Foundling

There was something in the forest that shouldn’t have been. Olgor wrinkled his snout in confusion as he tasted the air again to double check. He tasted blood on the air and inhaled deeply. Horse. Sweat. Metal. Leather. The forest smelled of battle, but there were no human settlements nearby, not for a great distance.

Olgor stretched out his massive frame and grumbled to himself, turning away from the brook he’d been drinking from. He trundled down the forest, creating a path as he did so, batting trees and bushes out of the way with powerful forelegs. There shouldn’t have been any humans in the forest. That was the problem with them. They couldn’t decide what they were. Field mice knew what they were; they smelled of seeds and dirt. Deer smelled of grass and knew which paths to walk in the woods.

Humans were not creatures of the forest, though they would take trees and stone to make their domiciles. They were not creatures of the sea. And yet they could learn how to swim and fish. They could create vessels with which to ride the waves. Despite this, they would drown if they stayed in the water for too long. They were not amphibious like dragons. Olgor shuddered to think to the day they figured out to mimic being creatures of the air as well. Then there would truly be no getting away from them, even with wings as powerful as his own.

It didn’t take long to find the human. It was sitting in front of a briar bush, seemingly unconcerned with its surroundings. But though it smelled of battle it was far smaller than Olgor would have expected for a warrior. No, it was no warrior at all. It was a—a hatchling. Olgor studied the area in concern. Horse tracks lead out of the forest. There was blood, and a dead human wearing armor about eight wingbeats and a glide north of the bush. Olgor sniffed twice to make sure. Yes, it was dead alright, and for several hours.

He turned his gaze to the hatchling. A young human shouldn’t have lasted this long unattended. It had no scales to protect itself from the elements. No claws with which to hunt. Not even fur to keep it warm when the temperature fell in the winter. It was small, barely bigger than one of his feet, with a small crop of dark hair atop its head and tiny, round eyes. Why, Olgor could end it with a single flick of his tail.

Perhaps he should, he mused to himself. One less human to grow up into a despoiler of nature. Humans often grew into mighty hunters, killing peaceful unicorns, kelpies and even rarely, slaying dragons. He raised a massive claw to swipe but it made a noise that made him pause. It almost sounded like a dragon hatchling. Olgor watched it closely, watching for any sign of violent intent. Humans were capable of being great heroes too, weren’t they? Like in the tales of Princess Hilla or Kor the One-handed. Olgor harrumphed.

A fickle species, humans. Never able to stick to a single nature. Humans were as different from each other as a bear was from a rabbit.

“Where is your clan, young one?” he asked it plainly.

In his centuries of life, he had learned how to speak several of the human tongues. The foundling did not respond in any of them. Olgor sighed in annoyance.

"Too young to speak properly then."

Perhaps he should just go. Some predator would take care of it soon enough. Wolves perhaps, or a bear. He turned to go, but a thought stopped him. It didn’t seem quite right to leave it. Young humans were incapable of taking care of themselves, like freshly hatched birds. He was a dragon after all and older and wiser than most creatures. He had a duty to keep such a defenseless creature away from danger. However, it wasn’t like he could take the hatch—no, they didn’t come from eggs, he remembered idly. The—well, he’d found it hadn’t he? Yes. That would do. It wasn’t like he could take the foundling back to his lair. That would be unthinkable.

*****

Olgor watched the tiny human stumble about his lair and was satisfied that it at least understood a few phrases. He was able to tell it yes and no, stop. And it reacted appropriately. That was a start. But Olgor wasn’t certain what to do with it. By the noises it was making, he thought it might be hungry. Now, food was one of the few things that humans did properly. They cooked their meat over fire like they were dragons. He left the foundling unattended briefly in order to hunt a deer, returning with it swiftly.

It only took two mighty puffs of his breath to char it all the way through, and he tore a whole haunch off, plopping down in front of the foundling, prodding it carefully towards them. He didn’t have to wait long to see it sit down and begin to gnaw on the meat.

“A-ha!” he rumbled. “So you recognize this as food, foundling.”

Olgor was pleased with himself for this and set about eating the rest of the deer, bones and all. But he’d scarcely begun to dig into his meal when the foundling made noises again. He watched it curiously as it held its stomach and then pointed at its mouth. It was pantomiming something as though it were an actor.

It is thirsty, Olgor realized. And he came back with water held in a hollowed out gourd. Something he’d seen humans carrying water in a long time ago. The foundling drank deep and was quiet. Olgor nodded appreciatively and took a few bites of his meal. When he was close to done, the foundling began to make distressed noises again.

No, he thought. Why does it cry now? Olgor felt a sense of panicked annoyance begin to creep in. What else could the foundling need? He watched as it came towards him and his tail flicked nervously. It sought the warmth that his scales on his belly gave off and went to sleep.

“Unfortunate.” He growled quietly.

How could he move around without waking the foundling up? Perhaps it was best he went to sleep with it. He grimaced. I’m going to have to give you a name, he thought. Briar, he decided after a moment. In the morning, he could search the forest for any sign of Briar’s clan. He thought about just dropping it off with the first ones he found, but the thought caused hesitation. Humans were very particular about their clans.

If he left Briar with the wrong one, it could be disastrous for all involved. Olgor stretched out his frame in exhaustion. He’d spent too much time thinking about this and he was getting tired. A few minutes later, he felt the small weight of the human leave his side. Olgor opened one eye in confusion, watching Briar toddle around the lair. It wasn’t until he smelled a bitter and acrid liquid that he realized Briar was relieving themselves in the corner. He scrambled up, moving his bulk as fast as he dared.

“No! Bad foundling!”

Olgor did not sleep much the rest of the night. Briar required far more attention than any dragon hatchling.

When the morning came, he found that he still had not come to a decision. Briar could not stay forever but neither did he know where to leave it without it being in danger. Briar was oblivious to this, he knew. The human was wandering around the front of his cave, doing little hops and vocalizing about everything from a passing butterfly to the grass.

“We should find your clan, young one. “ he rumbled, watching as Briar inspected a leaf.

Briar began to laugh, apparently finding the leaf hilarious in the way that only a human could. It was a pleasant sound, musical like a grasshopper or a sparrow.

“We should find your clan.” he rumbled again, more to himself than to Briar.

But perhaps tomorrow, he thought as he used a talon to spear the leaf that Briar had dropped in favor of a stick. He’d have to make sure that Briar was well-fed and cleaned up before presenting them to a human clan and that would take some time. He inspected the leaf carefully, trying to discern what was so humorous about it. Briar decided to start hitting a tree with the stick and shrieking happily. Olgor huffed in amusement and set the leaf down.

“Yes, your clan can wait. I will see about returning you tomorrow.”