Today on Drabble Wednesday, we take to the sky on leathery wings and breathing fire…
She is puny thing, a half-formed creature like me. I can read it in her thoughts. A child? Yes, that’s the right word. Why is she here? I should claw her eyes out, scratch off her face, fly away.
But she likes me. I can feel it. And I—I don’t know what I feel. I like the way she cradles me, tenderly cupping the remains of my egg where I sit, and strokes my nose. I like the way she calls me dragon, and calls me hers.
I flap my wings, and puff smoke. She laughs. I will stay.
The beasts rests on the hill, a shadow silhouette against the moonlight. He stares into the ebon hued night sky, watching the heavens. His eyes drink deep of the spectacle, the flickering points of light dotting the firmament, those faraway celestial stars. He wonders, of their beauty, of what lies beyond their radiance. Sitting on a grassy knoll, he contemplates his existence.
He stretches his leathery wings, testing muscle and sinew, and lashes his tail, tracking furrows in the grass and earth. He leaps, sails on wings, air currents bearing him aloft.
Tonight, the dragon will soar among the starlight.
A vast shadow shrouded the charred landscape, cast by the combative, incensed dragon circling the sky above. The beast paused in its fiery siege of the village, the thrum of its wings beating time until its next assault.
Below, structures blazed and the nearby forest burned. Some villagers fled to woods for safety, only to find the trees aflame and their death trap. Other poor souls still survived, huddled in the cellar of their ruined church, trapped beneath fallen rubble and smouldering remains. Their priest prayed for salvation, but his heart knew they should never have destroyed those dragon eggs.