An Awful Introduction Piece

Blurry, everything was terribly blurry; Markhor couldn't make his own talons out from the blizzard before him. Everything blended in on the border of the ice kingdom; the bleak scenery, the even bleaker dragons, and of course his bleak home. Ha! That home was nothing more than a pile of snow, one he was fighting to reach.

The young dragon's ears were pressed flat against his skull, eyes screwed shut. The wind howled about, shoving him and screaming in his ears. He hated living here, he hated the dragons here, and he hated that stupid pile of snow.

But he could see it in the distance, through the torrent of hail in front of him was his home. And lurking in it was a figure just as scrawny as Markhor, with eyes sunken into their skull. His mother. The child hadn't seen her in a fortnight. In fact, he almost never saw her. On and off visits while she worked odd-jobs around the border. She could never get a job in the kingdom, they didn't allow hybrids in. It didn't matter that he and his mother looked almost identical to every other ice dragon, those stupid purists in the kingdom would somehow know, and would kick them out.

Relief touched his mother’s tired face when she managed to lay eyes on him, ushering him out of the blizzard with a thin wing. She looked terribly frail, worse than him, but he didn’t dare look at her with pity. Murderers didn’t get that. Her wanted poster painted the walls of the market. The child couldn’t read it, no, but plenty of whispers confirmed what Markhor already knew. If the stalking dragons hoarding around her poster, clutching weaponry, wasn’t enough proof.

Markhor stomped past her, talons clicking against the icy floor, refusing to meet her sharp features. Even with the Randoms paying her for assassinations, there was never enough money. Never enough for her to stay home for a day, never enough to consistently put food on the table, and certainly never enough to teach him something as simple as to read. But there was someone who could do that.

Two moons ago a new face entered the market, and this dragon walked about like she owned the place. Sleek, with silvery and flecked scales, she wore a royal blue cloak lined with fur. There were a few rich folks that ran stalls, but they were battle-scarred beasts. So Markhor had ignored her like everyone else--he wasn’t supposed to talk to the dragons here. Instead he examined a stray book while his mother argued over the price of fruit with some vendor. Books were few and far between at the market, and he could never afford them no matter how much he begged his mother. You don't need them, we can't afford it, you know that. The child frowned at the memory of her chastising him, brushing a talon across the leather cover gently. This one has pictures in it..! He marveled at the item.

A deep chuckle made Markhor’s head shoot up, his own inky blue eyes meeting another deep blue set. That new dragon. In her claws was a sheet of paper, her pupils flicking from the sheet back to his face, before a wide grin of teeth met him.

“You’re Fellsfjara’s kid, yeah?” She knew the answer already. He and his mother weren’t carbon copies, but both had scales that were tinted a pale yellow at the edges, and spines along their back that stuck out oddly from the other ice dragons--even from the other hybrids. “Nice to meetcha’ kid, I’m Blue-Diamond,” the grin on her face never left.

From there Blue-Diamond would greet him every time she saw him, a kind and constant presence. She seemed to be everywhere he was. She told stories of grandeur, of her travels to other kingdoms, adventures outside the ice-barren land he called home. And on days she was especially kind, she would teach the little dragon a few words he could read. She taught Markhor to write his name.

“And I could teach you more! I could even take you with me--outside the Ice Kingdom. And,” The larger dragon wrapped her wing and cloak around him, reaching into the satchel hanging from her side. In her bejeweled claws laid the book he had been eyeing for the past two months. “All yours, if,” Blue-Diamond's eyes focused on something behind Markhor; the young one craned his neck to see. “You can get rid of her.” Across the market his mother stood, hunched over in her snow-ragged cloak.

In their little home, Markhor didn’t say a word to his mother and she didn’t say one back either. She was the quiet type. She rarely spoke with him, and could never look him in the eyes. Could never provide, never be there for him.

And never the type to make a fuss; not even when the young dragon turned on his heel, and launched his talons at her. Not when his serrated claws slid down her throat.

She could’ve stopped him, so easily, but her claws were stuck as soon as she aimed them towards him. Her face, thin and weary, showed nothing. Blown out pupils searched her son’s face, what was she looking for! Markor fumed; she looked the same as she did every day, even bleeding out. She offered him nothing as she died.

But Blue-Diamond promised everything! Markhor threw himself out the door, claws still stained blue, searching. There! Blue-Diamond stood, wrapped in all her royal furs and cloaks, among the falling hail. The dragoness pushed past Markhor, letting out a low whistle at the sight.

“Vicious, kid.” She dipped a single talon in the mess of blue blood, examining it with sharp eyes. “Well,” She turned on her heel, knocking past him. “My work here is done.” She tossed the book she had offered to the snow-laden ground, turning on him with wings unfurling.

“What..?” The young dragon breathed the question, excitement dying on his tongue and eyes searching after Blue-Diamond. The dragoness tilted her head in his direction, raising an eye in question. “What do you mean!” He stumbled out, racing after her. “What are you doing! You said you’d take me with you--wait for me!”

“Kid,” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I have a job to do, alright? Thanks for your help, but I'm done here. I have a life-style to maintain--in the kingdoms.” She looked as sickly sweet as always, the same sugary face and tone looking back at him, but nothing in her expression was sympathetic. The silvery dragon took flight and Markhor knew he would never catch up to her. He screamed questions and scrambled uselessly after her. Where are you from? Why did you trick me? Is that even your real name? Her cobalt blue cloak faded from view. Left in the snow was the leather-bound picture book. The wind dragged around him, silent.