DRAGON

An angry summer storm flew in from the west just before midday. Arlo ignored the wrath of the storm as sheets of rain pelted down upon his brow. Instead, he watched, mouth agape, at the fat crying toddler that sat unaccompanied in the sprawling, vivid green forest.

Slovak Forest was too remote for most. Arlo favoured the four-seasoned forest however, due to the hospitable Dwarf folk that inhabited and cultivated its lush, fertile lands. He had only landed on the outskirts of the Dwarf village on a whim. The dragon was hoping to steal some apples or perhaps even a local goat, before realising the woeful storm had followed him in off the Yellow Sea.

The fair-haired, wailing toddler woke Arlo from his musing. Without hesitation, the dragon stretched out his thick, sapphire-blue neck, to provide the baby some refuge. At twenty-three years of age, this was Arlo's first encounter with a mortal, let alone a noisy one. He'd certainly been educated on the 'useless and weak' species; he knew the few that remained on the continent had been exiled to the ends of Fenwarren for their own protection. Dragon and other magic folk had been prohibited from entering Fenwarren for over two centuries. As such, mortals had become little more than conjured folklore tales of haggard faces and clubbed hands, passed down from Father to Son. How Arlo had come across this tiny human on Dwarf territory was quite a mystery. His ailing stomach would have much preferred the goat!

The dragon dipped his horned head and inhaled deeply, taking in the clean, earthy tones of the child. It ceased crying immediately and laid a small, inquisitive hand on the tip of Arlo's snout. The startled dragon reared back quickly, initially aghast at the physical contact. Frightened, the baby began to howl once more. Arlo lowered his snout hesitantly and sniffed the mortal a second time. The small child let out a squeal of pleasure and affectionately reached towards the dragon.

The dragon stared down at the now content human, and met the upturned eyes of the toddler. Although damp, the little girl's crocheted frock spoke of a loving guardian. Arlo looked upon the rich forest floor before him, scanning the area keenly with his dragon sight. However, nothing but wet, deserted terrain greeted the curious dragon; neither dwarf nor mortal could be seen about the land, with even the forest animals stowed away, out of the growing storm. Resolved, Arlo bit the head off the human child - and chewed. His ancestors were right about one thing - tasted like chicken.

*****

“Oi! Blue banana! I'm talking to ya, lad.”

Water splashed onto Arlo's numb face, abruptly waking him from a deep slumber. He lay immersed in tranquil warm water, in an unfamiliar lake on the outskirts of the Yellow Sea. Glancing towards the smirking voice above him, Arlo idly stretched out his crooked back and solid hind legs.

“Look at ya, lad,” the dwarf poked at the dragon. “Is this what Divinity has sent us? An idle teenager with a beer belly. Me wife could eat ya for breakfast and she's given me thirteen little ones.” The ruddy faced dwarf shook his head at Arlo, both in mirth and distaste.

The idle dragon sucked in his overgrown stomach while digging his claws into the rocks scattered on the bottom of the lake, trying to find his footing. “I'll have you know, Stretch,” Arlo replied carelessly as he attempted to navigate the slippery rocks underfoot, “I was very popular among the girls at school.” Failing to find his balance, a resigned Arlo released his breath...and waistline, before carelessly sinking back down between two huge boulders in the lake. The dwarf guffawed at the sight.

“Was that before or after ya told those schoolgirls ya ate defenceless human babies?”

Arlo's face blanched with shock. “Sod off then,” he told the stranger. “Here I was, just minding my own business, when you woke me from a perfectly good sleep.” The dragon lay his heavy, gold-flecked head back on the smooth rock behind him and proceeded to return to slumber.

The aging dwarf with a silver head of hair stood resolute. “Where are me manners?” the cocksure dwarf continued, ignoring the massive dragon's booming snoring. “Allow me to introduce meself, boy. Me name is George Guntry of the great Guntry line. Eighteen generations of farmers we are...but we're also known for our blazing, red-hot temper and steel knuckles.” George's chest puffed out proudly while his scarred knuckles clutched his trouser braces. “Although our temper isn't the only thing that's red-hot lad, as me poor wife could attest to.” George chortled spiritedly while Arlo involuntarily gagged in response.

“Smell the sweet aroma of me lands, son.” The dwarf's eyes closed shut as his head fell back. George inhaled the tangy midday air deeply into his lungs. “Nothing better than a brand-new summer, lad. The hot sun pressing down on ya back, ya arms burning like the dickens while ya working hard on the fields.” A broad smile spread across George's face as he turned his attention back to Arlo. “Watching the purple sun set over the forest as ya puffing on the sweet long pipe,” the dwarf said wistfully.

“You can keep your long pipe, old man. I've tried your blooming pipe once before. Spent the next few hours chasing terrified wood nymphs in the forest and eating those ghastly mushrooms that lay all over the forest floor. They found me scaled up a tree, unconscious, with a crown of toads on my head.”

The dwarf laughed heartily at Arlo's admission, hands placed on either side of his rotund waist. “The long pipe is not for everyone, son. Ya must'a inhaled too deeply. The main thing is, ya gave it a go, showed the Dwarf folk ya had spirit.”

Arlo countered, “Your dwarves vanished later that night when I got caught in the brambles, covered in prickles and all.”

“But ya had a tall tale to tell ya friends, I bet,” the dwarf said merrily at the still inert dragon, the sun catching the glints of ginger that remained in his messy beard.

Abruptly, George tensed, all humour vanishing from his composure. Arlo heard a moan in the air...before it suddenly stilled. The dragon's mouth became as dry as sand while the atmosphere thickened around the dragon and his unlikely companion. Dark magic.

Sweat beading on his face, the harried looking dwarf asserted, “I just left me wife and bairn to help ya, boy. So ye best get out of that lake before I drag ya out.”

Arlo obeyed and pushed against the heavy weight of the water; his massive torso breaking free from the constraints of the lake. “What have you gone and done, Red?”

“I tried to hide ya on me land as best I could, son,” soothed the contrite dwarf, “but I don't know how much longer I can keep ya here.”

“Where in blazes am I, George?” demanded the anxious dragon.

“Ya still in the forest where I found ya, lad...but ya in the dream realm...where I can talk to ya. Ya need to find that baby, son, and take her somewhere safe.”

“What are you talking about?” Arlo demanded of the dwarf. “I ate the child. You said as much!”

“We had to know we could trust ya, Arlo. We were testing ya. Ya failed miserably by the way.” George snorted derisively.

The air bellowed once more, sending out a warning cry to those hiding between the worlds.

“Go, son...I need to send ya back to ya own realm. I'll try and keep ya safe while I can. You've met the girl. Call out to her when ya get there, she'll recognise ya. But ya must leave Slovak Forest far behind.”

“You put me here, George. Tell me how the blazes I can get out.”

The determined dwarf lunged at Arlo. “Wake up!”

*****

The wet, icy cold snow that lay beneath the dragon's splayed body was the first thing that Arlo noticed as he sucked in a frantic breath. Summer seemed to evaporate as he blinked at the unseasonally grey sky overhead, his bones aching from the jump made between the two realms. Arlo went to push himself up off the slick ground, the movement causing a sharp pain up his back. Still, he persisted, until he was standing upright with his long, scaly neck outstretched.

The dragon knew this place. He recognised the usually dense, green entrance to the Dwarf village...but it was somehow changed and miserable from his last encounter. The normally inviting, tall trees with their soothing songs, no longer bloomed and preened in the wind. Instead, they stood compact and mute, their long sinewy branches holding each other up in what appeared to be mourning. Arlo ignored the tightness in his chest as he stepped into the familiar valley that housed the Dwarf folk.

The young dragon halted in dismay, as he looked upon the grisly aftermath of an attack on the village. Scores of bodies lay deathly quiet and still, on a bed of slowly-melting white snow. As Arlo moved closer, he saw that black scorch marks surrounded their lifeless forms while the strongest of the dwarves lay facedown, their arms outspread, displaying signs of a struggle. Most of the perished however, looked unscathed and peaceful...handsome dwarf figures scattered across the fields.

Neither adult nor child was spared from the unexpected strike. Arlo even sighted a few dead animals, most likely loyal family companions, spread out about the glen. Arlo's stomach lurched, the dragon vomiting where he stood. The dragon wiped his mouth on the snow, the foul smell hitting him a second later - the unnatural, acrid stench of dark magic. Hurrying his movements, Arlo swept through the cluster of bodies, frenzied in his search for a boxy framed dwarf with a ginger-speckled beard.

Swearing under his breath, the exhausted dragon spied a lone brown rabbit hopping through the short, snow-covered grass; her coarse, wet fur matted around her rear. The rabbit paused, ears pointed upwards, and gazed across the forest over at Arlo. He admired the beauty of the small mammal, its placid nature calming to the dragon. The rabbit simply stared at the large, winged creature before hopping over a rocky outcrop and veering out of sight.

Distant heavy steps tramped through the snowy field, an overwhelming mustiness accompanying the new arrival. Arlo turned slowly to face the approaching creature, and was surprised to see a dubious-looking dragon trudging towards him.

The dragon was smaller than Arlo but moved its slender, elongated body confidently. Textured, aubergine-coloured scales covered its body while leathery, pointed wings folded high against its skinny back. Trepidation met Arlo as dead, cruel eyes bore into him across the white expanse.

Arlo tried to get his wits about him and surmised that this was the dark underling - a minion carelessly left behind following the attack on the Dwarf village to ensure no survivors remained. Perhaps it was even searching for the missing toddler.

Arlo thought of George and his “steel knuckles”, his gift of the gab and his courageous spirit. The wistful dragon looked upon the once merry and boisterous clan of dwarves, snuffed out and discarded like tossed litter on the forest floor. His long, flexible neck reared back as determination, anger and unwavering strength spewed out in the mightiest of roars.

The startled dark dragon hesitated from the blast of the sound, allowing Arlo to gain the advantage and slam into his opponent. The two figures crashed to the ground, falling on top of the scattered bodies, bones breaking under the weight of the dueling dragons. Pairs of eyes peeped curiously from hidden crevices about the land; the animal and faerie inhabitants of the forest bearing witness to the violent tussle.

The dark dragon desperately tried to move its sleek form out from under Arlo but it was pinned down beneath its larger adversary. Arlo opened his jaw and sank his sharp teeth into the neck of the smaller dragon. A wrangled cry escaped from the underling while an enraged Arlo, spat out the black, putrid blood of his foe. Whatever this thing was, it was not of this world...tainted by dark sorcery.

Sharp claws lodged into Arlo's side, slicing into his tender underbelly. He bellowed in agony at the shooting pain that radiated down his left side. Arlo lost his grip, allowing the smaller dragon to escape his hold.

Determined, Arlo quickly rose, refusing to surrender. He locked eyes with his dark enemy. The dragons circled each other around the makeshift battlefield, waiting for any sign of weakness to appear in their opponent. Unsure who issued the low, menacing snarl, they were - once more - locked in battle.

The fierce contest was ruthless as they sought to destroy each other; they swung their ferocious tails and breathed their mighty fire to try and gain advantage. They punched, kicked and slammed their heavy wings, scratched and stabbed with their sharp talons. Arlo never wavered despite the wounds inflicted upon him or the persistent pain that resonated throughout his body. Finally, Arlo felt the eyes and the hearts of the forest upon him as he delivered the killing blow.

Utterly exhausted, Arlo looked down at the crumpled figure of the dark dragon. The victor didn't know what to feel. He was an easy-going dragon who, like any male his age, enjoyed a bit of rough and tumble play. Fiercely protective and loyal to those around him, he did not rejoice in the scene before him but was steadfast in finding the toddler.

A pleasant, warm breeze enveloped the hazel-eyed dragon, tickling his tired body. Arlo knew the hidden, light magic about the forest was at play when he heard the whisper of a name on the wind. Arlo thought back to what the old dwarf had told him.

“Elspeth!” the dragon called across the field. “Elspeth. Come to me, lass. Elspeth!”

The toddler appeared from the thick trees bordering a creek. Elspeth stumbled towards Arlo, her steps slow and uncoordinated, a few spills along the way. Arlo let her come to him, not risking scaring the child with his heavy gait. Arlo rejoiced when Elspeth was finally within his reach. He smelt her clean hair and checked her over for any markings, soothing the anxious mortal with his gentle touch. Relieved to find nothing more than a few scratches, Arlo bundled the toddler between his front paws and leapt into the air.

The dragon stretched his heavy wings and flew, far away, from the devastation at Slovak Forest. The rough wind passed over his sapphire-blue scales as he soared toward his destination. Arlo held tight onto Elspeth throughout the journey, regularly sniffing and nuzzling the child with his snout.

His mind occasionally wandered to the dragon to whom he was flying. Oh...but how it would not be a happy reunion. Arlo had not seen the short-tempered dragon in many months and purposely so. For all its shrewd political strategies and cunning conquests, it was a wretched dragon - respected by all, liked by none. Arlo sighed in resignation as he glided through the cloudless sky. It was time to go home to his Mother!