Skin Is A Fragile Thing

Awoken by a sudden noise the Old Kin lazily opened its eyes; still undecided if it should care. They had been alone in this place for years. The rustling in their ears was hardly made by anything of substantial size, but what bothered them was that there had been no sound of the creature’s approach. The Old Kin was at the bottom of a massive, hollowed out, tree. It was a remnant of an ancient forest. One of the few trees that had not been completely razed but had not escaped the hand of time either. The remainder of the tree was petrified, leaving a base thousands of miles across, and a trunk that stretched far into the sky. Such that only a creature with wings, or the aid of pesky spells, could find their way into this secluded habitat. A place whose silence loyally betrayed any noise, had given no warning. Begrudgingly, the dragon lifted its heavy, diamond head and swiveled it toward the unexpected, and unwelcome, guest.

It was a Young Kin. This time. The noise had clearly been caused when the child had fallen over. It was covered in dirt, and the dragon had a feeling the hatchling spent more time on the ground than on its two legs. But it kept struggling, placed its hands on the ground, trying to get their feet sturdily beneath them, blonde hair drooping into their eyes. The child huffed from the effort, placing its weight heavily to one leg, before limping forward. "Ah, it is one of those," thought the Old Kin. The dragon looked closely at the Young Kin – its clothing was torn here and there; the child had any number of scrapes and bruises. They sniffed the air and focused on the blood slowly seeping to the ground from the child’s knee. Bright scarlet against the muted green of the clearing floor. The hatchling began moving toward the dragon again, slowly, uncertainly. Balance was after all a newly learned trick.

The Old Kin puffed smoke out of their nostrils in annoyance; they had begun to think it had finally stopped. A superstition amongst the younger kin. The ones with terrible memories and a knack for causing trouble. All kinds would appear on this side, different ages too, usually with some form of incapacity. The Old Kin was tired. Not only was it decidedly the worst use of the Gates created by the Twilight Kin, but the infernal spell followed the dragon wherever they went. Whatever the cause, one thing always stayed the same; the Old Kin would help the visitors, in spite of themselves, and then the Young Kin would leave. Just as they had come.

"Lost or abandoned young one?" Asked the dragon, projecting their thoughts directly into the mind of the hatchling. Its eyes grew wide, and their hands leapt to their ears. Any semblance of balance they had was lost by the sudden movement, and the child promptly found themselves on the ground. Again. They did not cry, but waited eagerly, their green eyes glued to the dragon. The Old Kin asked the hatchling again, only this time they experienced a wave of images, sensations, and wonderings. The thoughts all babbled over one another like a creek freshly freed in spring. The child giggled, thirsty for this new method of communication. Greedily it scrambled up again eyes intently focused on the dragon. The Old Kin kneaded their claws into the soil, unnerved by the enthusiasm of the child. It was searching for something.

Everyone who came to the Old Kin wanted something, needed something, even if their arrival was accidental. Even if they didn’t know what it was. The Old Kin always knew; another part of the spell they supposed. How the dragon dealt with them really depended on two factors – their age, and the dragon’s own mood. Although, the latter method soon became obsolete when the Old Kin learned that the number of visitors only increased if they handled the Young Kin poorly. The dragon had had to restrain themselves from roasting a young messenger from the Twilight Kin when it had “come to check its progress”. The name stealers of the Twilight Kin always seemed intent on making the Old Kin’s life more difficult. At least the Young Kin of a certain age, could be reasoned with, guided – warned. If they were too young, they could not eat, could not protect their consciousness. There was very little the dragon could do for them then. But this hatchling? Oh, it had been too long since the dragon had come across a child this age. There was no reservation of desire, like in the older ones, no shyness.

Once it had reached the dragon, the child did not flinch from touching the brown scales of the Old Kin’s foreleg. Barely missing the dragon’s claws, it tried to climb over the leg, breathing heavily through its mouth. The Old Kin, dumbfounded, snaked their head back onto themselves, staring down their own neck at the child. As the Young Kin moved it continued to ply the dragon with its thoughts. The sensation of moss on their stinging hands, bruises being kissed better. The low light gently blending with the dragon’s scales. The child kept pushing and pulling themselves to get over the leg, all the while pushing and pulling upon the consciousness of the dragon. The Old Kin found themselves awash with the child’s memories as well as their own moved, unbidden, to the surface. Gentle hands, green scales. Small fruit, a first kill. The warmth of bodies leaning into each other. Rolling hills, seen from the back of a parent, broken apart by their wind tousled hair. An ocean of trees, large as mountains, stretching out beneath velvet wings. Echoes of younglings excited roars, a lullaby. The memories began to slow, but still the child pulled.

A growing belly, the heat within a cave. A long walk at night where the cold goes straight to the bone. One final hunt before the storms drive them from the skies. Stones in a circle silhouetted by the moon and lined with frost. A darkened entrance, a haven now desecrated, blood and the remnants of new life broken over the cave floor… The dragon winced at its own memories, and the all too common experience of the child. It stood between the two front legs of the dragon, some of the eagerness gone from their movements. Instead, the child squeezed its eyes shut and shoved its hand forward, reaching for the Old Kin’s chest. Pure concentration, the Young Kin thought of only warmth. The simplest and yet most attuned understanding of what the child wanted to give, wanted to find. Gently, the dragon lowered its head to the hatchling, and touched its snout to their forehead and spoke: "Come, young one. I will make you a fire, and a bed, you will be able to see the stars soon." The Old Kin looked at the spreading dusk around them and said, "the messengers, the bargainers, they are coming. But I will do all I can."