Dragon’s Spite

By Edward Sand

The legends warned never to wound a dragon. Those compelled by foolishness or drink to attack such a beast must slay it or perish, for a wound would invoke The Dragon’s Spite. In all their days, the dragon would never tire of hunting the offender. However, none of the legends spoke to my circumstance. I had no choice.

At dusk, Druidora skittered under the garden gate as quick as lightning. The dragonling climbed up the side of my gown and around my torso like a plump squirrel rounding an elm until she settled on my shoulder. Her lake blue scales clacked as she nosed them and licked the soot off her misshapen left wing with discreet flicks of her tongue.

As if she could hide the evidence of her mischief from me.

I’d learned all her tricks in the three years since she tumbled into my life, and I smiled as I scratched the soft scales beneath her chin. “You’ve been bothering the smith again, haven’t you?”

She stared blankly, her moon-colored irises and slitted pupils unwavering.

“There’ll be no playing dumb with me. I know how the fires tempt you.” I wagged my finger. “I have half a mind to withhold tonight’s bonfire.” I sighed. “But only half.”

I had delayed the horrible truth for long enough, and tonight I was determined to do it. Dru didn’t seem to mind her deformed wing—to her, wings were nothing more than gust makers and bug smackers—but her season of growth approached, and a flightless dragon would starve before adulthood. I had to break her wing again and set it correctly.

When Dru saw me grab the flint and steel, she scampered into the forest’s fading light to fetch branches, most of them larger than she.

With them, we built a blaze. While the growing wall of heat pressed me farther and farther away, Dru skipped and pranced at the flame’s edge. She attempted to breathe gleeful bursts of fire but could only muster puffs of hot air. She seemed pleased with herself all the same.

I didn’t know if I could do this. None of my sedative potions had any effect on her. The thought of snapping her wing beneath my fingers brought an ache to my throat. How I wished she could be my little Dru forever, but I also wanted to see her become the massive, elegant creature she was born to be. To sacrifice her life for a false companionship would be unthinkable. I shielded my eyes with my forearm and forced myself forward. The heat intensified with each heavy step.

Dru crouched low and performed a spinning leap at my approach.

I scooped her into my arms and turned away from the blaze toward cool relief. Her scales glowed warm against my forearms as she squirmed to get away, but I tightened my grasp and caressed her back. “Trust me,” I said.

I reached the patch of grass with my array of tools and chained her feet to the tree.

She rolled on her back and tossed the chain back and forth with her mouth.

“This isn’t a game, little Dru,” I whispered. With gloved hands, I spread her wing flat against the earth.

She stilled, cocked her head.

I paused to gather my resolve, but the quivering of my breath betrayed me. I grasped both sides of the ill-mended break and gradually applied pressure. Even through my gloves and the stretched skin of her wings, I could feel the grooves in her tiny bones.

Dru licked my wrist.

“You must trust me.” I gripped her wing tighter.

For bones so small, they felt like they should have broken easily. I gritted my teeth and pried harder, fearing I didn’t possess the necessary brawn.

Dru snapped at my hands. A growl rumbled from her muzzle.

“I know it hurts.” Tears hazed my vision. As I reached the end of my strength, a tremor spread from my fingers, up my arms. Dru clawed and bit at me.

I was not prepared for the snap.

The sickening feeling of the crunch-thud. The meaty thump as her wing relented. Two bones rested freely in my hands where there had been one.

Dru squealed in pain—a shrill, rising sound. I cried out. Her bursts of agony and my shuddering dread drowned the crackling of flame.

I bit my lip. I had gone too far now to think about regret. I uncorked the bottle of resin and poured it over her wing. Then I pulled her broken bones together to form the leading edge of her wing into a true line.

Dru’s cries dwindled to a whimper. She stared at me with a soul-wrenching mixture of pain and confusion.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “You will heal well. I truly meant you no harm.”

The resin hardened in moments that crawled like hours, and I was thankful to unlock her chains and back away. With the deed now done, my strength left me. I wilted to my knees.

For a long while, we stared at each other. The fire dwindled, the night grew cold, and neither of us moved. I wanted to comfort her, but I dared not without invitation.

A pile of embers smoldered behind Dru when I finally rose to my feet. “I know you don’t understand,” I said softly, “but in all our seasons together, I have acted only for your good. Can you not trust me?” Tentatively, I reached toward her.

She unleashed a snarling growl. Her teeth bared, her eyes narrowed. Her eyes burned with desperation—and hunger. I no longer recognized her.

The burden of the inevitable journey before me settled over my shoulders, a journey without end. “I pray to the Caretaker that someday you will trust me, and we can be friends once more.” I gathered my pack and walked east.

My hunter would soon follow.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Edward Sand‘s body lives among the mountains of north Idaho, where he was born and raised. His mind occupies a higher elevation, wandering the clouds in search of tales worthy to be typed. Currently, he is working on a sci-fi suspense novel titled The Mortal Witness.

---

More Stories | Facebook | Twitter