Legacy

"There weren't always dragons in the Valley."

I sat across from my Grandfather, the campfire between us sending embers up and into the crimson night sky.

"(He's finally gone senile)," I thought. Some creeping bug had wormed its way into his brain and dug out his common sense.

Grandpa scratched his neck, looking absently up at the moons resting on the horizon. "They don't like us talking about it."

A spell? A curse? Perhaps he'd become a ghoul in the brief interim I had gone to collect firewood.

"Now, don't get me wrong, things weren't much better before... The internet was nice, I suppose... losttsa racists though?"

I finally had enough. "Grandpa, can you shut up?"

This seemed to startle him. Before, Grandpa talked as if in a daze, laxidasical - ly musing as if I wasn't even there. But now he spoke my name in a soft baritone, "Clay..." Suddenly the old man bent to the ground, whipping a stone directly at my forehead.

Surprised, I dipped to the side, but it was too late; the stone struck my brow, bounding off with a satisfying thunk. "Ow!!" I cried.

"(Garbage old milk!"). Yet another thing I thought about the old man but dared not speak for fear of more rocky retribution, no matter how garbage or milky he seemed to me.

"Now, Clay, we apologize to our elders." In my own pained daze, Grandpa had already picked up several more stones and enthusiastically juggled one in his hand. A cruel smile spreading across his face, daring me to make him lob another.

"Well, it's your own fault, Grandpa. How you expect me to act when you're spouting all that nonsense."

"That's not an apology, boy." Grandpa stopped tossing the stone, his smile gone and replaced by a cool, stony gaze. "Sounds like you're talking me up to be a lier."

Dammit, the old man was about to pelt me with more rocks; and with the fire between us, I had no chance of wrestling him into submission. "Well..." I rubbed the welt that was beginning to form above my eye. "You're no lier, Grandpa, but I'm not in the mood for stories or tall tales."

Grandpa tossed his stones to the ground; Then spat into the fire, letting a hissing noise permeate the air. "Ain't no story; get some sleep Clay."

With that, he turned away and laid down on the ground, head perched on his travel bag. Leaving me alone at the fire with his final declaration. After a minute, I stopped rolling it over in my mind. "I'm sorry, Grandpa, didn't mean to say that."

"Good night Clay, get sum sleep in ya."

"Night Grandpa."

---

After closing my eyes, I thought that I'd never fall asleep, Not with the old man's words echoing in my mind.

There weren't always dragons in the Valley...

Thankfully, what was louder than his words were his snores, crashing into my ears like a rip wave along a jagged shore.

It was my way to groan and complain about it, but the truth was it was one of my favourite things about Grandpa. No matter where we set up camp, no matter what, the noise of the woods or a howling storm, he'd always snore like he was 3ft deep into the softest plush Otel mattress.

Finally, dreams reached me. Laid out along the inside of my eyelids, myself a captive player in the resulting show.

---

I was riding atop the shoulder of a grass giant; 30ft up, its eyes were obscured by a mossy veil of vine whip hair. However, each burst of wind would reveal darkly intelligent eyes, sharp enough to cut through the foliage. We walked across the lands: First in the forest, carefully stepping between ancient trees and newborn streams; Next in the grasslands, with wide heavy footsteps leaving a trail of our path embroidered into the earth.

Then we were in the desert. Laboured breaths rattling from beneath the giant's Veil, which had begun to turn a marogue yellow.

Then the serpents came.

It started as a tremble, the sand vibrating gently... imperceptibly.

Then came a crack like thunder. Sand spewing up into torrential waves, crashing against the giant's legs.

Finally, the earth itself parted, revealing innumerable sets of charcoal red eyes; Rising from the sand like smoke from a volcano, they were on us.

The giant turned to face them, thick trunk-like hands crashing into them like siege rams. He would grab their jaws and rip them apart, snapping bones like twigs.

When they tried to wrap up his arms, he would squeeze their heads until they popped.

When they tried to wrap up his chest, he would grab their tails and whip them into the ground, briefly making the sand act as though it were stone.

When they tried to wrap around his legs, he would shake them off before stomping them into a muddy paste beneath him.

But there were too many, and he was getting tired; The serpents pierced his skin with their fangs, feeding in a virulent poison that smoked and hissed; They whipped him with the tips of their razor-like tails, leaving lashes that bled a virulent green sap.

Eventually, the giant fell to his knees, throwing me down into the sand.

I scrambled up to help him, but the sheer waves of serpents battered me back. And there I lay what felt like miles away, watching a mass of death envelop the giant, still thrashing against the serpents, but losing spectacularly.

---

When I woke, it was late in the day; "(Strange)"; Grandpa always got me up at dusk to break camp. I wiped my brow, still sore from the stone but now slick with sweat.

"Grandpa?" Still half asleep, I stood to stretch the night from my bones, expecting a groan of exasperation from the old man, pained to find he had been beaten to morning by his lazy grandson.

But there was nothing. I looked around the camp, but nothing. No Grandpa, no gear, just my own backpack and bedroll.

I was alone...