D. L. Matthews

Oath of the Dragon

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” The elderly man said between gritted teeth as he puffed on his carven wooden pipe. “There weren’t papa?” A pair of big questioning eyes looked up at him. “No little one,” He smiled down at the little girl before him, the fire's reflection flickering in her eyes. He sighed, and for a moment forgot all about the children gathered around him waiting for a story by the evening fire. He was in another time and another place as he continued, “There was a time, long ago, that they were all but forgotten to the people of the valley. To them, dragons an their riders were the stuff of legends an myths, jus stories told to children by the fire.” “How can that be Papa?” The same little girl interrupted him, pulling slightly on the arm of his robe. There was determination in her eyes as if she believed she could root out the truth in his tale if she asked the right questions.