On Battered Wings

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The stone Sentries used to bar their entry from atop the Lushlan Peaks. Now the Sentries sat petrified by foreign magic, with dragon’s mockingly perched upon their heads.

All but one dragon kept to themselves, occasionally stealing livestock. The tyrant, Vlaknar, on the other hand, delighted in tormenting us. Slow and deliberate, he would circle the village, eying his next victim. His eyes twinkled an amber hue as he chased down a helpless, screaming villager. He would place the weight of one claw down upon them, and watched as they wriggled and writhed against his cold, rough scales. He’d take a few moments. He’d wait until the struggle had stopped. He’d bend his long neck and twist his humongous head, look into their eyes before charring them from existence. Then he would leave any onlooker to deal with the smoking remains, not even caring to make a meal out of his endeavour.

I crunched a limestone pebble under my boot and watched it turn to chalk beneath me. I shuddered, the action reminding me of my previous thought process, of bone beneath a giant, crooked paw, skin lacerated from the coarseness of sharp scales.

I stared down over the Valley from my secret spot amongst the cliffs that were set behind our village. Vlaknar would not waste energy searching for prey here. Not when there were ample pickings in plain sight. The villager’s fears kept them shackled in place, afraid to leave. I could not live imprisoned. Besides, this clifftop was secluded below multiple crags. It was my safe haven. Valknar’s slitted pupils only narrowed on direct passage between the villages, the village farms, or the villages themselves.

The dreaded beast’s presence had instead been a god-send to me. At fifteen I was betrothed. A year after, a hoard of dragons burst through the pass on battered and flaming wings. They were damaged and exhausted from their centuries long exile in the lands beyond the peaks. The hoard dispersed in all directions. The pattern their bodies created was like a halo, the red hue of sunset gleaming off their backs. From beyond the crowd, Vlaknar shot forth, closing the distance from the peaks and the group in an instant. Even the clouds appeared to scorch from his molten breath. He pulled his wings into his colossal torso and dove straight towards our village. My fiancé was plucked from the shell-shocked crowd that had stopped in their stead. He was howling in terror. Vlaknar bit off his head then plucked the hair from his monstrous teeth. It was the best thing that could ever have happened to me.

That was 6 years ago. After that, I had an unfortunate run of dead, decapitated, and decimated fiancés. The offers for my hand in marriage had long since stopped. I never heard the end of it. The thought of heading home made me weary. My father’s rants filled my head. He was adamant that I just needed to try harder, swoon harder, and the men would line up in a heartbeat. Yet, there was no one that was willing to risk the curse that seemed to stem from being my betrothed.

I stretched my arms up high and rolled my shoulders, working out the tension that had built from thinking about my descent to the village. It was time I left. My father could never accuse me of being worthless at least. When I was not resting in my sacred place, I put all my being into working hard. No job was too small, too big, or took too long. I would not be a burden on my family, despite my lack of eligible suitors.

My journey down the steep pathways kept my mind focused. Each tread sent stones tumbling, a dust cloud forming behind them. My heart galloped at the thought of tripping and rolling behind those stones, straight off the cliff’s edge. At last my feet touched level ground. I let out a shaky breath, looking back up the path behind me. The adrenaline gave me courage as I steeled myself for the walk home, ready to confront my father’s berating.

I stopped at the fanciest and largest building in town. I ignored the large double-doors that would lead me through the town hall, instead heading to the side entrance that lead to the family dining area. Approaching the heavy wooden door, some of the bravery from before had left, replaced by apprehension. I grasped the latch, preparing for the same old, tired routine. Forcing the door open, it scraped across the uneven stone cobbles, and shed light into the circular gathering room. I was surprised to see an unfamiliar person at the family table. He was covered in furs from head to boot. This man was from beyond the Valley!

My father looked up at me, the glisten in his eyes almost betraying his cool and calculated business façade. He usually saved that expression for trade.

“Here she is,” my Father exclaimed, standing and extending his hand towards me, “my beloved daughter, Tenara!”

I glanced towards my Mother at the hearth, visibly tense. When I made no indication of heading towards my Father’s outstretched hand, the man pushed back his chair. It screeched as it grated across the floor under his weight. His hulking figure loomed over that of my Father’s. No easy feat, as my Father was by no means small. The man turned towards me. Ice blue eyes made ever more piercing by the sharp stare sent my way. My Father cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Tenara, this good fellow is Faun. He has extended you an offer of marriage.”