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The Last Baby Dragon
His was the last dragon egg. The Queen had layed in the warm sands of her cave and heated the ground with her flame. From a distance, high up on the mountain at night, the locals saw the cave illuminated and new the reason. It scared them having the elderly dragon live so close by, but she was ancient and only fed once a month. It was worth cattle loss just to keep her appeased, and they always got together to reimburse the poor farmer. They had not seen another dragon in fifty years, but when they saw the creature's cave lit up all night, they knew it meant she was with egg. Ultimately that meant another hungry demanding mouth to feed, and it would want more than a cow or sheep every month to feed it's growing. They could not have that, so they started to put out rewards for the killing of the Queen and the proof that the egg was rendered obsolete. It would mean the extinction of the Dragon race, but that to them was no obstacle as it was a small price to pay. Young dragon's always spelled trouble.
He remembered that heat from the hatching grounds. Even in the egg he felt cosy and warm, safe listening to the keening of his mother and feeling the security of her nearby. When he emerged one night, the sky held a blood moon. The local people heard from far off the triumphant bellow of the Queen at it's emergence. It had been many centuries since she had hatched an egg, though she had laid plenty. To have only one egg to nurture was a great sorrow to her, as she knew it was a sign that after more than four hundred years she was nearing her own demise. A clutch for a younger Queen might be as many as fifteen, and she fought back the tears as her baby appeared. It was strong and loud, it roared a tiny little ferocious bark to little puffs of flame and smoke.
Her heart leapt in pride, for every mother feels a bond with her offspring no matter what creature it is. So defiant and brave was she, she named him within the first ten minutes of his birth based on the traits he displayed, as was the dragon custom. His name was to be Trumpet Bellows In The Dark.
Meanwhile the villagers had all clubbed with others in the nearby proximity to raise the funds for the killing of the beasts. There were no end of takers, and those hunters who were first to bring back the head of the dragon would reap the rewards, with a substantial bonus for proof the egg was destroyed. They had set out days before the egg was cracked, but the forest terrain made it hard going on horseback. Most took lots of equipment and backup with them. They knew that mother dragons were the hardest to kill, as they'd fight to the death. The element of surprise was the deciding factor in slaying a dragon. Many set out together, and that night the forest burned with torch lights making their way to their prey. And high, up high where the golden eagles circled on the eddies, three figures climbed the vertical rock face under the cover of darkness. Usually the dragon would smell them long before it heard their approach. But the little dragon still smelt of cinnamon and lemongrass it's scales were so fresh. It hid Man's scent and the tiny roars it sent out in defiance masked their sounds.
Trumpet did not mean to be the cause of his mother's demise. He was young and innocent. When he saw Man enter the cave at his Mother's back all he caught a glimpse of was strange beings with a big silver claw at their backs that they drew. The Queen's scales were loose these days and many had dropped off her aging golden body. The broadswords slipped in easily to pierce her skin, and in one small moment of joy seeing her baby boy she was killed. Slaughtered with three wounds to her heart, lungs and liver she let out a massive wall of flame. Trumpet shut his eyes as the blue red fire engulfed him and his wings went round himself protectively. He watched the beasts that hurt his mother run from the cave mouth on fire, fighting uselessly the flames. He was okay, he was a dragon and his mother wouldn't hurt him. But as he leaned over the edge to still see far below the three plummeting hunters alight like falling stars, a piteous bugle tore from his throat.
When Trumpet leapt from the cliff to seek revenge on those who were still falling, he didn't even know he could fly. He just sensed that he could, he was that furious he did it without thinking. And in midair he instinctively found his wings opened and he quickly had the hang of direction and speed. He sped down aggressively, and as he caught up to them he charred the writhing bodies to cinders. They died long before they hit the ground, but the "thunk" as they did so gave young Trumpet a sense of justice having been served. And he returned to his mother and stayed with her all night. He tried to get round the fact that her torso was now cold and lifeless by scorching her sides. Then he could pretend this was not his first night and he was not spending it all alone in the world. He dug in close and managed to secure himself protectively under one of her wings.
The hunters did not give up. They scaled the rock face at sunrise and knew they needed to get up there before that little dragon left with it's mother. They spent all night climbing the mountain with their cruel weapons strapped to their backs and sides. At least a hundred hunters were all hoping to bag the reward, greedy as much for the renown as they were the sizeable bounty.And as they neared Trumpet roused and smelt their odd scent like the other Humans that had come. It bellowed and spewed little pockets of flame, but he was hungry so it wasn't as fierce as it should be. He was defenceless save for tooth and claw, and as formidable as they were, they would not be enough. And as he looked down below and saw the odds were gravely stacked against him, the baby dragon had to leave his mother behind.
He flew up high and circled overhead out of the aim of their slingshots and arrows. He watched them enter the cave and leave with her head still dripping blood. Pain tore through him and as agitated as he was, he knew he had to stay out of range or he too would die. And the hunters would get their money, those who were first to take their trophy. Trumpet watched and memorized all their faces. His eyesight is keener than the eagles, and his memory is hundreds of years long. He would not forget. He sounded the most fearsome roar he could muster, but no flames emerged, only small white puffs of billowing smoke. And the hunters had the audacity to look up and laugh. He was just another reward to them for another day. And so they carried on descending with the stinking head of the Queen, her amber eyes still open and showing the anguish of her death in them.
There was one thing Trumpet had realised that the locals had not. He wasn't the last dragon of course. He was the union of two powerful beasts, and with his mother gone he had a purpose. Two actually. One to seek revenge on the locals and the other to find his father wherever he may be. It was a huge world to a naive newborn, and he had no clues of his origins regarding his father. But he spread his six foot wings and swept down below to swoop on the villagers' favourite breeding goat. It carried it off and devoured it in seconds on the wing. It felt better. And the renewed energy gave Trumpet a greater spirit, he would avenge his mother's death and reek desolation on the townsfolk in the locality. Both he and his father would return, but he just had to find him first. So he flew East over the great seas, and the bitterness and hatred started eating him up as he went. But little did he know who or what his father was. For sure enough he was a great dragon of the East, and he was a thousand years old. Their meeting would be a thing of legend.... but that's a tale for another day.
© .Garry Saunders
He remembered that heat from the hatching grounds. Even in the egg he felt cosy and warm, safe listening to the keening of his mother and feeling the security of her nearby. When he emerged one night, the sky held a blood moon. The local people heard from far off the triumphant bellow of the Queen at it's emergence. It had been many centuries since she had hatched an egg, though she had laid plenty. To have only one egg to nurture was a great sorrow to her, as she knew it was a sign that after more than four hundred years she was nearing her own demise. A clutch for a younger Queen might be as many as fifteen, and she fought back the tears as her baby appeared. It was strong and loud, it roared a tiny little ferocious bark to little puffs of flame and smoke.
Her heart leapt in pride, for every mother feels a bond with her offspring no matter what creature it is. So defiant and brave was she, she named him within the first ten minutes of his birth based on the traits he displayed, as was the dragon custom. His name was to be Trumpet Bellows In The Dark.
Meanwhile the villagers had all clubbed with others in the nearby proximity to raise the funds for the killing of the beasts. There were no end of takers, and those hunters who were first to bring back the head of the dragon would reap the rewards, with a substantial bonus for proof the egg was destroyed. They had set out days before the egg was cracked, but the forest terrain made it hard going on horseback. Most took lots of equipment and backup with them. They knew that mother dragons were the hardest to kill, as they'd fight to the death. The element of surprise was the deciding factor in slaying a dragon. Many set out together, and that night the forest burned with torch lights making their way to their prey. And high, up high where the golden eagles circled on the eddies, three figures climbed the vertical rock face under the cover of darkness. Usually the dragon would smell them long before it heard their approach. But the little dragon still smelt of cinnamon and lemongrass it's scales were so fresh. It hid Man's scent and the tiny roars it sent out in defiance masked their sounds.
Trumpet did not mean to be the cause of his mother's demise. He was young and innocent. When he saw Man enter the cave at his Mother's back all he caught a glimpse of was strange beings with a big silver claw at their backs that they drew. The Queen's scales were loose these days and many had dropped off her aging golden body. The broadswords slipped in easily to pierce her skin, and in one small moment of joy seeing her baby boy she was killed. Slaughtered with three wounds to her heart, lungs and liver she let out a massive wall of flame. Trumpet shut his eyes as the blue red fire engulfed him and his wings went round himself protectively. He watched the beasts that hurt his mother run from the cave mouth on fire, fighting uselessly the flames. He was okay, he was a dragon and his mother wouldn't hurt him. But as he leaned over the edge to still see far below the three plummeting hunters alight like falling stars, a piteous bugle tore from his throat.
When Trumpet leapt from the cliff to seek revenge on those who were still falling, he didn't even know he could fly. He just sensed that he could, he was that furious he did it without thinking. And in midair he instinctively found his wings opened and he quickly had the hang of direction and speed. He sped down aggressively, and as he caught up to them he charred the writhing bodies to cinders. They died long before they hit the ground, but the "thunk" as they did so gave young Trumpet a sense of justice having been served. And he returned to his mother and stayed with her all night. He tried to get round the fact that her torso was now cold and lifeless by scorching her sides. Then he could pretend this was not his first night and he was not spending it all alone in the world. He dug in close and managed to secure himself protectively under one of her wings.
The hunters did not give up. They scaled the rock face at sunrise and knew they needed to get up there before that little dragon left with it's mother. They spent all night climbing the mountain with their cruel weapons strapped to their backs and sides. At least a hundred hunters were all hoping to bag the reward, greedy as much for the renown as they were the sizeable bounty.And as they neared Trumpet roused and smelt their odd scent like the other Humans that had come. It bellowed and spewed little pockets of flame, but he was hungry so it wasn't as fierce as it should be. He was defenceless save for tooth and claw, and as formidable as they were, they would not be enough. And as he looked down below and saw the odds were gravely stacked against him, the baby dragon had to leave his mother behind.
He flew up high and circled overhead out of the aim of their slingshots and arrows. He watched them enter the cave and leave with her head still dripping blood. Pain tore through him and as agitated as he was, he knew he had to stay out of range or he too would die. And the hunters would get their money, those who were first to take their trophy. Trumpet watched and memorized all their faces. His eyesight is keener than the eagles, and his memory is hundreds of years long. He would not forget. He sounded the most fearsome roar he could muster, but no flames emerged, only small white puffs of billowing smoke. And the hunters had the audacity to look up and laugh. He was just another reward to them for another day. And so they carried on descending with the stinking head of the Queen, her amber eyes still open and showing the anguish of her death in them.
There was one thing Trumpet had realised that the locals had not. He wasn't the last dragon of course. He was the union of two powerful beasts, and with his mother gone he had a purpose. Two actually. One to seek revenge on the locals and the other to find his father wherever he may be. It was a huge world to a naive newborn, and he had no clues of his origins regarding his father. But he spread his six foot wings and swept down below to swoop on the villagers' favourite breeding goat. It carried it off and devoured it in seconds on the wing. It felt better. And the renewed energy gave Trumpet a greater spirit, he would avenge his mother's death and reek desolation on the townsfolk in the locality. Both he and his father would return, but he just had to find him first. So he flew East over the great seas, and the bitterness and hatred started eating him up as he went. But little did he know who or what his father was. For sure enough he was a great dragon of the East, and he was a thousand years old. Their meeting would be a thing of legend.... but that's a tale for another day.
© .Garry Saunders
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