wants to be in charge of the house he can be here more often. He didn't even know the door was broken or that I fixed it," she added, mumbling more to herself than me as she rolled over into her bed.
Although I was tired, I was able to go without sleep for a lot longer than she could. I assumed it was a dragon thing, but with no reason to stay awake, I moved back down to the foot of the bed, where I slowly drifted off to sleep.
*
Dimly lit by a flickering light at the centre, the chamber was bleak and cold. Intrigued by the strange glow, I found myself drawn towards its ghostly radiance. A faint humming filled the air, a constant noise that steadily grew louder. As I approached, the light intensified, forcing me to use my wing to shield my eyes. With nowhere else to turn, I looked to the floor, where I noticed the earth beneath me had started to break away into an inky blackness like the splintering ice of a frozen lake.
Struck with fear, my instant reaction was to fly out. Spreading my wings, I began to flap, the gloom closing in around me. I beat my leathery limbs harder, forcing my eyes shut lest the light blind me. The moment I did so the light snapped out of existence, its residue burning in my retina for a moment. Terror began to consume more of my mind than I could contribute to understanding what was happening. Then came what sounded like a voice, speaking in strange, muffled tones beyond my perception, getting louder until... The call of my name suddenly woke me.
*
Realising the horror I'd felt only moments ago was nothing more than a nightmare, I slowly raised my head from beneath the warm pelts. Kicking furs from my hind legs and tail, I looked around at the blurry world, sleepy eyes still acclimatising to the bright morning light. Yawning, I peered over the wooden beam to see the fire burning brightly in the room below. Tarwin was already awake, cooking the last of the fish.
I hopped down, forgoing the urge to fly in case her father was ar
ound. Shaking the last sleepy stiffness from my muscles with a satisfying stretch, I made my way over to the fire and sat beside her. She was just turning the fish when she noticed me, but to my surprise, her reaction wasn’t the usual cheerful greeting – she said nothing, while her face told me everything.
"Father's gone down to the docks to get the boats ready," she grumbled.
For a moment I'd no idea how to react, fortunately there was no need for me to change my attitude. Her mood seemed to improve when she realised it wasn't her father beside her. My presence always seemed to cheer her up, and I didn’t really have to try too hard – something I often took advantage of, for both their sakes. I didn't like to see them angry at each other, so I tried to make her as happy as possible.
That's what good pets do right?
"Any way look at you! Up so late again, lazy lizard!" she commented with a laugh, offering me half of the cooked fish.
I eagerly accepted. Although I could go for longer than she could without eating, I never said no to food unless she needed it more than I did. My ability to resist hunger was something I knew set me apart from my animalistic companions around the village too. So being careful not to catch her hand with my teeth, I took the fish and quickly consumed it.
"I'm going down to the docks to see Father off, are you coming?" she asked, stroking the top of my head.
I knew then that her frustration was still looming, so I used my influence to my advantage by nodding, a trick she often found ‘cute’. Cute was a word I disliked, especially when used to describe my actions.
It makes her happy, so what's wrong with the slight ego hit this one time?
My 'cute' action seemed to have the intended effect, briefly brightening her mood. Even so, I couldn’t understand why she was going to see her father, he'd probably just shout again. Nevertheless, I headed to the door with her.
The moment I stepped outside a gust of chilly morning wind struck me. The cooling sensation was harsh at first, slowly dulling into an uncomfortable ache against my scales. In conditions like these, scales seemed to be a much better defence against the cold than the humans’ soft skin.
Obviously the reason they wear thick clothes. I thought contently.
We walked down the stone steps at the front of the house and I noted that the village was far more active than the previous night. Though that was normal for an autumn morning, every villager was preparing for the winter storms and the dark nights.
"He never listens, we should be getting ready for winter too," Tarwin muttered to herself.
I didn't think I was supposed to hear such mutterings, but it was unavoidable due to my sensitive ears.
It won’t surprise me if she means to push him into the sea.
Regardless, my thoughts turned back to the village. I couldn’t help feeling that for some reason it felt busier than usual, autumn or not. I knew it was a pointless observation brought on by my subconscious desire to be distracted from Tarwin's growing frustration. The only storm the village really needed to prepare for was the one brewing between her and her father.
Farmers were bringing in the last of their crops, while shepherds herded sheep from their pastures at the edge of the distant forest.
The smell of smoke and the noise of hammered metal bellowed from the blacksmith's forge; bows and blades being made ready for winter hunts. As we approached the docks, a far greater feast seized my senses. The salty smell of the restless water and the crashing of waves against the base of the cliff drowned out the sights and smells of the village.
We reached the top of the cliff, where a set of steep stone steps led down to the pier. Tarwin took the first step and I quickly followed, snaking our way down to the cliff's base, where we took a sharp turn to meet a wooden platform stretching out to where the boats were docked. They were incredibly important to the village, shielded from the storms and winter ice by the small bay.
Tarwin promptly reached them, frustration propelling her so fast I struggled to keep pace. Seeing that she had moved a substantial distance ahead of me I quickly navigated the last of the stairs. Reaching the bottom I found she was still some way ahead, and with no desire to be involved in whatever storm she was planning to unleash, I turned my attention to my surroundings.
The thick wooden pillars of the pier supported the tethers of two long, wooden vessels. Each one clearly prepared to leave, bobbing restlessly on the waves as if more eager to set sail than their crews, broad sails dancing wildly in the wind, animating the distorted patterns printed upon them.
Each carried the same symbol – the ‘spirit of the sea’ as the humans called it, the legendary head of a mighty sea serpent. The thought of more legends and stories bored me; after all, I was from stories and I was real, so what was there to say other creatures weren’t just as tangible?
Nevertheless, my eyes moved toward the pier, where I could see a pair of men loading wooden boxes into the boat's hold, while two more struggled to wrestle a large fishing net into the restless vessel.
Tarwin was by her father, completely ignoring the other men and women attempting to greet her. I watched from a distance while she spoke to him – obviously not wishing him farewell. Instead, she instantly continued trying to persuade him that fish wasn't enough for winter and how she should go out and get something more substantial. No matter what words were used, the argument was no different to that of the previous night. All I could do was focus my attention elsewhere, eventually allowing the crashing of breaking waves to drown out their shouting.
The other men had stopped what they were doing, standing back to watch, apparently just as unwilling to get involved. Although, that might have been due to the respect they had for her father, rather than Tarwin herself.
Moments later, the shouting ceased and by the look on her face, I assumed she had been met with the same response. Her father jumped over the boat’s wooden rail, the impact of his heavy metal boots echoing loudly on the deck. The men loading the last of the supplies quickly followed when he cast an intimidating look their way and without a word the crew immediately set to work, dropping the mooring lines and setting the sails.
Tarwin watched while the boat pulled away. Her father waved goodbye, he still loved her more than she gave him credit for, but she was angry, there was no question of that. I watched her slowly clench her fingers into a fist while looking away. It was only when the boats finally disappeared over the horizon that she decided to head back to the house.
I waited at the foot of the steps, remaining silent as she passed, before following quietly. Regardless, the village was still busy, its sounds and smells gradually replacing those of the seafront.
Nothing really changes around here. I told myself, as a chilling wind swept through, rekindling my longing for the warmth of a fire.
It didn’t take long to reach the house, my desire to be inside increasing with another gust of chilling wind. Despite my eagerness, I allowed Tarwin to go inside first. Even so, the moment I entered I raced toward what remained of the fire; nothing more than a warm pile of dying embers. Regardless, the last shreds of flame clinging to existence were still more welcoming than the bitter cold outside.
In my desire to get warm, I'd been blind to where Tarwin had gone. I scanned the room, expecting to see her in the storeroom getting the equipment she used to light the torches, but she wasn't there. This time she had simply climbed up to her bed. I decided not to follow, aware she probably wasn't in the mood to have me on her heels.
The sound of rummaging seconds later, however; had worried thoughts about what she might be doing rushing through my mind.
Oh, please don't tell me she's gonna do something brash. I tried to ignore the idea.
She wasn't reckless in any sense of the word, although she definitely had a rebellious streak. Moments later, she jumped down wearing her hunting gear, almost startling me out of my scales.
She wore a leather tunic and pants matched by a row of small leather pouches strapped across her
waste. A set of brown leather gloves and rough, metal tipped boots completed her apparel. Her choice of weapon was her greatest treasure, a bow and arrow. The former carved from a rare tree known as a green spire. The smooth wooden arc was engraved with symbols similar in nature to those on her father’s axe, only hers was a deer with antlers like tree branches, not a wolf
It was the same bow she'd had when she'd found me, one that could have shot me as many of the other villagers might have done. I was sure it meant a lot to her, although such sentimental value had ebbed away with the disdain she harboured for her father.
Nevertheless, she pulled the bow and quiver across her back as I shot to my paws, knowing instantly what she was doing despite hoping she wouldn’t. Her actions were so predictable. In fact, it surprised me that her father hadn't seen this coming.
Perhaps he did, but what can he really do about it?
"That fish won't be enough, and he knows it. He's just too stubborn," she muttered, making sure all of her gear was secure.
Her next statement was obvious, so obvious I'd already played the words several times in my head before they escaped her lips.
"So we're going hunting."
Chapter 2
The Day Life Died
This wasn't the first time Tarwin had done something without her father’s permission. She always tended to go against what he said. In her defence, it was hard to do anything with his approval and it was no surprise that with all of his rules she disobeyed him, and even though she did, it was generally with good intentions. Like now, for instance, she only wanted to make sure we had enough food for winter.
I'd hunted with her hundreds of times and we made a great team – not everyone could say they had a dragon at their side. I’d fly over to spot prey from above and then show her where it was hiding. That was probably the most enjoyable part, not because I found it fun but because such actions showed her how unique I really was. Another point she often made to the villagers when they tried to say I was nothing more than an animal.