Layers of stone

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They reappeared rather recently, actually. You’d presume the war between Kelimine and Dreaus to have been the source of their disappearance, thousands of years prior, but no. They were rumored to have killed one another in fact. Described as vengeful, carnivorous demons that ached and itched for a good hunt. Monsters that would scour both land and skies for enemies and when they crowned the food chain, they turned to one another instead, the thirst plunging strong. That’s what the elders say at least. That these large lumps of mossy stone, rolling onto their bellies like a cat near a fire on a snowy day, are the most dangerous predators man has ever known. Clearly man has never known me then. I undoubtedly rival their aptitude for hunting mice, their swift nature at stalking and of course the terrifying bodily mass.

The ground vibrated suddenly, sweeping me onto my knees. The one furthest to the distance closed his mouth after yawning and tucked his head back into his curled, sleeping body.

I stood up, wiping the dirt off my knees and plucking off the stray bits of grass in my shorts. It was finally growing abundantly, just like it did before the great wars. The thick crust of humid smoke and dirt ploughed flat any remaining life forms after the ceasefire, and doughed the trees to sponges. We hadn’t seen green grass in years. I still stand in awe at the way the land refused to die out, though us humans don’t lose in that aspect.

They too have a sort of greenery growing out of the cracks in their stone skin; mossy almost. I hadn't gotten a close enough look at them to be sure. It was a firm rule to never go past the wooden fence that closed off these parts of the land, and an unspoken law to never let your mind wander on these beasts. I am an exception, of course. An elite researcher prized by my tribe to garner the silken knowledge of the lost world.

I wanted to at least get a decent sketch of them before the growing panic folded my legs to mash.

I crouched behind the scattered boulders surrounding the hillside, closing in on them. The pathway was distorted with lumps and stones, odd balls of weed and small dips, probably caused by their occasional movement that changed the landscape, little by little. In the three weeks I had secretly visited them and the four months that I had found them, they had never made any large motions. Sometimes they’d nestle together closer, or stretch their stubby arms and legs, even an occasional swipe of the hand to catch a badger here and there. But nothing disastrous.

“Seven,” I whispered to myself. I had previously counted five. Two more had appeared in the span of nine hours.

I rushed to grab my notebook from my back pocket and jotted it down. This was the shortest time frame yet. I deduced that the frequency of appearance had something to do with the atmospheric developments in this land and the potency of nitrogen. There seemed to be an obvious correlation between these sources, though…I suppose not anymore. This was an anomaly. The weather had been perfectly consistent over the night and the rain bucket reading was in the expected level markers. I needed more information. I needed to get closer.

I let my feet slide down to the next ledge as I put the book away. What my ingenious mind didn’t notice was the patch of grass-less mud, just below. My heels slipped back and my body shot down the slope of the hill. I flipped myself over and clawed onto passing stones and grass bundles, violently reaching for a way to stop. I felt my nails fold back and retreated my hands, holding my breath to trap my voice, until the momentum stopped. I peered over my shoulder.

Still.

They hadn’t budged.

The three before me were fast asleep, The others were scattered far enough to where they wouldn't be a cause for concern. I looked up at the height of the hill and tracked where I could retreat from. It was difficult from this angle, but possible. I had to take this. I probably would never find it in me to get this close on my own so I had to take it.

I felt my ears burn and burn and my hands numb to everything but the pressure built under my nails from the dirt. I flicked some of it out from under them, with my thumb, flexed my hands and paced my breaths.

They were much larger than I could have understood. Four or roughly five meters was its head length. The body was coiled so I could not pinpoint a measurement. I took a step forward. The skin was indeed stone. Ordinary, common slate. Another step. Partitions in curious places and in curious patterns. I took down a sketch. The moss, ordinary at glance but seemed viscous at the roots. As the giant breathed softly, the moss stretched. It held the skin together. A type of fungi that could be used as adhesive, perhaps? I’d need a sample. I hadn’t realized that I was at arms length with it until I fished out a tin and scalpel from my pocket and faced it with new intentions. It lay peacefully, unalarmed that I might hurt it. Unphased by the prey walking right before its teeth. Perhaps I am simply too horrifying of a match for it and he has offered me his surrender in earnest…or perhaps they do not know of man’s bottomless pit of cruelty. My hand gripped the scalpel tighter as I reached out.

A carriage buckled and rustled in the distance, followed by the clattering of horse hooves. I jolted and fumbled away, hitting my back against the slope as the dragons sniffed out their nostrils leisurely.

Our village didn’t have carriages. I quickly made my way out.

~

Aunt Lenolie greeted me with a wet towel as I waddled in, and wiped my face with it.

“I heard a carriage,” I huffed out in exhaustion from my run back.

“Oh! Yes, well Granny dearest is dealing with the outsider so don’t you fret, melon.” Aunt Lenolie whispered before patting my hair and walking off with her bag of oranges. It was an outsider, and they're here. Our village took it upon themselves to reconstruct humanity’s ideals after the great wars. There were three in total. Three wars that rugged the world clean of almost all life, all because of pride and greed. There were too many people with too many opinions who refused to come to an agreement. It’s why the four elders, including Granny, decided to stress an importance on community and family; something which had been utterly lost throughout the years, and build this society. Somewhere where everyone belonged.

“FATASS!! OI FATASS!” A child yelled from the cow pens. “Mama says you ate all the food stocks for this week, that's why we ran out of wheat so quickly!” I cocked my head in confusion. His mother rushed to his side and dragged him away by his ear, not turning a glance to me. I wondered about the wheat stocks for a moment, remembering the tally I took of it a few days ago and recalled it was indeed low. Perhaps the population was increasing faster than I had predicted. Well, we could always scrap a few kids anyways. I smiled to myself and jogged to the herbal clinic as I heard the other children giggling in the back.

This was nothing. Since we focus so much on community, to a degree where most forget the whole reason we do, deviating from the herd even a little means ostracization. The adults wont do anything about those comments either. In their eyes it was warranted. Obvious. It’s something Mum is shameful about, so I try not to show my face out in the open too often, but that works for me. There's only one place I even care to show up to, anyways.

The familiar wooden paneled hut came into view and I leaped over the flowerbeds to reach it. Barrels and carts blurred past my view as I tunneled into the small window we had. A man. A large man was being treated by Granny. He was bulked and bruised and tanned and scarred. A warrior, returned from…battle? In this age? There was no chance of that.

I hurled myself through the doors and jumped in, the man looked up at me from his seat and I stared at the stone that covered his shoulders. Cracked, with bits of moss peaking through.