Trumpet was but a baby when he started his journey across the oceans to find his father. He was angry that his mother, a gentle old golden Queen dragon had been butchered by hunters in front of his own eyes. He too was golden bronze, but he had only a six foot wing span so the crossing was very hazardous. He was buffeted by high winds and driving rain, and although the sun didn't bother him much he was thirsty all the time. The only moisture he got was from the flying fish he managed to catch for his meals. Although they were salty, and not as nice as the goat it had eaten prior to setting off, they were a welcome source of sustenance. They were plentiful too, which made worrying about meals not an issue. Along the way he often found islands where he could sleep and refresh himself. He learnt to stay on the non populated sides so he wasn't disturbed.

Over the many weeks the crossing took him Trumpet learned that Humans didn't much care about dragons if they kept well apart. He still seethed about the ones who had deliberately killed his parent, and he re-visualised their faces every night. The anger he felt ate away at him each evening when he relived the horror of that night, his first night on Earth. Humans had invaded their home and slaughtered a very elderly mother protecting her newborn. He could never forgive that, and he'd wake up with a terrible knot in his stomach every sunrise. One of the delicacies he found he liked on the islands were hanging in the trees, some on the ground in the sand. He'd fly up and crunch the hairy brown eggs and a splash of milk would be his reward. He visualised each one he crunched was the head of one of those hunters he was after. That each deserved to die, and he loved the satisfying sound it made when he'd exerted the right amount of pressure to pop it open.

The thing about baby dragons, even those brought up on a diet of fish and coconut milk is that they grow fast. His muscles were getting stronger and his scales seemed harder. There were few things that Trumpet enjoyed about his journey. He would see ships that carried men and just for a lark he'd go and set fire to their sails and rigging. Sometimes if they saw him coming they'd fire great metal balls at him, but they were slow and cumbersome and he was small and agile. Man was no match for him out here in the vast oceans, and they seldom sought to engage him in battle. He was so pre-occupied with his search for his father and his loathing for the hunters that he often flew by night. He found the sounds of the water soothing, and his eyes were good in the dark. He saw many things breaking the surface and he loved to fly close to see what they were. But he never interfered with other creature's, and he never killed Man. It seemed appropriate he save his animosity for his victims.

When he finally came to the mainland in the East he was rather awestruck. It was vast, and covered in people. There was a huge Great Wall that seemed to go forever and ever. All along it people walked and sold things, and as he flew over, rather than be afraid like they should be, they waved and cheered. He kept well away, maybe they were mocking him. He was still a very small dragon after all, and although he was now muscle and a golden yellow sand colour above, and a bright bronze on his underbelly it wasn't he supposed because he was beautiful. Oh no, not him. He felt unloved, unwanted, uncared for; he wasn't a thing of beauty he was a beast to be feared. It was fear that had greeted him just after his birth, a fear that had spurred him on to find his father in the Far East, the fear of being alone. It's a fact that dragons have an inate ability to sense one another within a certain range. It is to do with territory and the protection of their families. So it was no surprise that within two days of following the Great Wall high up into the mountains and over the peaks, that a huge long blue and white Chinese Firedrake came to challenge him.

As it approached Trumpet instantly felt it far sooner than he saw it. The air seemed to tingle and his dragon senses made him bellow a challenge. He was the one on the stranger's turf, but he was so mad and desperate he bugled his displeasure. The thing was ten times his size easily and very very long and thin. It had many tiny wings that seemed like they'd never be able to support the weight of it. But it was lithe and nimble and had long flowing tendrils from it's eyebrows and chin. He felt defensive, and again that sense he was used to, fear. It did not seem perturbed, as it got nearer the dragon spoke to him in a strange accent, but he could understand it.

"Little one, who are you to so rudely challenge me when I have come to greet you so warmly?"
That took him aback. He wasn't expecting a question, he was expecting to have to fight.
"I am Trumpet born of my mother who was the last Queen Dragon, a golden lady of the skies and of a kind heart and gentle nature."
"You might want to change your tone young dragon," it rebuked him sharply,
"I am not your enemy. I am your father, Jiao Long, and I am a Chinese Firedrake from the East, and your search is over if you came so far to see me. Where is your mother, I'd like to ask her what she thinks bringing up a dragonet so rude in this way?"
"She didn't bring me up...she was killed." Trumpet couldn't hold back the anger and resentment any more, and great tears spilled from his eyes and the dragon Jiao Long took pity on him and softened his approach somewhat.
"Come little one he said, come with your old father and tell him of your troubles and why you have come."
And the two dragons flew to a great palace up in the highest peak and landed in the red and blue tiled forecourt.

Now though Trumpet was ashamed of his behaviour towards his father, and especially as he was treated with such kindness, he was still very wary. After all, his mother had had no time to tell him of his heritage, or why she chose not to stay with this Chinese Firedrake in the Far East. Indeed, the land was very different from his own home. He hadn't seen much of it before he fled, but it was certainly a far cry from this land. And what amazed him most were the people. They came out to greet the great Firedrake and his guest. They were not afraid, and they started to oil their scales and bring them food. It was if they were enslaved, which led Trumpet to ask his first silly question.
"Father, how did you manage to tame these humans of yours?"
His father was shocked.
"Tame them son? You cannot tame humans, they are wild things, and no wild thing can be properly domesticated. They are their own people, not enslaved to me.
"But then why do they honour you?" Trumpet was very puzzled by the odd behaviour as the people buzzed around him and made a fuss of his injuries. "Why are they being so kind?" He was at a loss to understand and his question was of a very genuine nature.
"Ah son. They are under my protection. I keep them safe from the tribes and armies who try raiding their borders and shorelines. I am not their pet, nor am I their master. We work in harmony, it is the only way to co-exist with humans and that is why I have lived twice the age of any other dragon. I am the last of my kind, or at least I was until I met your mother. And now she is gone, I find I am still not the last."

They talked all night. Trumpet spoke with vehemence about the hunters, and Jiao understood now why the youngster was so full of pain and anger. He had had weeks to fill up with resentment and anguish. It was a blessing he hadn't burnt himself out. Trumpet told him of his plan to fly home with his father and lay siege to the hunters and their homes and destroy them all. He lit up with the thrill of it, his breath burning on the wind. And Jiao was sad, and for a long time did not speak anything of his own thoughts. They just shared their origins, and built a loving bond in the quiet jasmine filled night. And as the stars burned bright, and the heat in the words of the tiny dragon burned down, Jaio did something that touched the heart of his son for the first time in his life. His father wrapped his sleek warm body that smelled of spice and oils close around him in a gentle hug.
"It's okay son, you're not alone now."
And Trumpet cried himself to sleep, not because he felt weak and helpless next to this giant, but because of the relief he'd met the first part of his goal. He had succeeded against the odds.

It was early the following week that Trumpet and his father made the return journey over the oceans to the West. Jaio had not said much to his son about the plans to annhilate the hunters, but his son didn't care. He was to travel with his father who seemed old and wise and kind. Over the week the people had fed him well and he'd grown another foot in wingspan already. He'd fed on mountain goat and had his wings oiled daily by soft human hands who didn't want to hurt him. He had grown more accustomed to the creature's and being around them. But he still harboured hard thoughts of revenge against those who slew his mother. And as they flew out over the waters, the great Chinese Firedrake started educating his son on the things they saw. They flew with the great dolphin pods as they leapt in the air doing somersaults. It was fun and exhilarating and Trumpet learned to laugh and enjoy the chase they set. He swam with the great whales who'd tease with the water from their blowholes sent up in great spumes of water. It tickled and made him smile. And often, when they landed on the same islands he'd been on before, they'd sit up talking and Trumpet would notice the beauty of the places. He learned of the constellations in the night sky, of the falling stars and how the dragon's say the world was born from The Great Fire of the Mighty Dragon itself! The journey home was nothing like the journey he'd taken by himself. And Jaio smiled to himself, and pretended he was slower than he was. The longer they took, the more this little dragon would find his balance.

The day finally came when they arrived in the lands of the West. When the locals saw the gold dragonet had returned, but this time with a huge blue and white Eastern dragon they were very afraid. They called for the hunters, but they would not come. Had it been the young dragon alone maybe they would have, but two of them, never. So the people cowered and ran. At first this made Trumpet smile, he saw the same fear in their eyes that he had faced, he felt they knew then his pain. Maybe not his anguish, maybe not the intense hatred, but they certainly knew fear. And he whispered to his father,
"When shall we begin?"
But his father instead flew to the cave where his mother has been butchered. The carcass still lay there, rotting and decayed. The birds had ripped it of its flesh, but Jiao did not block the view. The dragon needed to see that death was final and came to all creatures.
"She lived a good age son," he said gently, folding his wing over the young gold shoulders. "We must care now for her body and pay tribute to her life."
He knew that what the young dragon needed most was closure, and to see his mother not as a brutal target but as close kin who loved him.

Dragon ceremonies are very private things. They speak of their remembrances of the deceased, and they keen, which is a kind of guttural rhythmic singing that soothes them. And when all was said, Jiao showed Trumpet how to create the intense blue flame that was as hot and destructive as lava. Together they burnt the remains and instead each remembered the beautiful figure of the stunning golden dragon she had been. And when it was over, Jiao turned to his son and spoke clearly.
"Okay son, now do we go slay these humans for what they did?"
And for the longest time Trumpet didn't speak. An inner battle was going on inside him, so desperate for revenge it would lay waste to lands that were habitat to many. He would devastate whole families and make them suffer as he had suffered. He had discovered not all people were to be hated, and not all were hunters. He'd found fun and a parental love that though he couldn't have with his mother, he had inherited with his father. And he sat for a long time in silence and peaceful reflection looking up at the heavens and missing the Far East. He longed to journey with his father again and so he turned, a tear in his eye. It wasn't for hatred, or regret or vengeance, it was for the love his mother had shown him, and the father he had come to know.
"No father," he said decisively," let's leave these humans to their own ends, let's just go home."
And he let out a huge bellow and lit the sky oranges, reds and yellows with the flame of his joy. He was to be the last dragon on Earth, but not before he'd have every moment he could with his wise old father. And they both sprang up into the sunrise and made for the East.



© .Garry Saunders

@PoeticDarkSoul for you, as you wanted a part two 🙏🤍🐉